Category Archives: Edward Taylor

Edward Taylor, Meditation 37.2, My soul, Lord, quails

14 Friday Jan 2022

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Shall I thy vine branch be, yet grapes none bear?

Graft in thy olive stand; and fatness lack?

A shackeroon, a rangel, yet an heir?

Thy spouse, yet, oh! My wedding ring thus slack?

Should angel-feathers plume my cap, I should

Be swashed? But oh! My heart hereat grows cold.

The words:

Daniel Patterson assumes shackeroon  to be a variant on “shackerell,” an obsolete word for vagabond.

Swash is to be worthless.

A rangel must obviously be something of a similar sort. Rangle is gravel fed to hawks to help with digestion, so perhaps this is an alternative spelling.

Summary: Should I be a fine thing in name and yet a wretched thing in actuality? This idea chills my heart.

The Comparisons:

He gives a series of six images in contrast: grape vine, olive tree, heir, spouse, dressed with angel-feathers in his cap.

With the exception of the final image, the images are all important pictures of the way the Christian is said to relate to God.

The Grape Vine

This image comes from John 15, and has particular poignancy here. The nature of the image is that the believer is said to abide as a branch in the grape vine of Christ. Christ provides growth and fruitfulness. If one lacks fruitfulness, it is a dead vine to be pruned.

The passage reads:

 “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. 2 Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. 3 Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. 4 Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. 6 If anyone does not abide in me he is thrown away like a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. 7 If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. 8 By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples.”

John 15:1–8 (ESV)

The Olive Stand

This image comes from the 11th Chapter of Romans, and concerns the complicated issue about the relationship of the Covenant People of Israel from before the coming of Christ with the current church. The details of that theological dispute are not critical for this poem. What is important is that God broke off branches and then grafted in branches onto the olive tree. Someone like Taylor would be a wild branch grafted into the tree. But that grafting again comes with a warning (which I have highlighted):

17 But if some of the branches were broken off, and you, although a wild olive shoot, were grafted in among the others and now share in the nourishing root of the olive tree, 18 do not be arrogant toward the branches. If you are, remember it is not you who support the root, but the root that supports you. 19 Then you will say, “Branches were broken off so that I might be grafted in.” 20 That is true. They were broken off because of their unbelief, but you stand fast through faith. So do not become proud, but fear. 21 For if God did not spare the natural branches, neither will he spare you. 22 Note then the kindness and the severity of God: severity toward those who have fallen, but God’s kindness to you, provided you continue in his kindness. Otherwise you too will be cut off. 23 And even they, if they do not continue in their unbelief, will be grafted in, for God has the power to graft them in again. 24 For if you were cut from what is by nature a wild olive tree, and grafted, contrary to nature, into a cultivated olive tree, how much more will these, the natural branches, be grafted back into their own olive tree.

Romans 11:17–24 (ESV).

Thus, the first two images do not convey merely the idea that he is not living up to the ideal; they also convey that he may be an imposter. Although not explicitly alluded two in this stanza, there is an idea from the Sermon on the Mount which may be lurking in the choice of these allusions:

21 “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. 22 On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’ 23 And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’

Matthew 7:21–23 (ESV)

An Heir

This is a substantially more encouraging image. In the 8th Chapter of Romans, Paul refers to believers as “joint heirs with Christ”; and this is made as a matter of comfort and assurance:

15 For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!” 16 The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, 17 and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.

Romans 8:15–17 (ESV)

A Spouse

While the language of heir includes a conditional (“if we suffer with him”), the language of the spouse, found in both Ephesians and Hosea is even more encouraging. The spouse will not be lost:

The first example comes the prophet Hosea, who refers to Israel as the Bride of God. Israel’s sin will be put away and she will be reconciled and not lost to God:

16 “And in that day, declares the Lord, you will call me ‘My Husband,’ and no longer will you call me ‘My Baal.’ 17 For I will remove the names of the Baals from her mouth, and they shall be remembered by name no more. 18 And I will make for them a covenant on that day with the beasts of the field, the birds of the heavens, and the creeping things of the ground. And I will abolish the bow, the sword, and war from the land, and I will make you lie down in safety. 19 And I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy.

Hosea 2:16–19 (ESV). There is a pun here which makes little sense in English. The words “Baal-i” mean “my Lord, master”.  This can be used as a reference to the god “Baal” or can be used of a husband. But it does create a subservient position for the wife. In place of that word, God says you will call me “husband.” Here is the more technical and detailed explanation:

The second level is that of vocabulary at home with Hosea and his audience but not so with modern readers. In classical Hebrew the familiar terms ʾîš (“man”) and ʾiššâ (“woman”) also express what modern readers understand by husband and wife. Thus in 2:2 one could translate quite literally: “She is not my woman and I am not her man.” The noun baʿal means “owner, master, lord,” and in certain contexts “husband.”12 Both senses of the word are presupposed here in 2:16. In the patriarchal, non-Western societies of ancient Canaan, a husband was the owner and master of his household, which included his wife. In a few instances in the OT the related verb bāʿal is used with the meaning “to marry, to take a wife.” A wife, furthermore, could be described as bĕʿûlâ, a feminine passive form, meaning “possessed [by a husband],” i.e., married. And as a noun, baʿal also is used for Canaanite deities. They were masters of certain powers and possessors/owners of property and people. “Baal” is not a proper name, even though in reference to deities it often functions like one. A Canaanite god called upon as Baal would additionally have one or more names and perhaps some epithets. The same thing can be said for a goddess, if called upon as baʿălâ/baʿălat. A modern parallel is the invocation of a deity as “Lord.”

