June 10, 2011 by Tony Reinke
Categories: Newton
“I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,” wrote sailor and poet John Masefield. That is my motto. I love the ocean. In fact I am at the beach right now with my family. But I enjoy the sea as a novice, as one who is little more than an enthusiastic spectator from the seashore. Being a Nebraskan by birth and upbringing, my direct experience with the ocean is quite shallow.
John Newton’s knowledge of the ocean was deep. It was the ocean that provided Newton his early livelihood and it was the ocean that nearly took his life. Whether it was giving or trying to take away, the ocean was a central part of his life for several years.
Even more important to Newton was the gospel. Not surprisingly, in Newton’s writings the greatness of our Savior finds metaphorical expression in the far-reaching limits of ocean. I’m sure he would have agreed with Spurgeon’s often quoted statement: “In Christ’s finished work I see an ocean of merit; my plummet finds no bottom, my eye discovers no shore.”* The ocean in many ways is a suitable metaphor.
The gospel is unfathomable, and that of course means there is always a need for us to grow in our knowledge of the Savior. By grace this is possible—by observation this is necessary.
Newton writes,
Some knowledge of Christ indeed they [Christians] have, which is their differencing character from the world. How small a portion! That they know him a little, is plain, because they love him and trust him; but how little, is plain likewise, because their love is so faint, and their trust so feeble.
Newton elaborates on what these weaknesses expose.
Their doubts, fears, complaints, and backslidings, are so many mournful proofs that they are but poorly acquainted with him; and sufficiently evidence, that a great part of what we account our knowledge, is not real and experimental, but notional only.
The literal sense of what we read concerning Jesus, is attainable by study and human teaching; but the spiritual import can be received only from Him who teaches the heart, who increases it in us by the various exercises and dispensations we pass through; and the best have much more to learn than they have already attained.…
The knowledge of Christ, in the present life, may be compared to the knowledge that a shepherd has of the sea, from having viewed it at the top of a cliff. In a sense, it may be said he has seen the sea; but how little has he seen, in comparison of what lies beyond the reach of his eye! How inadequate is such a prospect to give him an idea answerable to the length, and breadth, and depth, of the immense ocean!**
Yes; or compared to a vacationing Nebraskan’s knowledge of the ocean. It is one thing to stand on the pebbled shore and to look out at a few miles of ocean, but another thing altogether to sail over the top of, or to dive down into the heart of, the wine-dark sea.
So it is with our knowledge of Christ in this life. Saving knowledge of Christ is not an exhaustive knowledge. Newton helps us see this point in two ways.
First, the more we learn the more we see how much more we have to learn. And our ignorance of Christ is behind our waverings, our doubts, our fears, our backslidings. Our propensity to sin reveals the shallowness of our knowledge of the Savior. We must press on not just for more learning, but for more of the experiential knowledge of the gospel, the knowledge that changes our attitudes, our thinking, and our behavior.
Second, a complete knowledge of Christ, like the majority of the ocean, remains beyond the reach of the eye. Right now our knowledge of the Savior is partial and fallible; one day our knowledge of Christ will be full and face-to-face (1 Corinthians 13:12).
A vacationer on the shore, a shepherd on the cliff—neither can see the breadth and length and height and depth of the ocean. Nor do we yet fully comprehend the breadth and length and height and depth of God’s love for us shown in the gospel (Ephesians 3:18–19). Like a wide-eyed shepherd looking out from a window seat on a clear day from 40,000 feet over the ocean, one day we will more fully comprehend the dimensions (1 John 3:2).
And we will be stunned.
Tony Reinke serves as the editorial and research assistant to C.J. Mahaney. Reading Newton’s Mail is a series of blog posts reflecting on various published letters written by John Newton (1725–1807), the onetime captain of a slave trading ship—a self-described apostate, blasphemer, and infidel, who was eventually converted by grace. Newton is most famous for authoring the hymn “Amazing Grace,” or maybe for helping William Wilberforce put an end to the African slave trade in Britain. Less legendarily, Newton faithfully pastored two churches for 43 years, a fruitful period of his life when a majority of his letters were written. Reading Newton’s Mail is published on Fridays here on the Cheap Seats blog.
* Charles Spurgeon, sermon: “Bread Enough and to Spare,” in The Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit, vol. 17 (London: Passmore & Alabaster, 1872), 389.
** John Newton, The Works of the Rev. John Newton, 3rd ed. (London: Hamilton, Adams, & Co., 1820; Carlisle, PA: The Banner of Truth Trust, 1985), 2:417–418.
May 13, 2011 by Tony Reinke
Categories: Newton
John Newton went to prison in the fall of 1775. It wasn’t exactly a prison, more of a correctional institution for thieves and prostitutes. And he wasn’t sent there by force, he entered the facility voluntarily as a 50-year-old pastor.
The correctional facility in London was known as Westminster Bridewell. The inmates in the facility were subjected to hard labor and, in the spirit of behavior reform, to physical lashings for disobedience. Those floggings (of both men and women) were meted out in public and in full view of the good citizens of London. The social distance between the law-abiding citizens and the law-breaking miscreants was as obvious as the three-story prison walls.
Into Bridewell Newton entered with a Bible and a very personal story of God’s saving grace. He recounted his visit in a letter to a friend:
You would have liked to have been with me last Wednesday. I preached at Westminster Bridewell. It is a prison and house of correction. The bulk of my congregation were housebreakers [burglars], highwaymen [a highway robber on horseback], pickpockets, and poor unhappy women, such as infest the streets of this city, sunk in sin, and lost to shame [prostitutes]. I had a hundred or more of these before me.
