The Cornerstone
a brief life of John Murray for young people, by Irene Carrow Rees
VII. The Call of the Spirit
Weeks and months dragged wearily away. Mr. Murray's interest in life did not revive. He shunned society and found his greatest happiness in meditating on that bright world to which he hoped he was hastening. He had yet to learn that grief rarely kills the young and vigorous.
During these dark days his one true friend was the man London reviled and hated, Mr. Relly. In their long walks together Relly urged him to forget his selfish sorrow in serving others by preaching the new doctrine of hope. Even his patient efforts failed to arouse Mr. Murray, who mournfully replied, "I wish to pass through life unheard, unseen, unknown to all, as though I had never been."
At the home of one of Relly's friends he met a gentleman from America whose descriptions of the new country fascinated him. His old love of travel revived, but this time it was the vast solitudes in which to bury himself at the end of the journey which were the lure. Going to America in those days was equivalent to going out of the world, and his mother and brothers ridiculed the idea of his giving up a pleasant home and good prospects for a life in the wilderness.
After days and nights of prayer and deliberation, he engaged passage on the brig Hand-in-Hand, sailing for New York. The parting with his mother was a bitter one for both. It was extremely improbable that he would ever return to England and he begged her to think of him as one dead. William Neale, a faithful brother to the last, went with him as far as Gravesend. The wind being unfavorable the ship could not sail at once and Mr. Murray, weary of waiting on board, climbed a high hill overlooking the ocean and sat down beneath a tree. While he was sadly meditating, the wind shifted and he saw the signal for departure hoisted on the vessel. He fell on his knees and, in a voice broken with emotion, prayed fervently till he heard an inward voice bidding him "Be of good cheer, your God is with you." He arose and went on board with a lighter heart. At sunset on this Saturday evening, July 21, 1770, the Hand-in-Hand dropped down stream with the tide.
The next morning when they rounded Beachy Head and Murray saw the white cliffs of England fast receding, he went below to his cabin and wept till he was exhausted. The voyage passed more pleasantly than he expected. He was a good sailor and there was much he could do for others not so fortunate. The wonderful changes in sky and sea interested him and supplied exciting experiences. They barely escaped a waterspout and one beautiful, moonlight night in mid-Atlantic, the vessel struck a whale with sufficient force to throw many of the passengers from their seats.
As he neared the shores of the New World he felt neither hope nor fear. He had no plans and no friends in America to lend a helping hand, having refused several letters of introduction because they would defeat his purpose of solitude. He bad brought with him some money, much clothing, many letters written by his wife and a Bible. He felt himself rich.
When the ship was within three days of New York, they bespoke a vessel bound for England whose captain was questioned by the owner of the Hand-in-Hand about trade conditions in America. He was told there was a ready market for goods in Philadelphia but that New York was still bound to a non-importation agreement. Immediately the captain of the Hand-in-Hand received orders to change his course to Philadelphia. The pilot, whom they took on board two days later, flatly contradicted the previous information and, not knowing which to believe, the merchant decided to continue to Philadelphia to find out the truth for himself. If the pilot was correct he could then proceed to New York with all possible dispatch.
They sailed up the beautiful Delaware on a perfect September day. The scene to those who had been many weeks out of sight of land was especially enchanting. They went ashore for corn and fruit and Mr. Murray was surprised to see a woman in a log house dressing a duck for dinner. Ducks in London were a sign of opulence. Also, the well-laden peach trees in her garden astonished and delighted him. At Philadelphia he was still further amazed to find a city of such size and appearance. His opinions of the New World were rapidly changing.
The Captain feared it was a disappointment not to land in New York. Mr. Murray assured him that all places were alike to him and asked to be recommended to a private lodging. When nothing satisfactory could be secured the captain suggested that Mr. Murray go by land to New York, but the stage which ran only at infrequent intervals had already gone. It was then decided that he remain on the vessel which was to sail for New York the next morning. He was the only passenger, the others having left at Philadelphia.
When they supposed themselves just outside New York harbor they ran into a dense fog. The Captain hailed a sloop he saw indistinctly through the mist and asked the distance from Sandy Hook. Understanding the answer to be seven miles, instead of seventy, they kept on their course and very shortly found themselves among the breakers. The vessel touched upon a sand bar but passed safely over. When the fog lifted, as suddenly as it had shut down, the Hand-in-Hand was nearly on shore and the anchors were hastily lowered to keep her from drifting. They were in a little bay on the Jersey coast called Cranberry Inlet, at what is now Good Luck. The sloop was anchored near them.
At first the captain feared they were hopelessly grounded but by removing part of the cargo to the sloop which was hired for the purpose, the Hand-in-Hand was able to cross the bar next morning at high tide. The captain signaled the sloop to follow, but before she could do so the wind shifted and she was left in the inlet.