The declaration in 2:16 that Israel will no longer call YHWH ba‘al presupposes that some in Israel had called upon YHWH with this common noun, a term completely at home in the eastern Mediterranean, especially in the Phoenician-influenced areas. To call YHWH ba‘al carried with it, at least in Hosea’s eyes, an unacceptable form of syncretism with the broader Canaanite culture of which Israel was nevertheless a constituent part. YHWH was worshiped as a deity in the land of Canaan, but for Hosea not all attributes of the Canaanite deities could be applied to the one Lord of Israel.

YHWH should no longer be called ba‘al, but it would be a sign of covenant intimacy to call him husband (ʾîš). It is a metaphor, signifying intimacy as well as indicating more mutuality between God and people than was found in the hierarchy and role specificity of a Canaanite pantheon. As the gracious giver of a covenant to Israel, YHWH is the father, husband, and owner of the people. These are his identities in his relationship to Israel, reflecting modes of his self-revelation. And in his household he can be known by the simplest relational term, ʾîš. Nevertheless, YHWH is no more essentially male than collective Israel or Samaria are female. In the comprehensiveness of his being, YHWH had attributes that belonged to various deities in the Canaanite world. These attributes were not uncritically assimilated to him, and as the comprehensive Lord for Israel, YHWH transcends a defining by gender.

J. Andrew Dearman, The Book of Hosea, The New International Commentary on the Old and New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI; Cambridge, U.K.: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2010), 123–124.

The second example would be from Ephesians, where Paul speaks of human marriage and the image of the marriage between Christ and the Church. What is of primary importance for our allusion is not merely the fact that spouse is appropriate, but further that the husband is love and give himself up for the wife:

28 In the same way husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. 29 For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ does the church, 30 because we are members of his body. 31 “Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.”

Ephesians 5:28–31 (ESV)

The love of the spouse is overwhelming, unchanging, and thus should be transformative. As Paul writes in another place, “For the love of Christ controls us.” 2 Cor. 4:14

An Angel Feather

This last image has no parallel in Scripture, but would be an image following upon the first stanza’s references to “livery.”  If I graced with an Angel Feather, I am a courtier of the heavenly court, then why?

His Failures

Understanding the images we can easily see the failures:

Shall I thy vine branch be, yet grapes none bear?

A grape vine should grow grapes. If it does not, is it a grape vine?

Graft in thy olive stand; and fatness lack?

Fat would be the oil: If I am an “olive tree” and don’t bear olives, then what am I?

A shackeroon, a rangel, yet an heir?

A joint heir with Christ would own all things. This is underscored by the passage upon which the poem is based, “All things are yours … Christ is yours.” If I have an heirship in all things, then how could I be dressed a homeless vagrant?

Thy spouse, yet, oh! My wedding ring thus slack?

If I am a true spouse, why have I lost my wedding ring?

Should angel-feathers plume my cap, I should

Be swashed?

If I am a courtier of heaven, then why am I worthless?

The conclusion

But oh! My heart hereat grows cold.

The first two images came with startling warnings (You will be burned). The third image came as a conditional. The fourth image came with a promise (but does not that promise apply to me?). The final image comes as a confession by a traitor.

As he contemplates this, it freezes him: am I being judged?

Edward Taylor, Meditation 37, My soul, Lord, quails

08 Saturday Jan 2022

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My soul, Lord, quails to think that I should be

So high related, have such colors fair

Stick in my hat, from heaven: yet should see

My soul thus blotcht. Hell’s livery to bear.

What thine? New naturalized? Yet this relation

Thus barren, though’t’s a privilege-foundation?

The motto for this poem is again 1 Cor. 3:23, and here he has come to the words, “You are Christ’s.” And so, the poet contemplates what does this mean, I belong to Christ.

In this stanza, he compares himself to an attendant upon a king who wears the king’s uniform and yet seems himself as the ultimate imposture: I belong to this King in all my privilege and uniform, but look at me! I am not what my title claims.

The effect of this incongruity is fear and confession

My soul, Lord, quails

Quail is an archaic if not obsolete word by our day. The root meaning is along the lines of becoming ill. Entymology online gives this useful note: “Sense of “lose heart or courage, shrink before a danger or difficulty, cower” is attested from 1550s. According to OED, the word was common 1520-1650, then rare until 19c., when apparently it was revived by Scott. Related: Quailed; quailing.”

And thus, the word “quail” is especially fitting here: The poet is losing heart, I will be found out and found to be an impostor.  It is also interesting that it is his “soul” which quails. My life at its base, the thing I am: I am growing fearful at my core.

The break in the second foot, and the piled accents, opens the poem in a slow, even deliberate manner:

my SOUL [pause] LORD [pause] QUAILS

It frames the whole of the poem.

The poem then moves paradoxically to not a fearful thing but something which would seemingly bring joy:

                        to think that I should be

So high related, have such colors fair

Stick in my hat, from heaven

He has a claim to relationship with the King. He has fine clothing “colors fair”. Next there is a “stick in my hat.” I don’t know the details of 17th century court dress well enough to know if there was a stick which was displayed in a hat, or whether this was a mistake for “stick in hand,” which would then refer to some sort of cane.  The whole is “from heaven.”

What then is the problem?

                        yet should see

My soul thus blotcht.

Even though I dress so well, my soul – the soul has now returned as the scene of the crime—is “bloched.” His soul is stained. Underneath the heavenly dress, hidden from view in the soul, is a stain. I look like one thing but in my soul, I am another.