I preached from 1 Timothy 1:15 [“This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief” (KJV)]. I began with telling them my own story. This gained their attention more than I expected. I spoke to them near an hour and a half.
I shed many tears myself, and saw some of them shed tears likewise.
Ah! had you seen their present condition, and could you hear the history of some of them, it would make you sing, “O to grace how great a debtor!”
By nature they were no worse than the most sober and modest people; and there was doubtless a time when many of them little thought what they should live to do and suffer. I might have been, like them, in chains, and one of them have come to preach to me, had the Lord so pleased.*
The experience of prison life was striking to Newton. Given his pre-conversion life, it was not difficult for Newton to imagine a reversal of roles—himself wearing the chains, bearing public floggings, and needing another to proclaim to him the good news of the gospel.
By all accounts, the miscreants Newton addressed in the correctional facility were sinners. And they knew it. And the citizens of London knew it. Likely the surprise was in seeing a 50-year-old pastor walk into the prison to candidly share the story of his own sinfully wretched background.
In his visit two important points are clear.
First, Newton believed that the grace of God could reach anyone, no matter how dark or prevailing the sin.
Second, Newton found in 1 Timothy 1:15 a natural transition from his own life of sin to Paul’s claim of being the chief of sinners. Newton could make such a smooth transition because he genuinely believed that he was the worst sinner he knew—even in a room where he found himself encircled by 100 thieves and prostitutes.**
Tony Reinke serves as the editorial and research assistant to C.J. Mahaney. Reading Newton’s Mail is a series of blog posts reflecting on various published letters written by John Newton (1725–1807), the onetime captain of a slave trading ship—a self-described apostate, blasphemer, and infidel, who was eventually converted by grace. Newton is most famous for authoring the hymn “Amazing Grace,” or maybe for helping William Wilberforce put an end to the African slave trade in Britain. Less legendarily, Newton faithfully pastored two churches for 43 years, a fruitful period of his life when a majority of his letters were written. Reading Newton’s Mail is published on Fridays here on the Cheap Seats blog.
* John Newton, The Works of John Newton (London: 1820), 2:150.
** Newton explicitly refers to himself as the “chief of sinners” at several places in his writings (see for example his Works, 2:246, 5:570, and 6:58). And at one point in a sermon he explains the rationale behind his conviction: “It is probable, that all who are convinced and enlightened by the Holy Spirit, having a clearer knowledge of the nature, number, and aggravation of their own sins, than they can possibly have of those of any other person, account themselves among the chief of sinners, though many of them may have been preserved from gross enormities” (5:173).
April 29, 2011 by Tony Reinke
Categories: Newton
John Newton wrote a number of valuable letters on the high marks and the low points of the Christian life. One of those letters was originally to a pastor. But as you will soon see, it has application for every Christian, especially on the topic of spiritual depression (see Psalm 42:1–11).
For this entry in the series I’ve chosen to reformat one letter into an interview. We’ll see how it goes.
Rev. Newton, thanks for your time today. Let’s begin discussing the topic of how spiritual depression affects pastors. You have many years of pastoral experience yourself. Does God preserve pastors from undergoing spiritual valleys? Do pastors get a special divine favor and higher proportion of comforts in life to better serve their local churches?
Give me leave to ask pastors: What would you do if you did not find yourself occasionally poor, insufficient, and stupid?
Are you aware of what might be the possible, the probable, the almost certain consequences, if you always found your spirit enlarged, and your frames lively and comfortable?
Would you not be in great danger of being puffed up with spiritual pride?
Would you not be less sensible of your absolute dependence upon the power of Christ, and of your continual need of his blood, pardon, and intercession?
Would you not be quite at a loss to speak suitably and feelingly to the case of many gracious souls, who are groaning under those effects of a depraved nature, from which, upon that supposition, you would be exempted?
How could you speak properly upon the deceitfulness of the heart, if you did not feel the deceitfulness of your own; or adapt yourself to the changing experiences through which your hearers pass, if you yourself were always alike, or nearly so?
Or how could you speak pertinently of the inward warfare, the contrary principles of flesh and spirit fighting one against another, if your own spiritual desires were always vigorous and successful, and met with little opposition or control?
The angel who appeared to Cornelius did not preach the Gospel to him, but directed him to send for Peter: for though the glory and grace of the Saviour seems a fitter subject for an angel’s powers than for the poor stammering tongues of sinful men, yet an angel could not preach experimentally, nor describe the warfare between grace and sin from his own feelings (Acts 10:1–8).
And if we could suppose a minister as full of comforts and as free from failings as an angel, though he would be a good and happy man, I cannot conceive that he would be a good or useful preacher; for he would not know how to sympathize with the weak and afflicted of the flock, or to comfort them under their difficulties with the consolations wherewith he himself, in similar circumstances, had been comforted of God.
So what’s behind this spiritual depression in the pastor’s experience?
We may extend the subject so as to make it applicable to believers in general.
First, let me say that resting in the recollection of past comforts, without a continual thirst for fresh communications from the Fountain of life, is, I am afraid, the canker which eats away the beauty and fruitfulness of many professors in the present day; and which, if it does not prove them to be absolutely dead, is at least a sufficient evidence that they are lamentably sick.
But on the other hand, if we are conscious of the desire, if we seek it carefully in the use of all appointed means, if we willingly allow in ourselves nothing which grieves the Spirit of God, and to damp our sense of divine things—if the Lord is pleased to keep us short of those comforts which he has taught us to prize, instead of lively sensations of joy and praise we feel a languor and deadness of spirit.
In other words, you say that spiritual depression stems from an appropriate thirst for communion with God. So how do we respond when we feel this languor and deadness of spirit?
Provided we do indeed feel it, and are humbled for it, we have no need to give way to despondency or excessive sorrow.