Mr. Murray was on the sloop, the captain having, with many apologies, asked him to remain there the night before, as the cargo was too valuable to be left to the care of common sailors. There were no provisions on board, so locking the hatches, Mr. Murray and the men went on shore in search of supplies.
There was a small tavern where the crew stopped for refreshments, but Mr. Murray wandered on through the woods till he came to a single log house. At the door was a girl cleaning a fresh fish which he offered to buy. She refused to sell, telling him he could get plenty at the next house. He pointed to a substantial dwelling just visible in a wood and asked if that was the place.
"Oh, no," she replied, "that is the meeting house. Pass that and a little farther on you will come to the house I mean."
Mr. Murray's amazement knew no bounds. Wonders would never cease in this New World. Here was a good sized meeting house set in dense woods! What possible need of it could there be in such a wilderness?
He followed the girl's directions and soon came upon the second house, before which was a large pile of fish of various sorts. At a little distance stood a tall, rough looking man, who received him with great courtesy. On learning Mr. Murray's errand, he told him to help himself, even sending a servant to the tavern with the fish, but firmly refusing any pay. Since be had taken the fish from the water for nothing, others should have them just as freely, he said. Mr. Murray declined his invitation to supper, saying he must return to see that the sailors were cared for properly.
"Then," said the stranger, "come back and spend the night with me; you will be better accommodated than at the tavern."
Mr. Murray gratefully accepted and on his return found a cheerful fire burning on the hearth and received a cordial if singular welcome from his host.
"Come, my friend," said he, drawing up a chair for Mr. Murray, "I am glad you are here for I have been expecting you a long time and have much to say to you."
"I do not understand. What do you mean?" asked Murray in surprise.
By way of reply, his host, whose name he had learned was Thomas Potter, told the story of his life. How his early days had been spent on a man-of-war from which he bad run away: how he had constructed a sawmill and increased his farm lands. Everything to which he put his hand had prospered, though he was a man of no education, not being able to either read or write. He had no children to inherit his wealth and because God had blessed his undertakings he determined to build a church for His worship. He refused to allow his neighbors to share the expense.
"The Lord has given me enough to do this work alone," he told them, "and what he has put in my heart to do, I will do."
Then some one asked, Who will be your preacher?"
"The God who has put it into my heart to build this house will send me a preacher," he replied, "and a very different one from those we have ever known. He will not contradict himself but will preach the truth as it is in Jesus."
"When the house was finished," he told Mr. Murray, "the Baptists applied for it. 'If you can prove to me that God Almighty is a Baptist,' I answered, 'you may have it.' I said the same to the Quakers and Presbyterians. Firmly believing that all mankind were equally dear to God, I declared that all should be equally welcome in the house which I had built."
Mr. Potter's friends prophesied that a preacher with views similar to his own would never appear. By and by these same friends laughed as they asked him, "Where is the preacher of whom you spoke?" The reply was always the same. "He will by and by make his appearance."
"Now," continued Mr. Potter, leaning toward Mr. Murray, his eyes glowing in the firelight, "When I saw your vessel on shore I heard a voice say to me 'In that vessel, Potter, is the preacher you have been watching for.' I not only heard the voice but believed it, and when you came to my door and asked for fish, I heard the same voice repeat, 'This is the man I have sent to preach in your meeting house."
"I cannot understand it! What could you see in me to make you think me a preacher?" exclaimed Mr. Murray.
"What could I see when you were in the vessel?" responded Mr. Potter. "I tell you it is not what I saw or see but what I feel that makes me sure."
Mr. Murray was amazed and exceedingly troubled. Long they sat in silence, broken only by the soft dropping from the logs. The firelight played on the great beams of the room and on the faces of the two men, the one bronzed and weatherbeaten but alight with inward fire, the other young, sensitive, and shadowed by trouble.
"You are deceived," Mr. Murray at last exclaimed vehemently. "I am only a broken-hearted man come to find peaceful retirement in America. I shall never preach here nor anywhere else."
"Do you not feel that God has especially shown you his truth?"
"I trust he has."
"Then how dare you hide it from others? You cannot say that you have never preached?"
"No, but I never shall again. Furthermore, I have no time even if I had the spirit. I am here in charge of valuable goods and must sail for New York to relieve the anxiety of the owner as soon as there is a favorable wind."
"The wind," responded his new friend, "will never change, sir, till you have delivered to us in that meeting house a message from God."
Mr. Murray relapsed into anxious thought, his eyes on the fire. The more he reflected, the more he wished he had never left England.
Mr. Potter eagerly watched his guest's changing face which revealed the inward conflict. At last Mr. Murray rose abruptly and begged to be shown to his room.
"Before you go, will you not lead the family in prayer?" asked Mr. Potter.
"Willingly," replied Mr. Murray.
At the door of the chamber, Mr. Potter
grasped his hand, saying gravely, "Think over well all I have said."