The whole is then reversed: Rather than being heaven’s livery, he is bearing the livery of hell!  His fearfulness is not merely the fear of the impostor, it is the fear of the traitor. I am in the court of a king and I am showing loyalty to his enemy.

At this point, an aspect of Taylor’s psychology, which is profoundly different from our post-Rousseau, post-Freud world. He does not look at the “natural” bent of his desire as good and “authentic” and his “true” self. That is the posture of therapy which seeks to have us feel good about desires (whatsoever they may be). Instead, Taylor would see this self as “natural” and corrupt. He does not begin with the premise that whatever he happens to want is morally neutral and good only because he wants it (“love is love”).

What is good and true is not defined by the desires of Taylor’s soul, but by the Lord of Taylor’s soul. The Lord has come to raise Taylor up. That is an idea which lies at the heart of Taylor’s project, but it is an idea which utterly foreign to our culture.

Taylor’s calls this rebellion, “Hell’s livery.”  And this is the paradox in Christianity: God’s love for his enemies. But it is not a love which merely receives the “prostitutes and sinners,” but a love which transforms them. Our culture would be fine with a God who merely receives but does not forgive (because there is nothing to be forgiven).

And that leads to the conflict in Taylor: God forgives and transforms: this is granted. But then why has God not transformed me:

What thine? New naturalized? Yet this relation

Thus barren, though’t’s a privilege-foundation?

I belong to you? I am a new citizen of this Kingdom? How is it that having received such a privilege, beginning from such a privileged place, I have produced nothing: I have a new relationship and there is nothing to show for it?

This is a struggle with identity: Who am I? I am really in Christ? Do I really belong to Christ?

Edward Taylor, Meditation 36.8 What strange strange thing am I?

22 Wednesday Dec 2021

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I’m surely made a gazing stock to all

The holy angels wonder: and the mock

Of devils (pining that they miss it all)

To these beams gild me a stupid stock.

Thy argument is good, Lord point it, come

Let’t lance my heart, till true love’s vein doth run.

But that there is a crevice for one hope

To creep in, and this message to convey

That I am thine, makes me refresh. Lord ope

The door so wide that love may skip and play.

My spirits then shall dance thy praise. I’m thine

And present things with things to come are mine.

Summary: I am ridiculous before all creation, angels and devils. But you have something good God. Let your promise cut my heart so that it flows in love. The thought that I belong to you gives me hope, it refreshes my spirit. Let that hope so work upon my heart that I will dance with joy in praise to you. If I have that, I have everything. 

Notes

I’m surely made a gazing stock

There are a pair of allusions in this section of the poem:

For I think that God hath set forth us the apostles last, as it were appointed to death: for we are made a spectacle unto the world, and to angels, and to men. 

1 Corinthians 4:9 

Unto whom it was revealed, that not unto themselves, but unto us they did minister the things, which are now reported unto you by them that have preached the gospel unto you with the Holy Ghost sent down from heaven; which things the angels desire to look into. 

1 Peter 1:12 

This whole event of salvation, of God redeeming and sanctifying human beings with all their flaws and failures is a marvel to angels and devils.  To follow after Christ is to be made a spectacle, or a “gazing stock” – a thing to be gazed upon – to all of creation.

The angels wonder, the devils mock, but all are interested: and this is not because of the inherent value of human conduct, but because God takes such interest in human beings. How can this be? 

pining that they miss it all: I hope that the devils don’t look upon me.

To these beams gild me a stupid stock.

The “beams” refers to the sight upon him. The idea was that when one looked upon something, there were beams from the eye. The beams shining upon him, “gild him” and what he becomes is “stupid stock”. Something unspeaking and blank. 

Thy argument is good

The offer of salvation and forgiveness. There are any number of such passages which would support this line. Here is one 

12          Therefore also now, saith the Lord, 

Turn ye even to me with all your heart, 

And with fasting, and with weeping, and with mourning: 

13          And rend your heart, and not your garments, 

And turn unto the Lord your God: 

For he is gracious and merciful, 

Slow to anger, and of great kindness, 

And repenteth him of the evil. 

14          Who knoweth if he will return and repent, 

And leave a blessing behind him; 

Even a meat offering and a drink offering unto the Lord your God? 

Joel 2:12–14 

            Lord point it, come

Let’t lance my heart,

“Let’t” is one syllable. 

This is prayer that he will be cut to the heart. An allusion seems to be response to Peter’s Pentecost sermon:

37 Now when they heard this, they were pricked in their heart, and said unto Peter and to the rest of the apostles, Men and brethren, what shall we do? 38 Then Peter said unto them, Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. 39 For the promise is unto you, and to your children, and to all that are afar off, even as many as the Lord our God shall call. 

Acts 2:37–39. The use of “point” may help support this as an allusion, it is a prick, not a slash. 

till true love’s vein doth run.

My heart has become encrusted and covered over with filth such that it does not function properly. Cut me anew – like that first repentance – and let true love for you again flow. 

That one’s love could grow cold and needs to be restored is an allusion to Jesus’ rebuke to the church at Ephesus:

4 Nevertheless I have somewhat against thee, because thou hast left thy first love. 5 Remember therefore from whence thou art fallen, and repent, and do the first works; or else I will come unto thee quickly, and will remove thy candlestick out of his place, except thou repent. 

Revelation 2:4–5  

But that there is a crevice for one hope

To creep in,

Not every avenue for the work of God is closed. There is still a crevice through which hope could enter. Let hope enter through that place, let it creep in. My heart has become stone, but there is still one avenue for restoration. 