Still the foundation of our hope, and the ground of our abiding joys, is the same; and the heart may be as really alive to God, and grace as truly in exercise, when we walk in comparative darkness and see little light, as when the frame of our spirits is more comfortable. Neither the reality nor the measure of grace can be properly estimated by the degree of our sensible comforts.
So you seem to say that grace is at work in the Christian’s life whether the experience is bright or dark. That’s an important point. So when the darkness descends, when a Christian walks through a dark valley and the soul is cast down, what should be his posture?
The Apostle exhorts believers to rejoice in the Lord always (Philippians 4:4). He well knew that they were exposed to trials and temptations, and to much trouble from an evil heart of unbelief; and he prevents the objections we might be ready to make, by adding, “And again I say, Rejoice”—as if he had said, I call upon you to rejoice, not at some times only, but at all times.
Not only when upon the mount, but when in the valley.
Not only when you conquer, but while you are fighting.
Not only when the Lord shines upon you, but when he seems to hide his face.
When he enables you to do all things, you are no better in yourselves than you were before; and when you feel you can do nothing, you are no worse. Your experiences will vary, but his love and promises are always unchangeable.
Thus, it makes sense that we can always rejoice. But that takes faith. So what gets in the way of our rejoicing? Why is it so hard to rejoice in the valley?
Sinful principles may, and too often do, mix with and defile our best desires. I have often detected the two vile abominations, self-will and self-righteousness insinuating themselves into this concern. Like Satan, who works by them, they can occasionally assume the appearance of an angel of light.
I have felt impatience in my spirit, utterly unsuitable to my state as a sinner and a beggar, and to my profession of yielding myself and all my concerns to the Lord’s disposal.
He has mercifully convinced me that I labor under a complication of disorders, summed up in the word sin. He has graciously revealed himself to me as the infallible physician. And has enabled me, as such, to commit myself to him, and to expect my cure from his hand alone.
Yet how often, instead of thankfully accepting his prescriptions, have I foolishly and presumptuously ventured to prescribe to him, and to point out how I would have him deal with me! How often have I thought something was necessary which he saw best to deny, and that I could have done better without those dispensations which his wisdom appointed to work for my good!
He is God, and not man, or else he would have been weary of me, and left me to my own management long ago.
It has cost me something to bring me to confess that he is wiser than I; but I trust, through his blessing, I have not suffered wholly in vain.
My sensible comforts have not been great. The proofs I have had of the evils of my sinful nature, my incapacity and aversion to good, have neither been few nor small. But by these unpromising means I hope he has made his grace and salvation precious to my soul, and in some measure weaned me from leaning to my own understanding.
So because we are sinners we will find it especially difficult to rejoice in moments when our personal weakness is exposed. Can you explain further how self-righteousness gets in the way of our joy in God?
Self-righteousness has had a considerable hand in dictating many of my desires for an increase of comfort and spiritual strength. I have wanted some stock of my own. I have been wearied of being so perpetually beholden to him, necessitated to come to him always in the same strain, as a poor miserable sinner. I could have liked to do something for myself, and to depend upon him chiefly upon extraordinary occasions.
I have found indeed, that I could do nothing without his assistance, nor any thing even with it, but what I have reason to be ashamed of. If this had only humbled me, and led me to rejoice in his all-sufficiency, it would have been well. But it has often had a different effect, to make me sullen, angry, and discontented, as if it was not best and most desirable that he should have all the glory of his own work, and I should have nothing to boast of, but that in the Lord I have righteousness and strength.
I am now learning to glory only in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me; to be content to be nothing, that he may be All in All (2 Corinthians 12:7–13).
But I find this a hard lesson; and when I seem to have made some proficiency, a slight turn in my spirit throws me back, and I have to begin all again.
In conclusion, what have you learned that you can share with us from your own experience in the valley?
First: There is an inseparable connection between causes and effects. Indwelling sin is an active cause; and therefore, while it remains in our nature, it will produce effects according to its strength.
So why should I wonder that I can feel no lively exercise of grace, no power to raise my heart to God, any farther than he is pleased to work in me mightily; any more than wonder that I do not find fire in the bottom of a well, or that it should not be day when the sun is withdrawn from the earth?
Second: Humbled I ought to be to find I am so totally depraved—but not discouraged, since Jesus is appointed to me of God, wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption; and since I find that, in the midst of all this darkness and deadness, he keeps alive the principle of grace which he has implanted in my heart.
These are wonderful reminders of God’s sustaining grace. Thank you Rev. Newton. May our valleys remind us of our absolute dependence upon Christ’s power, blood, pardon, and intercession.
And for further insight on these important topics, see C.J.’s practical post: “The Causes, Symptoms, and Treatment of Spiritual Dehydration.”
Tony Reinke serves as the editorial and research assistant to C.J. Mahaney. Reading Newton’s Mail is a series of blog posts reflecting on various published letters written by John Newton (1725–1807), the onetime captain of a slave trading ship—a self-described apostate, blasphemer, and infidel, who was eventually converted by grace. Newton is most famous for authoring the hymn “Amazing Grace,” or maybe for helping William Wilberforce put an end to the African slave trade in Britain. Less legendarily, Newton faithfully pastored two churches for 43 years, a fruitful period of his life when a majority of his letters were written. Reading Newton’s Mail is published on Fridays here on the Cheap Seats blog.
Primary source: The Works of John Newton (London: 1820), 1:253–261.
April 1, 2011 by Tony Reinke
Categories: Newton
Revolution is spreading across the Middle East. What was ignited in Tunisia spread to Egypt and jumped into Libya. It is hard to tell where the flame of revolution will spread next.
