John Urquhart, part 16: An Urgent Appeal to a Brother (concluded)

Yesterday was the first part of a burdened letter from John to his brother David. He dreaded the thought of leaving Scotland—“for ever,” as he expected—without the knowledge that his own brother was truly a Christian. He has wept for David, he has prayed for David, and now he pleads with David that he not be content with the outward forms of a cultural Christianity. His final paragraph is a model of a firm yet gentle appeal. There isn’t a clear record of David’s response to this letter, but the fact that he saved it and that it was made available to John’s biographer just a year later seems to indicate that he did not reject John’s words, and may in the end have embraced them.

I have written these lines for you own private perusal; and therefore I have laid aside that veil of propriety, by which, in ordinary life, we are accustomed to conceal our feelings, and I have laid open my heart before you. I do not think you have the hardness to laugh at my concern on your account; but if even this should be the effect of this letter, still I shall not regret that I have told you all I feel. This letter has been preceded and accompanied with prayer; and part of it has been written in tears. God is sometimes pleased to work by the most insignificant agents; and I am not without the hope, that by the blessing of his Spirit, these confused expressions of a brother’s heart-felt desire for your salvation, may be made the means of softening your heart, and leading you to receive the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ with humility, and with joy.

There is one circumstance, my dear brother, which has especially led me to open my heart before you at present, and to urge thus solemnly and earnestly upon you, the acceptance of the gospel. You have heard, probably, that I have determined to spend my life preaching to the heathen. I feel that even the most innocent pleasures of this life, are unsatisfactory; and, in many instances, tend to draw the mind from heavenly objects. And, from all the information I can collect, I am convinced that I can serve my God more effectually, by declaring his name where it has never been declared before, than by repeating the gospel to those who have often heard, and as often refused it. But the thought that I am soon to leave this land, never to return, makes me to feel it a more urgent duty, while I remain, to press the truths of the gospel on the attention of those who are my countrymen; and especially, to warn most solemnly, and most earnestly to persuade those who are dearest to me by the ties of nature.

A few months, my dear brother, and our earthly conversations must be for ever at an end. Shall I hope to meet you in Heaven? O! give me an answer to this question, for on yourself its answer depends. I confess, that in the prospect of leaving my parents, one half of the great burden that lies upon my mind, would be removed, if I could confidently rely on the religious principles of my sister, and especially of yourself, who, in a short time, will be their only son, and almost their only earthly protector. These are occurrences which must here present themselves to your mind; which, you must know, wound my feelings most deeply, in the prospect of separation, but these I will not call to mind. O, that the God of the families of Israel, may cause his peace to abide upon my father’s house!

You know that my parents feel deeply at the thought of my departure. I am sure, that if they could feel a thorough confidence in you, my brother, it would go far to reconcile them to what I believe to be the will of God concerning me. I know, my dear David, that you are often placed in difficult circumstances; but a belief of the gospel, and a spirit of prayer, will go far to enable you to act calmly and meekly, under the most trying circumstances. Believe in Jesus Christ, and look to him, and in looking to him, you will reflect his image; you will become like him, when you are reviled, not to revile again; and even when you suffer, not to threaten.

You see, my brother, I have many reasons for urging upon you these solemn warnings, and earnest entreaties. I beseech you to believe in Christ. I beseech you to take his yoke upon you, and learn of him, for ‘his yoke is easy and his burden is light.’ I beseech you to learn of him to be meek and lowly. I entreat you to do these things, if you would save your own soul; if you would fulfil the best and most earnest wishes of an affectionate and only brother; if you would, in some degree, alleviate the sorrow of one who is soon to part with all he holds dear on earth; and, finally, if you would comfort our bereaved parents; if you fill in the gap which the unstoppable hand of death has so recently made in our family, and which the calls of duty must soon make again, in that little family, which I must try to think no longer my home.