This image and line come as a sort of revelation to the poet. Wait, I see something, there is a crevice through which a single hope to creep through. 

            this message to convey

That I am thine

This is the content of that hope: I belong to you. I am thine. It is such a wonderful part of love to belong. I recently saw a dust up when someone publicly used the language of “treasure” to refer to his wife, as if she were something which belonged to him. Such people have no knowledge of love. And in the case of our relationship to Christ, it is unquestionably a matter of belonging. As Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 6:20, “for you were bought with a price.”

That is the ground of hope, just as it the ground of sanctification: I am not my own. 

                                                Lord ope

The door so wide that love may skip and play.

Let me be filled with this knowledge: give me not just a passing sense of belonging but a profound sense. Let it fill me until I am filled with joy.

The image of skipping and dancing (in the next line) are in such a marked contrast to the painful introspection which precedes it. This tells us something important about this searching and praying and repenting: it has a goal of joy and repentance.

                                                I’m thine

And present things with things to come are mine.

He ends here with a theme which has began in Meditation 31. The progression and repetition of this theme opens a door to Taylor’s meditations. He has been dwelling upon this idea for some time: all things are mine. The discussion of Meditation 31 begins here:

Edward Taylor, Meditation 36.7, What strange strange thing am I?

17 Friday Dec 2021

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I am ashamed to say I love thee do. 

But dare not for my life and soul deny’t. 

Yet wonder much love’s springs should lie so low

They loveliness its object shines so bright.

Shall all the beams of love upon me shine?

And shall my love love’s object still make pine.

Notes

Beginning at the end: the word “pine” is an obsolete way of saying “pain”. It means not merely “pain” to languish or wear out.

We use that word only in the phrase “pine away” when we speak of someone who desires something greatly but cannot obtain it, such as someone lovesick who “pines away”.

I am ashamed to say I love thee do. 

It would be easy to misunderstand the force of this line. In current vernacular, this would seem to mean that he is ashamed of the object which he loves: I’m ashamed to say that I enjoy this low-brow movie, or this unhealthy snack. But here, the shame comes from the greatness of the object loved. Unlike the low-brow entertainment, it is not that the object loved is beneath him but rather that is so far above him.

It is a poor analogy, but it might understood by thinking of an awkward teenager claiming to be in love with a movie star. To claim that he loves this woman who is famously beautiful and ten years older would be ridiculous. For him to pine away over the impossible woman would make him a laughing stock. He would be ashamed to admit to his love. 

That is what is happening here: How can a human being claim to have this relationship with God? This is particularly the case in light of Taylor’s admission of his sin. Habakkuk 1:13 reads, “Thou art of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look on iniquity.” 

There is a paradox, an absurdity which runs through the heart of the Christian claim.

But dare not for my life and soul deny’t. 

Deny it must be read as two, not three, syllabus: Den-y’t

The alliteration on the D’s draws the beginning and the end of the line together. 

Even though it may seem preposterous to lay hold of God in love, it cannot be denied. Only by adhering to God will there be salvation. 

Yet wonder much love’s springs should lie so low

They loveliness its object shines so bright.

He returns again to one of the main themes which run through Taylor’s poetry: the inadequacy of my response to God’s goodness.  It was the theme expressed in line 4, “What strange-strange thing am I?”

He looks to himself and sees tha this love is not matched to the object of the love. The object is “loveliness” and it “shines bright”. Yet the “springs” of his own love are low, like a stream in the end of summer. This causes him to wonder. 

Note the alliteration on these lines

Yet wonder much love’s springs should lie so low

They loveliness its object shines so bright.

The alliteration then sets off the final “br” in bright. There is also the assonance on “I”, lie, shines, bright. 

Shall all the beams of love upon me shine?

And shall my love love’s object still make pine.

These lines continue the alliteration on S and L, together with the repetition of a long ‘I.’ The final wod of the stanza, “Pine” again breaks the alliteration with a strong vowel, but also is tied to the previous lines by the assonance on “I”.  This is probably the most musically satisfying sections of the poem. 

He returns to the problem of his relationship to the beloved object, but this time from a different angle. First, it was the absurdity that claims God. Second, the wonder at himself for having such a low regard for the object of his love. 

This third question concerns fulfillment: Will he see the display of God’s love (“all the beams of love upon shine”), and yet not achieve some consummation of that love “shall my love’s object still make me pine”)? 

The remainder of the poem will work out the terms of this desire: shall it be fulfilled?

Edward Taylor, Meditation 36.8, What a strange, strange thing am I

11 Saturday Dec 2021

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But am I thine? Oh! What strange thing’s in me?

Enriched thus by thy legacy? Yet find

When one small twig’s broke off, the breach should be

Such an enfeebling thing upon my mind.

Then take a pardon from thy store, and twist

It in my soul for help. ‘Twill not be missed.

Having affirmed that God is filled with a liberality which the world cannot contain, he turns to himself again and ask, am I thine?

This may seem logically erroneous, because he seems to have resolved that issue previously. But to think in this manner fails to understand the psychology of repentance which Taylor displays in this passage. He does not doubt either the goodness of God or the depth of his sinfulness. He confesses both with elaborate attention. 

The question is whether that goodness in God belongs to him.

The question of assurance has been a dogged question in Christian theology. There have been debates about whether it should even be something permitted as a concept absent some direct revelation from heaven. 