Something of this modern experience must reflect the political and social unrest that marked the period of America’s Revolutionary War. By January 1775 a war between Britain and the American colonies was foreseeable. At this point Britain had responded to the Boston Tea Party by further hiking taxes in 1774, and in two months Patrick Henry would deliver his “Give me liberty or give me death” speech. One month after the speech the American colonists and the British would clash at Lexington and Concord.
So was the turmoil just about taxation without representation, or was there something larger behind the revolution?
In a letter to his friend Lord Dartmouth dated January 20, 1775, Newton offers a deeper and more theological explanation for the coming war when he writes,
When historians and politicians descant upon the rise and fall of empires, with all their professed sagacity, in tracing the connection between causes and effects, they are totally unacquainted with the great master-wheel which manages the whole movement; that is, the Lord’s design in favor of his church and kingdom. To this every event is subordinate; to this every interfering interest must stoop.
A little later he writes:
And I doubt not but some who are yet unborn will hereafter clearly see and remark, that the present unhappy disputes between Great Britain and America, with their consequences, whatever they may be, are part of a series of events, of which the extension and interests of the church of Christ were the principal final causes. In a word, that Jesus may be known, trusted, and adored, and sinners, by the power of his Gospel, be rescued from sin and Satan, is the one great business, for the sake of which the succession of day and night, summer and winter, is still maintained; and when the plan of redemption is consummated, sin, which now almost fills the earth, will then set it on fire.
In other words, God’s plan for human history (namely the spread of the gospel) will be consummated when Christ returns and this present creation is dissolved in a roar and made gloriously new. Until then, God continues working, committed to his purpose of building his church and spreading the gospel throughout the world.
Now, does this mean that members of the visible church on earth cannot be harmed in revolution? No.
Does this mean there are no sins on display in warfare? No. In fact Newton would write that war is the result of national sin and personal selfish ambition.
Does this mean that the church should seek to advance and grow through politics? Not according to Newton. He strongly urged Christians not to become heavily involved in politics except on the rare occasion that such a Christian was in a position of influence (William Wilberforce being a prime example).
Yet behind the revolution in his own time, Newton saw God’s work. He would likely agree with a modern theologian who writes, “Even now Christ reigns secretly and invisibly over all empires and nations for the ultimate purpose of building his church” (see Ephesians 1:15-23).* Newton was quick to remember this when the fire of revolution was ignited in the Revolutionary War.
Newton viewed revolutions from a God-centered perspective, and this was no less true of the colonial revolution. He believed that God was “the great master-wheel” behind the revolution, and that his ultimate design was the growth of his church.
In the current unrest, many important questions remain. It’s hard to identify all the causes and effects working behind the turmoil in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, and elsewhere. And what will be the final result? Will political radicals gain the upper hand in these countries? Will the Middle East become less stable? Will these countries become more stable? These important questions are hard to answer.
Yet it’s worth asking the big question that Newton raises in his own letters: Is it possible that in all of this turmoil, God is the invisible master-wheel behind the revolution, at work in the turmoil for his one, ultimate, driving goal—that Jesus Christ may be known, trusted, and adored?
Some reports indicate that this great business may already be happening. In any case it is a point worthy of our consideration, and a goal that is certainly worthy of our prayers as we watch history unfold.
Tony Reinke serves as the editorial and research assistant to C.J. Mahaney. Reading Newton’s Mail is a series of blog posts reflecting on various published letters written by John Newton (1725–1807), the onetime captain of a slave trading ship—a self-described apostate, blasphemer, and infidel, who was eventually converted by grace. Newton is most famous for authoring the hymn “Amazing Grace,” or maybe for helping William Wilberforce put an end to the African slave trade in Britain. Less legendarily, Newton faithfully pastored two churches for 43 years, a fruitful period of his life when a majority of his letters were written. Reading Newton’s Mail is published on Fridays here on the Cheap Seats blog.
Primary sources: The Works of John Newton (London: 1820), 1:501–505. Secondary source: *Michael Horton, The Christian Faith: A Systematic Theology for Pilgrims On the Way (Zondervan, 2011), 526.
March 25, 2011 by Tony Reinke
Categories: Newton | Pastoral ministry
March was an important month in the life of John Newton but not because of basketball. It was on March 21, 1748, that Newton and his ship encountered a massive storm on the open sea. It was the day he nearly drowned.
His survival was a miracle and Newton knew it. That terrifying experience awakened Newton to the wretchedness of his sin and began a process that would result in his eventual conversion.
God had saved a wretch, saved him first from the raging seas and then from God’s own righteous wrath. Each year on March 21 Newton celebrated God’s kindness, a practice he maintained for the remaining 59 years of his life.
For the six years following his near drowning at sea, Newton was an eagerly growing Christian but he was also, according to one biographer, a “solitary Christian,” trying to figure out the Christian life on his own. [1] That solitary experience ended during his final voyage in a most unlikely place: a four-week stop in the Caribbean islands. There he met another ship captain, Captain Alexander Clunie, an older man and a mature Christian. Clunie discipled Newton and later introduced him to a pastor and a church family in London.
Clunie and Newton, with a shared life at sea and a shared interest in the Savior, remained “inseparable soul mates” for the remainder of their lives. [2] It was to Captain Clunie that Newton turned to express the challenges and pressures of pastoral ministry, which brings me to the point of today’s blog post.
In a letter dated July 26, 1776, Newton writes the following in a letter to him:
How fast the weeks return! We are again upon the eve of a sabbath. May the Lord give us much of his own Spirit on his own day. I trust I have a remembrance in your prayers. I need them much: my service is great.