The request was unnecessary. Mr. Murray could think of nothing else. In great distress, be spent most of the night either on his knees in prayer or walking the floor. If it was not God's leading which had brought him through a series of accidents into an insignificant inlet which had never before harbored a vessel the size of the Hand-in-Hand it was at least a curious coincidence.
The idea of appearing before people to preach, of making a public exhibition of himself, was to his desolate heart intolerable. He knew how Relly had been persecuted in England, and the contempt and disaster which had been heaped upon himself. If he preached Universal Redemption in this New World, he must face alone the united opposition of the clergy. He had suffered enough. He felt there was no fight left in him. To be let alone was all he asked. If it was indeed God's will that he preach, he was willing to make the personal sacrifice, but would God have chosen a broken reed as his instrument? It occurred to him to take the shifting of the wind as a sign. Should it change, he would go. The long hours of the night dragged painfully away and the next morning he felt sick in mind and body.
The next few days were days of struggle. Mr. Potter was not easy to resist. To him every event in Mr. Murray's life which had led to his seeking the New World, every failure of the captain to carry out his purpose, had been a divine leading to bring his preacher to Good Luck. Toward the end of the week, Mr. Potter asked if Mr. Murray would not at least consent to preach for him and his neighbors the following Sunday in the meeting house. Seeing only the tavern and one other house in the thick woods, Mr. Murray inquired whom he meant by neighbors.
"Oh, there is no trouble about neighbors, " said Mr. Potter. "In a radius of twenty miles, we can gather more than seven hundred people."
When Saturday morning came and no change of wind, Mr. Potter begged to be allowed to send the servants to give notice of a meeting the next day. Mr. Murray would not permit it.
"If the wind changes this afternoon, I shall still go," he said.
No one knows what he suff ered in this conflict between duty and inclination. As evening approached, he reluctantly consented to allow Mr. Potter to dispatch his men on horseback to announce a Sunday service. They rode until ten that night, spreading the news far and wide.
Mr. Murray could not sleep. During the long hours before dawn be tried in vain to decide on some plan of discourse for the next day, and at last determined to trust in Christ's promise to his disciples, "It shall be given you in that same hour what ye shall say." His inspiration should be another sign. If God put no words in his mouth, he was not His chosen courier.
The next morning, the thirtieth of September, 1770, dawned clear and beautiful. The household was early astir and Mr. Potter, confident that the dream of his life was about to be realized, went jubilantly about the preparations for the day's service. Very different were Mr. Murray's feelings; he awaited the hour with nervous dread.
Soon the thud of horses' hoofs on the soft green turf broke the Sabbath stillness. From all directions the people began to approach. Some arrived by boat from along the shore, but mostly they were on horseback, the wives and sweethearts on pillions behind their men. Down the cool green forest trails they came, and along the winding lanes between the ripened harvest fields. Many had been obliged to leave home at daybreak, but the lives of these country folk were not so full that they were unwilling to make sacrifice to hear the word of the Lord. They filled the meeting house. They crowded the doorway and the windows left open to admit the fresh sea air.
It was a silent, reverential company that Mr. Murray faced when he ascended the small pulpit. Directly beneath him sat Mr. Potter, tears streaming down his sun-burned checks his face glowing with faith and joy.
Of that first Universalist sermon to be preached in America there is no record, but we do know that the God he trusted inspired him. Not only did he greatly move his hearers, but he preached the cloud from his own soul as well. When he returned to the house Mr. Potter caught him in his arms, exclaiming, "Now, I am willing to depart. I will praise the Lord, for he has sent me my heart's desire."
The people poured into the house from the church, eager to greet the new preacher. Mr. Potter shook the hand of each one, saying fervently, "This is the happiest day of my life. There is the minister God has promised to send me."
Mr. Murray was overcome with emotion and breaking away from those who thronged about him, he hurried to his room and dropped to his knees. "I am, O Lord God, as clay in Thy hand. Do with me as Thou wilt. If Thou hast brought me to a new world to make known the grace and blessing of a new covenant, be it so, but do not leave me for one instant for without Thee I can do nothing." So he prayed.
Immediately on his return to the company, a sailor approached and whispered "The wind is fair, sir."
"Very well," replied Mr. Murray. "We will sail at once."
Mr. Potter was loath to part with him. I am afraid when you get to New York you will forget the man to whom your Master sent you," he cried, warmly embracing him.
"There is nothing to make me stay," said Mr. Murray, "I know not a soul."
"Ah, my friend, there are many in New York who will love and admire you and will wish to keep you in the city," said Mr. Potter, shaking his head, " but I know you will keep your promise and return to me. In the meantime, may the God of heaven be with you."
Mr. Murray was too moved to answer and after a silent embrace hurried on board. There he found his generous friend had abundantly stocked the sloop with provisions for the voyage.
At sunset Mr. Potter stood on shore and watched the little vessel slip easily over the bar and disappear on the darkening ocean beyond. At its prow stood a solitary man who was never again to shrink from the task set him by his Master.