Protestant theology through Luther and Calvin affirms the rightness of a sense of assurance and thereafter developed theological explanations for assurance. Puritan theology, in particular, gave profound attention to the question of assurance. 

We could consider assurance from two perspectives: the matter observed objectively as a doctrine; and the matter observed subjectively as a matter of self-examination. 

Taken from either direction Taylor’s subjective experience, struggling  with assurance while faced with his own sense of sin is coherent with Puritan theology. Two examples from the vast corpus may help support this proposition:

“(2.) When assurance is actually stronger than diffidence, and doth certainly prevail against distracting fears, then it is to be accounted certain assurance, though it be still imperfect.—The truth and the degree of a believer’s assurance doth hold proportion to the truth and degree of his grace; and by this proportion of one to the other they do very much illustrate each other. Thus, First: There is an analogy between grace and assurance, in this, that as grace may be true, although it be not perfect, so may assurance be true assurance when imperfect. Again: As where sin reigns there is no grace, so where doubting reigns there is no assurance; but as when grace prevails, it is accounted true grace, so when assurance prevails over doubts, it is to be reckoned true assurance. Lastly. Where grace is perfect without sin, (as in heaven,) there assurance will be perfect without all doubt, and not till then.”

James Nichols, Puritan Sermons, vol. 6 (Wheaton, IL: Richard Owen Roberts, Publishers, 1981), 381. And John Owen:

“Self-condemnation and abhorrency do very well consist with gospel justification and peace. Some men have no peace, because they have that without which it is impossible they should have peace. Because they cannot but condemn themselves, they cannot entertain a sense that God doth acquit them. But this is the mystery of the gospel, which unbelief is a stranger unto; nothing but faith can give a real subsistence unto these things in the same soul, at the same time. It is easy to learn the notion of it, but it is not easy to experience the power of it. For a man to have a sight of that within him which would condemn him, for which he is troubled, and at the same time to have a discovery of that without him which will justify him, and to rejoice therein, is that which he is not led unto but by faith in the mystery of the gospel. We are now under a law for justification which excludes all boasting, Rom. 3:27; so that though we have joy enough in another, yet we may have, we always have, sufficient cause of humiliation in ourselves. The gospel will teach a man to feel sin and believe righteousness at the same time. Faith will carry heaven in one hand and hell in the other; showing the one deserved, the other purchased. A man may see enough of his own sin and folly to bring “gehennam è cœlo,”—a hell of wrath out of heaven; and yet see Christ bring “cœlum ex inferno,”—a heaven of blessedness out of a hell of punishment. And these must needs produce very divers, yea, contrary effects and operations in the soul; and he who knows not how to assign them their proper duties and seasons must needs be perplexed. The work of self-condemnation, then, which men in these depths cannot but abound with, is, in the disposition of the covenant of grace, no way inconsistent with nor unsuited unto justification and the enjoyment of peace in the sense of it. There may be a deep sense of sin on other considerations besides hell. David was never more humbled for sin than when Nathan told him it was forgiven. And there may be a view of hell as deserved, which yet the soul may know itself freed from as to the issue.”

John Owen, The Works of John Owen, ed. William H. Goold, vol. 6 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, n.d.), 547.

This struggle with one’s faith seeking assurance was a matter not uncommon among the Puritans. The whole could be a matter of mere morbid self-introspection leading to despair unless a clear eye is kept upon the absolutely graciousness of God.

A key to seeing this in Taylor’s poem is the use of the word “strange.” When he looks at himself he calls himself a “strange strange thing.” His strangeness in that instance is willingness to sin and lack of hatred for his sin. But here he sees something strange – but it is come from God:

                        What strange thing’s in me?

Enriched thus by thy legacy?

In himself he is strange to not love God more. And here he sees a strange work of God to enrich him by God’s grace.

I must admit I am not quite sure of his reference here:

                                    Yet find

When one small twig’s broke off, the breach should be

Such an enfeebling thing upon my mind.

I don’t know what he means by a twig being broken off. In the next lines he will speak to how little he will be asking from God (because God’s well of grace is so great), and that could be a possible reference to this “small twig”. 

It could be that the broken twig is his own conscious introspection, because that does seem to be “enfeebling.” But as it stands, I am not sure of Taylor’s purpose with these two lines.

The remainder is clear enough, however:

Then take a pardon from thy store, and twist

It in my soul for help. ‘Twill not be missed.

The pardon will not be missed on God’s part, because God has such great store of grace. He asks that God take a pardon and then “twist in my soul for help.”

This is striking language: He is not asking for a pardon which does not remedy. He is not saying forgive me as much as change me: forgive and change my life. 

The pardon is ineffective if it were merely a legal declaration: It is that: God does objectively forgive, but that forgiveness is transformative. 

Bonhoffer’s language of cheap grace comes at this concept from another direction but has the same basic aim: The effect of grace is not merely outside the human subject. It is something which happens to us; it transforms in forgiving us.

The whole of this transformation goes well beyond this note, but it must be understood in part to get a purchase on Taylor’s thought. The reason for our irrationality is our distance from God. Our trouble is that we are wrong with God. 

We do not function correctly except in relationship to God. But sin creates a breach in that relationship and renders us a “strange strange thing.” When God’s grace remedies that breach, it creates a “strange thing” in us, because it transforms us. We come into relationship. 

In that relationship, the introspection and self-diagnosis of sin does not destroy the human because it drives us to Christ and forgiveness. 

That is the key difference between bare guilt and conviction. Guilt is a sight of our failure. Conviction is a sight sin which drives to us to Christ. The Puritans referred to guilt as “legal” but that drive to Christ as “gospel.” 