It is, indeed, no small thing to stand between God and the people, to divide the word of truth aright, to give every one portion, to withstand the counter tides of opposition and popularity, and to press those truths upon others, the power of which, I, at times, feel so little of in my own soul. A cold, corrupt heart is uncomfortable company in the pulpit.
Yet in the midst of all my fears and unworthiness, I am enabled to cleave to the promise, and to rely on the power of the great Redeemer. I know I am engaged in the cause against which the gates of hell cannot prevail. If He died and rose again, if He ever lives to make intercession, there must be safety under the shadow of his wings: there would I lie.
In his name I would lift up my banner; in his strength I would go forth, do what He enables me, then take shame to myself that I can do no better, and put my hand upon my mouth, confessing that I am dust and ashes—less than the least of all his mercies.
Those honest words from Newton offer a glimpse into the struggle of a pastor’s soul.
Pastors…
- face a relentless repetition of pastoral responsibilities that come each week and culminate on Sunday
- struggle to rightly divide Scripture with every sermon
- strive to withstand the temptations that accompany opposition
- struggle against the temptations that accompany popularity and success
- earnestly long to see the truth of the gospel affect cold hearts
- themselves face the reality that they often carry a cold heart of their own into the pulpit with them
In this brief letter we see a glimpse of the pastoral task. It’s a glimpse that should humble us, make us thankful to God for the pastors who serve our souls each week, and remind us to pray for them.
Tony Reinke serves as the editorial and research assistant to C.J. Mahaney. Reading Newton’s Mail is a series of blog posts reflecting on various published letters written by John Newton (1725–1807), the onetime captain of a slave trading ship—a self-described apostate, blasphemer, and infidel, who was eventually converted by grace. Newton is most famous for authoring the hymn “Amazing Grace,” or maybe for helping William Wilberforce put an end to the African slave trade in Britain. Less legendarily, Newton faithfully pastored two churches for 43 years, a fruitful period of his life when a majority of his letters were written. Reading Newton’s Mail is published on Fridays here on the Cheap Seats blog.
Primary source letter: Letters of John Newton (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth: 1869, 2007), 60–61. Secondary sources: [1] Jonathan Aitken, John Newton (Crossway, 2008), 123. [2] Ibid, 124.
March 11, 2011 by Tony Reinke
Categories: Newton
Those who lived in the eighteenth century were familiar with sickness and death. For Newton this was especially the case. On his various journeys across the Atlantic Ocean he often witnessed sickness and death along the way. Some sailors washed out to sea during storms, and others died from the sicknesses carried in filthy ships. So many sailors died at sea, in fact, that port cities were often depleted of their men who were required to compensate for the losses at sea. Looking back on his sailing days, Newton estimated that 1,500 British sailors died each year on the seas. The deaths among the slaves who were hauled as cargo were even higher. It really was a miracle that Newton himself survived life on the sea.
But tragedy did strike close to home for Newton. His mother died when he was 7 years old, and his father tragically drowned when he was 25. He later watched his adopted daughter die during a prolonged two-year struggle against tuberculosis. Eventually Newton’s wife—his best friend—passed away, leaving him 17 years of widowed life. He was no stranger to tragedy and sickness.
For Newton, the world was a hospital. “What is the world at large,” he asked, “but a more extensive and diversified scene of wretchedness, where phrenzy and despair, anxiety, pain, want, and death, have their respective wards filled with patients.”* His preaching was intended to prepare people for the harsh realities of sickness, suffering, and death.
But this preemptive care didn’t stop Newton from ministering in the hospitals. As a faithful pastor Newton visited the sick and dying in his community. The hospital became something of a school for him where he could learn the true weightiness of his theology.
In a letter dated March 10, 1774, to his esteemed friend William Legge, the second Earl of Dartmouth, Newton explained that he had recently spent a six-week stretch investing several hours of each day in the hospital caring for souls. In the letter Newton recounted one meeting with a sick young woman. The memory of the hospital encounter was etched so deep into Newton's memory that he recalled it years later.
Permit me, my Lord, to relate, upon this occasion, some things which exceedingly struck me in the conversation I had with a young woman whom I visited in her last illness about two years ago.
She was a sober, prudent person, of plain sense, could read her Bible, but had read little besides. Her knowledge of the world was nearly confined to the parish; for I suppose she was seldom, if ever, twelve miles from home in her life. She had known the gospel about seven years before the Lord visited her with a lingering consumption [tuberculosis], which at length removed her to a better world.
A few days before her death, I had been praying by her bedside, and in my prayer I thanked the Lord that he gave her now to see that she had not followed cunningly-devised fables [Ephesians 4:14]. When I had finished, she repeated that word, “No,” she said “not cunningly-devised fables; these are realities indeed. I feel their truth, I feel their comfort. Oh! tell my friends, tell my acquaintances, tell enquiring souls, tell poor sinners, tell all the daughters of Jerusalem (alluding to Song of Solomon 5:16 from which she had just before desired me to preach at her funeral), what Jesus has done for my soul. Tell them, that now in the time of need I find him my beloved and my friend, and as such I commend him to them.”
She then fixed her eyes steadfastly upon me, and proceeded, as well as I can recollect, as follows. “Sir, you are highly favored in being called to preach the gospel. I have often heard you with pleasure; but [only when] you come into my situation, and have death and eternity full in your view, will it be possible for you to conceive the vast weight and importance of the truths you declare.”
Until we are faced with eternity it is too easy to take preaching for granted, to treat sermons lightly, to so quickly forget them like yesterday’s newspaper.
Yet it was here, beside the bed of a dying young woman in a hospital room and in other situations just like it, that Newton learned the true worth and weight of biblical preaching.
