And then God sent home that text to my soul with so much power that I thought I was dropping into hell at once: “Cursed is everyone that continueth not in all things written in the book of the law to do them.” (Galatians 3:10) I now saw as clearly as at noon-day, God's holiness, and his justice in my damnation; and I told him that when I came into hell, I would tell all the devils there that no injustice had been done me, that I would take all the blame to myself and clear God of all wrong in executing his wrath upon one so vile, who had gone to such lengths in iniquity. Now, however, I saw clearly that my doom was sealed, for these words come on the back of the other – “Till heaven and earth pass away, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law till all be fulfilled.” Thus, I saw that God is immutably fixed in his holiness and justice, and that he can no wise aquit the guilty.
Well, thought I, let me have a little enjoyment here to drown the misery of my present feelings; as to the hereafter, I can be but lost. The best method of fulfilling this resolution appeared to be by going hay-making. But, upon joining the men, who all knew me, and had heard that I had turned “Methodist”, some jeered me and others called out, “Warburton is turned Methodist”, and all joined in laughing at me.
I tried to put it off with a laugh, too, but it was with a heavy heart. Yet, thought I, these are all going to hell as well as I, and see how comfortable they are! And again, I resolved to be as comfortable as they; for if I do go to hell, said I, they will go with me, and I shall not be alone. In the afternoon of the first day there was what we call a “Wake,” held at a place about four miles distant, and my fellow-workmen asked me to accompany them. To this I consented; and seven of us according set out. But, O what feelings I had upon the road! When we arrived there, the first thing was, of course, the public-house, and I determined to get drunk and drown my misery, and to enjoy myself as well as others. I had not, however, been many minutes in the house until that text of scripture sounded like thunder in my poor soul: “Because he hath appointed a day, in which he will judge the world in righteousness by that man, Jesus Christ, whom he hath ordained.” And that other text followed upon it like flames of lightning: “It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.” My poor knees smote together, my very hairs began to move upon my head, and I got up and went out with all the horrors of damnation in my soul.
What dreadful and rebellious thoughts arose in my mind against God for having made me a human being, that had a never-dying soul that must endure all the torments of his wrath in hell. How I envied the very beasts of the field. “These poor creatures,” said I, “have no souls to be judged.” And O the anger and wrath that boiled up in my heart against God, because he had not made me a dog, or anything without a soul to be judged at this righteous bar.
I had frequently before this time had many powerful temptations to put an end to my miserable life, but now I was fully determined to do it. Several times I went into my bedroom with my razor, being fully determined to cut my throat; but instead of so doing, was always obliged to fall upon my knees and implore the Lord that, if it were possible, he would show mercy to one so vile as I. I think I shall never forget the night before God delivered my poor soul.
Fully resolved to destroy myself, I went on Saturday about midnight to a pool of water, making, as I proceeded thither, a solemn vow that nothing should prevent my fulfilling my purpose. I rose up to take a leap into the pool, when these words sounded in my ears – as loud to my thinking as if a man had called them out to me – “Who can tell?” I made a dead stand, and said, “What can that be?” “Who can tell?” The words sounded again and again in my very soul and something seemed to spring up in my heart, and thus interpret them. Who can tell but God may yet have mercy upon my poor soul? Manasseh, the thief upon the cross, Saul of Tarsus, Mary Magdalene, and many others have experienced his pardoning mercy; and who can tell but that poor wretch, John Warburton, may find mercy yet?”
This put a stop to drowning myself. If felt my heart a little softer, and if ever my soul went out to prayer, I believe it was then. I began to feel a little hope shine into me. Who can tell, thought I, but that God will at length hear my cry? I made up my mind that, as the next day was Sunday, I would go in the morning to Manchester, and try once more to obtain a little consolation.
In the morning I went to Mosley Street Chapel, and soon after I was seated, a solemn old man ascended the pulpit, and O how my soul trembled lest he should bear a message from God to me of wrath and condemnation. What horror and distress I felt when, in reading the chapter, he came to these words, “Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things that are written in the book of the law to do them.” I saw that my soul was doomed to certain destruction for ever and ever. What the old man preached about I could not tell; but this I knew, that damned I was, and sometimes thought I should have dropped into hell whilst in the chapel.
The service being concluded, I thought I would go home and put an end to my miserable life. “Yes,” said I, “I will come to an end, and know the worst at once.” On my way home, I got into Cannon Street, and observing a chapel there, into which people were then crowding, I remembered it was the chapel of Mr. Roby, to which I had been once or twice in company with my mother. I stopped and said, “Shall I go in?” “No,” thought I, “I will not. The minister will take as his text, ‘Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things written in the book of the law to do them.’” I proceeded a short distance down the street, and stopped again. “Who can tell?” came once more into my mind. “Well,” said I, “I can but be damned.” And so I came to the resolution of going into the chapel, and “If I perish,” said I, “I perish.”
At the conclusion of the first hymn, Mr. Roby went to prayer, and towards the end of it he dropped a few words which I believed were for nobody but me. He begged God that if there were any one present who had come to make a last trial of his mercy, he would show himself to such a one as His God. It was hard work that I could keep from calling out, “Yes, here is poor lost John Warburton. Here I am, come to make the last trial.” But all my hopes seemed dashed to pieces, however, when I saw the minister take the Bible from the cushion to find his text. “O,” thought I, “he is certainly seeking for that awful text which has so torn my heart asunder all these months.” O the feelings I experienced! I could not imagine why he delayed so long to put the Bible back upon the cushion.
At last he did so, and I could see that it was opened about the middle. “Blessed be God,” my soul whispered, “The text is not, ‘Cursed is every one that continueth not …’” O the expectation that sprang up within me. And when Mr. Roby read his text, O the wonder and the glory that shone into my soul! The precious text was this, “Thou hast ascended on high, thou hast led captivity captive; thou has received gifts for men; yea, for the rebellious also, that the Lord God might dwell among them.” (Psalm 68:18.) O the love, peace, and joy that broke into my heart as the words came out of his mouth! They were truly sweeter to my soul than ten thousands of gold and silver. I wondered again with astonishment, and said in my soul, “What can this mean? Where are my sins? What can be the meaning of all this? Where is my burden, and the wrath and terror I have had so many months?” And again the text flowed into my soul, “Thou hast led captivity captive; thou hast received gifts for men; yea, for the rebellious, that the Lord God might dwell amongst them.”
(Taken from, the Mercies of a Covenant God –
the autobiography of John Warburton of Trowbridge.)
This Page Title – The Convicting and Converting of John Warburton The Wicket Gate Magazine "A Continuing Witness". Internet Edition number 108 – placed on line May 2014 Wicket Gate contact address – Mr Cliff Westcombe cw@wicketgate.co.uk If you wish to be notified when each new edition goes on line please send an e-mail to the above address Magazine web address – www.wicketgate.co.uk |