Edward Taylor, Meditation 36.7, What a strange, strange am I

08 Wednesday Dec 2021

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The previous post on this poem may be found here:

A cockle shell contains this world as well

As can this world thy liberalness contain.

And by thy will these present things all fall

Unto thy children for their present gain

And things to come too, to eternity.

Thou willedst them: they’re there by legacy.

Summary: God has filled with the world with a superabundance of good things. The good begins now and will continue on through eternity. 

Notes

A cockle shell is a clam shell. He makes a comparison here: You could more easily stuff the entire globe into a clamshell than you could fit all of the goodness of God into the world itself. 

The use of the simile was not unprecedented. Thomas Manton and Thomas Brooks both used the shell in much the same way, as an imagine of something impossible:

the divine nature is incomprehensible; angels clap their wings, and cover their faces. Finite cannot comprehend infinite, no more than a cockle-shell can the ocean.

Thomas Manton, The Complete Works of Thomas Manton, vol. 20 (London: James Nisbet & Co., 1874), 193.

Who can empty an ocean with a cockle-shell? And since the fall we are grown quite brutish; our conceits are not so monstrous in anything as in the worship of God.

Thomas Manton, The Complete Works of Thomas Manton, vol. 5 (London: James Nisbet & Co., 1871), 107.

We cannot empty the ocean with a cockle-shell; so neither can we exhaust the divine perfections by the shallow discourse of our reason. 

Thomas Manton, The Complete Works of Thomas Manton, vol. 15 (London: James Nisbet & Co., 1873), 215.

We are as well able to comprehend the sea in a cockle-shell, as we are able to comprehend the Almighty

Thomas Brooks, The Complete Works of Thomas Brooks, ed. Alexander Balloch Grosart, vol. 2 (Edinburgh; London; Dublin: James Nichol; James Nisbet and Co.; G. Herbert, 1866), 178.

You shall as soon remove the earth, stop the sun in his course, empty the sea with a cockle-shell, make a world, and unmake yourselves, as any power on earth, or in hell, shall ever be able to hinder Christ from the performance of the office of a surety ….

Thomas Brooks, The Complete Works of Thomas Brooks, ed. Alexander Balloch Grosart, vol. 5 (Edinburgh; London; Dublin: James Nichol; James Nisbet and Co.; G. Herbert, 1867), 360.

And by thy will

He repeats this concept in the last line of the stanza, Thou willedst them

Here is the doctrine of predestination as seen from the inside. Often the doctrine is discussed as a barrier to coming to God, as if there were someone who wished to the receive the grace of God and who was then turned away for lack of a “predestination ticket”.  As Jesus says in John 6:37, “Whoever comes to me I will never cast out.”

But predestination is not a matter of permission to enter. It is not door to keep one out, but rather should be seen as a net to keep one from being lost. While the good would be generally any blessing available to the believer, this poem in particular concerns the good of repentance and forgiveness. 

Repentance which is joined to forgiveness is itself a divine action:

thou canst as well raise the dead at pleasure, as thou canst repent at pleasure; thou canst as well make a world at pleasure, as thou canst repent at pleasure; thou canst as well stop the course of the sun at pleasure, as thou canst repent at pleasure; thou canst as well put the sea in a cockle-shell at pleasure, and measure the earth with a span at pleasure, as thou canst repent at pleasure

Thomas Brooks, The Complete Works of Thomas Brooks, ed. Alexander Balloch Grosart, vol. 4 (Edinburgh; London; Dublin: James Nichol; James Nisbet and Co.; G. Herbert, 1867), 192.

When Taylor writes that God has willed the good to his children, that “good” necessarily includes repentance which brings about forgiveness. 

Thus, the poem itself, which is a matter of repentance, is a gift of God! In seeking good from God, he is performing the good God has done to and for him. The good which extends to eternity is here being built in the very act of writing this poem. Thus, the good sought by the poem is part of the good. 

Edward Taylor, Meditation 36.6 What a strange stringe thing am I

24 Wednesday Nov 2021

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The previous post on this poem may be found here.

How wond’rous rich art thou? Thy storehouse vast

Holds more ten thousand fold told ore and ore

Than this wide world can hold. The door unhasp.

And bring me thence a pardon out of therefore.

Thou stuffest the world so tight with present things

That thing to come, though crowd full hard, can’t in.

These things to come, tread on the heels of those.

The present breadth doth with the broad world run.

The depth and breadth of things to come out goes

Unto Time’s end which bloweth out the sun.

These breadth and length meet out eternity.

These are the things that in thy storehouse lie.

The Praise: Having come to the conclusion that he should marvel at the grace of God and thus seek a pardon for his continuing, Taylor now turn to praise the vastness of the God’s grace.  In these stanzas there seems two allusions to Paul. 

There are two general aspects of the wealth of good things God has to bestow. First, there is the matter of the sheer size:

            Thy storehouse vast

Holds more ten thousand fold told ore and ore

Than this wide world can hold….

Thou stuffest the world so tight with present things

That thing to come, though crowd full hard, can’t in.

…. The present breadth doth with the broad world run.

The depth and breadth of things to come out goes

Unto Time’s end which bloweth out the sun.

These breadth and length meet out eternity.

Of particular interest is the phrase “breadth and length”. In a notable passage from Ephesians, Paul prays that his readers will obtain some experience and knowledge of the “breadth and length” of God’s riches:

14 For this cause I bow my knees unto the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, 15 Of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named, 16 That he would grant you, according to the riches of his glory, to be strengthened with might by his Spirit in the inner man; 17 That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, 18 May be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; 19 And to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God. 