Tony Reinke serves as the editorial and research assistant to C.J. Mahaney. Reading Newton’s Mail is a series of blog posts reflecting on various published letters written by John Newton (1725–1807), the onetime captain of a slave trading ship—a self-described apostate, blasphemer, and infidel, who was eventually converted by grace. Newton is most famous for authoring the hymn “Amazing Grace,” or maybe for helping William Wilberforce put an end to the African slave trade in Britain. Less legendarily, Newton faithfully pastored two churches for 43 years, a fruitful period of his life when a majority of his letters were written. Reading Newton’s Mail is published on Fridays here on the Cheap Seats blog.
Primary sources: The Works of John Newton (London: 1820), 1:479–480. Letters of John Newton (Edinburgh; Banner of Truth: 1869, 2007), 100–101. Secondary source: * Works, 6:164.
February 25, 2011 by Tony Reinke
Categories: Newton
If you are familiar with the television show American Idol you know Simon Cowell, the judge famous for his bluntness, biting criticisms, and blatant insults. In the presence of Simon, grown men and women sing with passion, reaching out to grasp pop-recording stardom. But if they fail to meet his standards, many of those same men and women walk off the stage in tears or anger. They walk back into the real world carrying the shards of a shattered dream. Simon has that effect on people, and he is the man who comes to mind when I read Newton’s letter about how some Christians listen to sermons.
Last week we looked at a portion of this letter as we considered how to respond when our pastor preaches a “sermon dud.” A little later in that same letter, Newton explains how Christians should listen to sermons, and how they should not listen to sermons.
First, Newton explains how we should listen to sermons. We should at all times listen with active biblical discernment:
As a hearer, you have a right to try all doctrines by the word of God; and it is your duty so to do. Faithful ministers will remind you of this: they will not wish to hold you in an implicit and blind obedience to what they say, upon their own authority, nor desire that you should follow them farther than they have the Scripture for their warrant. They would not be lords over your conscience, but helpers of your joy. Prize this Gospel liberty, which sets you free from the doctrines and commandments of men; but do not abuse it to the purposes of pride and self.
Well said.
Then Newton explains how we should not listen to sermons:
There are hearers who make themselves, and not the Scripture, the standard of their judgment. They attend not so much to be instructed, as to pass their sentence. To them, the pulpit is the bar at which the minister stands to take his trial before them; a bar at which few escape censure, from judges at once so severe and inconsistent.
In these few words Newton offers counsel that is biblically wise, balanced, and ready for us to practice on Sunday. At all times we should pray for our pastor and encourage him. At all times we should listen to sermons with discernment. And at some times it may even be appropriate to give our pastor feedback to help him grow.
But we should never listen to sermons with our proverbial arms crossed, as if our pastor were preaching on the American Idol stage, seeking to win the approval of autonomous judges.
Yet this is exactly what happens when hearers base their conclusions about a sermon on personal preference rather than biblical authenticity, writes Newton. To appraise a sermon as a self-appointed judge is simply an inappropriate posture for the listener. However, to eagerly anticipate a sermon and to listen with biblical discernment is a posture of noble worth (Acts 17:11).
Tony Reinke serves as the editorial and research assistant to C.J. Mahaney. Reading Newton’s Mail is a series of blog posts reflecting on various published letters written by John Newton (1725–1807), the onetime captain of a slave trading ship—a self-described apostate, blasphemer, and infidel, who was eventually converted by grace. Newton is most famous for authoring the hymn “Amazing Grace,” or maybe for helping William Wilberforce put an end to the African slave trade in Britain. Less legendarily, Newton faithfully pastored two churches for 43 years, a fruitful period of his life when a majority of his letters were written. Reading Newton’s Mail is published on Fridays here on the Cheap Seats blog.
Source letter: John Newton, Works of John Newton (London: 1820), 1:224-225.
February 18, 2011 by Tony Reinke
Categories: Newton
Each week thousands of sermons are preached in churches. Some of those sermons will be excellent, many of them will be good, and a few of them will stretch the definition of the word “sermon.” But predictably, there will be a number of good and godly pastors who on a given week stand at the pulpit and deliver—well, how shall we say this?—a sermon dud.
John Newton may or may not have preached many duds, but he did put some thought into how we should respond after we hear one.
After addressing the danger of false teaching in one letter (“Error is like poison; the subtlety, quickness, and force of its operation is often amazing”), Newton changes gears to address how we respond to faithful preachers who deliver the occasional dud.
So how should we respond?
When you hear a Gospel sermon, and it is not in all respects to your satisfaction, be not too hasty to lay the whole blame upon the preacher.
Wait. Huh? Blame sharing?
Newton continues:
The Lord’s ministers have not much to say in their own behalf. They feel (it is to be hoped) their own weakness and defects, and the greatness and difficulty of their work. They are conscious that their warmest endeavors to proclaim the Savior’s glory are too cold, and their most importunate addresses to the consciences of men are too faint: and sometimes they are burdened with such discouragements, that even their enemies would pity them if they knew their case.
Do you pity your pastor? Think about the struggles and the sacrifices and the challenges your pastor faces on a regular basis. The demands of pastoral ministry and preaching are great. And on top of the demands, in many cases the pastor carries within himself a greater desire to serve you than he has the gifts to make it happen. This chronic disappointment is a terrible weight upon the soul of a faithful pastor. Perhaps here Newton is writing out of personal experience.
At this point in the letter Newton characteristically turns the table on his reader.
Indeed, they have much to be ashamed of; but it will be more useful for you, who are a hearer, to consider whether the fault may not possibly be in yourself.
He explains:
Perhaps you thought too highly of the man, and expected too much from him.
Perhaps you thought too meanly of him, and expected too little.
In the former case, the Lord justly disappointed you; in the latter, you received according to your faith.
Perhaps you neglected to pray for him; and then, though he might be useful to others, it is not at all strange that he was not so to you.
Or possibly you have indulged a trifling spirit, and brought a dearth [lack] and deadness upon your own soul; for which you had not been duly humbled, and the Lord chose that time to rebuke you.
Strong and helpful words from Newton.
When we hear a sermon dud, what should we remember?
- Our pastor is weak and sinful, and it’s quite likely that he is already aware of this without our help.
- Our pastor carries a heavy burden for the flock, and there is nothing he wants more than to serve the souls in his church (including you).
- Our pastor benefits from our realistic expectations. We should neither puff him up as a celebrity and expect too much, nor diminish him and his gifts and expect too little.
- Our pastor needs our earnest attention and eager hearts on Sunday. How can we be surprised that we gain so little, when our hearts arrive at church so dull and easily distracted?
- Our pastor must have our prayers. We should appear at church having already prayed that God will bless the sermon and affect hearts with the gospel.
Sermons duds are inevitable, but they are not the sole responsibility of the pastor.
Tony Reinke serves as the editorial and research assistant to C.J. Mahaney. Reading Newton’s Mail is a series of blog posts reflecting on various published letters written by John Newton (1725–1807), the onetime captain of a slave trading ship—a self-described apostate, blasphemer, and infidel, who was eventually converted by grace. Newton is most famous for authoring the hymn “Amazing Grace,” or maybe for helping William Wilberforce put an end to the African slave trade in Britain. Less legendarily, Newton faithfully pastored two churches for 43 years, a fruitful period of his life when a majority of his letters were written. Reading Newton’s Mail is published on Fridays here on the Cheap Seats blog.
Source letter: John Newton, Works of John Newton (London: 1820), 1:224.
February 11, 2011 by Tony Reinke
Categories: Newton
Christians have a long list of daily priorities. Two of the most important priorities are voiced in these two questions:
- How do I focus my life on God’s priorities in the midst of such a busy and complex life?
- How do I grow in demonstrating deeper love to others in the midst of what is often a very self-centered life?
On the surface, these questions may seem unrelated, but for John Newton simplicity and sincerity were indivisible.
For Newton, these two topics merge in the Apostle Paul’s proclamation: “For our boast is this, the testimony of our conscience, that we behaved in the world with simplicity and godly sincerity, not by earthly wisdom but by the grace of God” (2 Cor. 1:12).
From this passage Newton coined an important axiom for the Christian life: vertical simplicity in our relationship with God leads to horizontal sincerity in our relationships with others.
Let me explain how he makes this connection.
Vertical Simplicity
To be simple is to be single-minded, to have one aim, no hidden agendas, and no selfish ambition. Simplicity is another word for “pure devotion,” and it is evidenced by a fear of God in all of life (2 Corinthians 11:3, Colossians 3:22).
The simple heart is revealed in two ways: simplicity of intention and simplicity of dependence.
The Christian seeks to live with simplicity of intention. By this Newton means that the Christian has “but one leading aim,” and it is this: “to yield ourselves to him [God], so as to place our happiness in his favor, and to make his glory and will the ultimate scope of all our actions.” The Christian can (and should) peer through the busyness and fog of life with the single aim of pleasing God in all things. This is simplicity of intention.
Secondly, the Christian seeks to live with simplicity of dependence. This is a “faith in the power and promises of God” that “inspires a noble simplicity, and casts every care upon him, who is able and has engaged to support and provide.” This simple-hearted dependence is the fruit of the gospel in the heart.
The true simplicity, which is the honor and strength of a believer, is the effect of a spiritual perception of the truths of the Gospel. It arises from, and bears a proportion to, the sense we have of our own unworthiness, the power and grace of Christ, and the greatness of our obligations to him. So far as our knowledge of these things is vital and experimental, it will make us simple-hearted.
As we look to our own spiritual weaknesses, our obligations to God, our desperate need for the grace of God and the gospel, we begin to see our dependence. This need brings us to wholehearted trust in God. This is what it means to live in simplicity before God.
Simplicity is forever. This single aim—to live eternally for God’s glory, and to live in full dependence upon him—is what draws together all the Christians on earth, all the Christians in glory, and all the angels in heaven, into a unified chorus of eternal praise to the Savior (Revelation 5:6–14).* And it’s a simplicity we need for today.
Horizontal Sincerity
But what about the other question, the one about displaying genuine love toward one another? The ability to love with sincerity is bound up with a life of simplicity. Newton writes, “I need not take time to prove, that the effect of simplicity will be sincerity.” Of course not. Simplicity in our aim (glorifying God alone) will influence our treatment of others.
Their behavior will be all of a piece, because they have but one design. They will speak the truth in love, observe a strict punctuality in their dealings, and do unto others they would others should do unto them; because these things are essential to their great aim of glorifying and enjoying their Lord.
This explains why for Newton, vertical simplicity in our relationship with God leads to horizontal sincerity in our relationships with others. The outward expression of sincere love hinges upon our simplicity before God. Or to put it another way, the drive behind our love for others is a singular life purpose to live for God’s glory.
May God give us more of this simple-hearted dependence upon the gospel, that we may more and more echo Paul’s words. May we strive to live as single-minded Christians who honor God by loving and serving others from a heart of sincerity.
Note: As an aside, this same theme rings in the missional motives of Jonathan Edwards. To read more about how vertical simplicity creates a horizontal compassion for the lost, see John Piper, Let the Nations Be Glad! (Baker, 2010), chapter 6: “A Passion for God’s Supremacy and Compassion for Man’s Soul: Jonathan Edwards on the Unity of Motives for World Missions.”