Ephesians 3:14–19.  One can understand these stanzas of Taylor’s poem as in a sense being an answer to Paul’s prayer. Taylor is meditating upon the great riches of God and is seeking to “comprehend” this wealth.

The knowledge here is the knowledge of “love of Christ” which is a redemptive love. The pardon which Taylor seeks is the wealth of God on display.

The general tenor of the Ephesians passage as well as the unusual phrase “breadth and length” form a basis for Taylor’s language in these stanzas. 

Second, there is a distinction between present thing and things to come. The “things to come” might be eschatological; but it is also possible that the “things to come” may only be what God has for us tomorrow. It is potentially a simple future. 

The allusion here comes from 1 Corinthians:

21 Therefore let no man glory in men. For all things are yours; 22 Whether Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to come; all are yours; 23 And ye are Christ’s; and Christ is God’s.

1 Corinthians 3:21–23. The basis of the allusion is found in (1) the giving of good things by God; and (2) the division between things present and things to come. Again, the good is the reconciliation, the forgiveness of God in Jesus Christ.

The stanzas, together with their allusions, constitute praise for the unfathomable goodness of God in giving good gifts to Taylor. He cannot comprehend the goodness of God, which matches with confusion over his own wretchedness. As explained previously, his continued wretchedness perplexes him, how can this be possible?

Finding no direct answer, he sees the problem in a new light, How unbelievably gracious God is to tolerate such sin!

And so here, he praises the unfathomable grace of God will extend through the ages until the sun, itself, is “blown out”.

God gives such abundant goodness, that the things which will come cannot find room, so full is the present with God’s goodness.

The prayer.

Within this effusive praise is one prayer: 

                        The door unhasp.

And bring me thence a pardon out of therefore.

Unlock the door and take out a pardon for me. You, God, have such wealth pardon me and I will praise you. In this, Taylor is following the pattern of Psalm 50:

      And call upon me in the day of trouble:

      I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.

Psalm 50:15. Far from sounding like an impolite demand, the prayer for God open his storehouse and deliver a pardon to Taylor is encouraged by God. 

A father who loves his child desires to give good things to the child. It is not a burden but a joy:

remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive. 

Acts 20:35 God loves and desires to show love. The prayer for pardon is a prayer which God has promised to answer:

If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. 

1 John 1:9

Edward Taylor, Meditation 36.5 What a strange strange thing am I

13 Saturday Nov 2021

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For now I wonder t’feel how I thus feel.

My love leaps into creature’s bosoms; and 

Cold sorrows fall into my soul as steel,

When fail they, yet kiss [?] thy love’s white hand

I scarce know what t’make of myself. Wherefore

I crave pardon, Lord, for thou hast store.

Textual note: Stafford reads, “Yet kiss thy love’s white hand.” Patterson marks “kiss” as uncertain and confirms only the “is”. I’m not certain what could be correct not having access to the original manuscript and not knowing exactly what Taylor intends. 

Note: 

At this stanza, the poem takes a new turn. The poet has resolved the question of the presence of sin, but restating his understanding as a wonder that he has not more sin. Rather than concluding, grace must be insufficient or he is not redeemed based upon the presence of sin; Taylor concludes that grace is present, because there is not more sin. 

This leads to a second problem: If God has shown such patience and spent such grace on me, then why don’t I love him more? 

This question of affections is perhaps more critical than the question of indwelling sin. Puritan Richard Sibbes, from two generations earlier than Taylor writes:

Affections therefore are lawful, yea, necessary in God’s children. All actions in God’s worship are esteemed according to the affections that they are done with. We are as we love, not as we know. What is the life of a Christian but the performance of things with courage, delight, and joy? And therefore the strongest Christians have strongest affections. For religion doth not harden the heart, but mollifies it; and regeneration doth not take affections away, but restores them sanctified and pure.

Richard Sibbes, The Complete Works of Richard Sibbes, ed. Alexander Balloch Grosart, vol. 5 (Edinburgh; London; Dublin: James Nichol; James Nisbet and Co.; W. Robertson, 1863), 125–126. Closer to Taylor’s poem is this passage from Puritan Thomas Doolittle:

That prayer be managed to the spiritual profit of those in the family, the master of the family should get his own heart in good frame, and get his own affections warmed in the duty.—Do you come to prayer with a lively heart, and quickened affections yourselves; your heat might warm them, and your earnest importunity might stir them up unto the same. Let them see you are in good earnest by your fervent praying, as becomes men that are begging for such things as the life of their souls, the pardon of their sin, the favour of God, deliverance from hell, and for everlasting happiness. Whereas if you come to the duty with flat, dull, and cold affections, this will make them so too. As you find it with yourselves when you are under a dull and lukewarm preacher,—you have little workings of affections; so your family will find it under your prayers, if they be such. For as a minister should get lively workings in his own breast of those affections which he would raise in the people,* so should you, in family-duties, get those workings of love, joy, and sorrow for sin, which you would desire should be in those that join with you; for what a minister is in the church, that you are, proportionably, in your house.†

James Nichols, Puritan Sermons, vol. 2 (Wheaton, IL: Richard Owen Roberts, Publishers, 1981), 239–240.