Tony Reinke serves as the editorial and research assistant to C.J. Mahaney. Reading Newton’s Mail is a series of blog posts reflecting on various published letters written by John Newton (1725–1807), the onetime captain of a slave trading ship—a self-described apostate, blasphemer, and infidel, who was eventually converted by grace. Newton is most famous for authoring the hymn “Amazing Grace,” or maybe for helping William Wilberforce put an end to the African slave trade in Britain. Less legendarily, Newton faithfully pastored two churches for 43 years, a fruitful period of his life when a majority of his letters were written. Reading Newton’s Mail is published on Fridays here on the Cheap Seats blog.
Primary source letter: John Newton, Works of John Newton (London: 1820), 1:298–304. Secondary reference: *Works, 4:571.
February 4, 2011 by Tony Reinke
Categories: Newton
Rev. Joshua Symonds (1739–1788) was the pastor of a church in Bedford, England who suffered from frequent afflictions, temptations, and what we might call depression—“family cares and severe bodily affliction sometimes cast a gloom over his spirit and led him to take desponding views of himself” [1]. Symonds’s despondency and sense of personal worthlessness engrossed his life, which is made clear in the letters he exchanged with his friend John Newton.
Symonds was aware of his own depravity and spiritual barrenness. But the bigger problem in Symonds’s life was not in thinking too lowly of himself, but in thinking too lowly of the Savior. He was sliding into legalism. He was aware of his own sinfulness, but unable to appreciate the all-sufficiency of the Savior.
Writes Newton,
You say, you find it hard to believe it compatible with the divine purity to embrace or employ such a monster as yourself. You express not only a low opinion of yourself, which is right, but too low an opinion of the person, work, and promises of the Redeemer; which is certainly wrong.
And therein is the danger of understanding total depravity without understanding the sufficiency of the Savior.
Satan’s School of Humility
So what went wrong in his friend’s thinking?
According to Newton, Symonds had been duped in Satan’s “school of humility,” where humility is twisted and distorted into prideful self-loathing that pushes the Savior away.
Satan transforms himself into an angel of light. He sometimes offers to teach us humility; but though I wish to be humble, I desire not to learn in this school. His premises perhaps are true, that we are vile, wretched creatures—but he then draws abominable conclusions from them; and would teach us, that, therefore, we ought to question either the power, or the willingness, or the faithfulness of Christ.
Indeed, though our complaints are good, so far as they spring from a dislike of sin; yet, when we come to examine them closely, there is often so much self-will, self-righteousness, unbelief, pride, and impatience mingled with them, that they are little better than the worst evils we can complain of.
Tim Keller quotes and explains the significance of Newton's words in his forthcoming book King's Cross: The Story of the World in the Life of Jesus. Keller writes,
There are two ways to fail to let Jesus be your Savior. One is by being too proud, having a superiority complex—not to accept his challenge. But the other is through an inferiority complex—being so self-absorbed that you say, “I’m just so awful that God can’t love me.” That is, not to accept his offer.
And that is how Satan turns humility into false humility, false humility into despondency, and despondency into an inferiority complex that pushes away the gospel.
Looking Directly to Jesus
Newton was keenly aware that at the root of Symonds’s problems were his small thoughts about the Savior. Symonds was tempted to see himself as unworthy of the gospel, the very gospel that invites the most unworthy sinners.
Newton writes,
You have not, you cannot have, anything in the sight of God, but what you derive from the righteousness and atonement of Jesus. If you could keep him more constantly in view, you would be more comfortable. He would be more honored.…Let us pray that we may be enabled to follow the apostle’s, or rather the Lord’s command by him, Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say, Rejoice [Philippians 4:4]. We have little to rejoice in ourselves, but we have right and reason to rejoice in him.
And in a later letter Newton writes,
The best evidence of faith is shutting our eyes equally upon our defects and our graces, and looking directly to Jesus as clothed with authority and power to save to the uttermost....Plead the Apostle’s argument (Romans 8:31–39) before the Lord and against Satan. [2]
We find no eternal hope within ourselves. Revisiting personal depravity is not the solution. Revisiting past periods of spiritual strength is not the solution. Prolonged introspection is not the solution. The solution is to look outside of ourselves, and to gaze again and again at the all-sufficient Savior who welcomes sinners, forgives sinners, and saves sinners to the uttermost (Hebrews 7:25).
In other words, Christ is powerful to save, he is faithful to save, and he is willing to save even the most “monstrous” of sinners.
Conclusion
Rev. Joshua Symonds died at the age of 49. His life was difficult, but in his last days he wrote that the Savior “filled him with a steady, constant peace, and sometimes with unutterable joy and transport” [3].
There can be little doubt that his joy-filled confidence in the Savior at the end of his life was deeply shaped by the caring wisdom that he read in the letters penned by his friend John Newton.
Tony Reinke serves as the editorial and research assistant to C.J. Mahaney. Reading Newton’s Mail is a series of blog posts reflecting on various published letters written by John Newton (1725–1807), the onetime captain of a slave trading ship—a self-described apostate, blasphemer, and infidel, who was eventually converted by grace. Newton is most famous for authoring the hymn “Amazing Grace,” or maybe for helping William Wilberforce put an end to the African slave trade in Britain. Less legendarily, Newton faithfully pastored two churches for 43 years, a fruitful period of his life when a majority of his letters were written. Reading Newton’s Mail is published on Fridays here on the Cheap Seats blog.
Primary source letter: John Newton, Works of John Newton (London: 1820), 6:185–187. Secondary sources: [1] Letters of John Newton (Edinburgh; Banner of Truth: 1869/2007), 167. [2] Letters, 173. [3] Letters, 168.