            Jonathan Edwards, the son of Taylor’s fellow pastor, will work out a substantial theology around the matter of love. (While his sermon on sin appears in high school anthologies, the question of love and desire seem to be the key to his theology. I have not undertaken a thorough study of all his work, but a passing glance shows the importance of affections to his understanding of human conduct.)

            Edwards will write:

True religion, in great part, consists in holy affections.

Jonathan Edwards, Religious Affections, ed. John E. Smith and Harry S. Stout, Revised edition., vol. 2, The Works of Jonathan Edwards (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 95.

If love and affection are so critical to true spiritual life, then why is it missing in the life of Taylor? He would certainly assent to these quotations of those before and after him in this religious tradition.  Thus, his quandary: 

For now I wonder t’feel how I thus feel.

He looks at his love(s) and sees them disordered. First, he loves the wrong things too much:

My love leaps into creature’s bosoms;

The phrase “love leaps” is quite good. And the image of love leaping into the heart of any creature that happens by is remarkably vivid. I am in love with some many things that capture my sense, but they are all mere creatures.

This trouble is set forth in Paul and John. In Romans 1, Paul writes of worshipping and serving the creature rather than the Creator. In 1 John 2, John warns against loving the “world.” This snare, in parallel to Paul’s observation, runs counter to our duty toward God. “If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.”

Our love is easily drawn to sensible objects. And while the contention might be that these are “real” things, tangible things; the quickly becomes problematic when you begin to consider what you actually behold with your senses. The difficulties here are far more profound than you may imagine, so for now merely consider that the world may be quite different than what you imagine it to be.

                                    and

Cold sorrows fall into my soul as steel,

When fail they,

The sounds and pictures are excellent. I’ve marked the end “l” col[d], fall, soul, steel, fail. Also the “O” cold, sorrows, soul. The “f” fall, fail. 

A cold sorrow is something: we think of sorrow as tears. Anger may be cold, but sorrow is hot. A cold sorrow however fails. The sorrow comes which should have had an effect, but it “falls” – and from where does it fall? – into the soul and there being cold, it fails. 

And so his love is quick, but set on the wrong objects. His sorrow is cold and fails. 

Moreover, the idea of steel falling into the soul has more than a hint of murder: it missing word is “sword”.

yet kiss [?] thy love’s white hand

If the text is obscure here, then kiss may be questioned. Indeed, I wonder if this poem not quite finished in other respects. The ideas were in place, but in the first stanzas it works better as argument than poetry. 

Does he mean that he does receive God’s love? Or that the sorrows kiss the hand? I’m not sure what to do here.

I scarce know what t’make of myself.

This is a driving theme in the poem: What a strange strange am I and here he does not know what to think of himself. 

We are riddle to ourselves in many ways. The Christian has the riddle of the desires which, as Peter says “war against our soul”. How can these conflicting things be present in one life?

                                    Wherefore

I crave pardon, Lord, for thou hast store.

I do not know what is so very wrong with me. What I do know is that I am utterly dependent the grace of God: I cannot even make sense of my own heart. All I can be certain of is the extraordinary grace of God.

Edward Taylor, Meditation 36.4 What strange strange am I

11 Thursday Nov 2021

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But did I say, I wonder Lord, to spy

Thyself so kind, and I so vile yet thine

I eat my word, and wonder more that I

No viler am, though all o’re vile do shine

As full of sin I am, as egg of meat

Yet find thy golden rod my sin to treat.

Nay did I say, I wonder t’see thy store

Of kindness, yet me thus vile with all

I now unsay my say, I wonder more

Thou dash me not to pieces with thy maul

But in the bed, Lord, of thy goodness lies

The reason of’t, which makes my wonder rise.

Summary:

These two stanzas cover the same problem from different perspectives. He takes issue with himself over his complaint that he “vile” despite the grace of God. He has asked, If I belong to God’s and God’s grace is effacious, then why am I not more holy?

He turns that question on its head. First, says, rather than wonder why I am so vile; I so should rather ask the question why I am not worse. Second, the real mystery here is not my sin but God’s mercy? Why would he be merciful to me?

Prosody:

To this point, the poem has not been very lyrical. Yet with these two stanzas we see a marked turn in the attention paid to sound. Of particular note is the long I repeated; most noticeably in the I-VILE. 

But did I say, I wonder Lord, to spy

Thyself so kind, and I so vile yet thine

I eat my word, and wonder more that I

No viler am, though all o’re vile do shine

As full of sin I am, as egg of meat

Yet find thy golden rod my sin to treat.

Nay did I say, I wonder t’see thy store

Of kindness, yet me thus vile with all

I now unsay my say, I wonder more

Thou dash me not to pieces with thy maul

But in the bed, Lord, of thy goodness lies

The reason of’t, which makes my wonder rise

Notes

But did I say, the parallel will be made with the next stanza, “Nay did I say”. By asking this question twice, he is calling into question his own self-understanding. There is a movement of thought as he holds up the potential responses to his wonder at his own sin. 

 I wonder Lord, to spy

Thyself so kind, and I so vile yet thine

While the verb “spy” may be attributed solely to the rhyme, the emphasis of the verb is on scrutiny and attention. Since the whole of the poem is a psychological and theological investigation of himself, to spy this out is appropriate.

I eat my word, This brings us to the next parallel between the stanza: He will “eat”, then “unsay”  the word he has said. There is a sort of repentance in this, he looks to himself and realizes the error.

and wonder more that I

No viler am, 

This will parallel 

Nay did I say, I wonder t’see thy store

Of kindness

He wonders at himself and at God. But now rather than wondering at the presence of any sin, he wonders at the lack sin! Why am I not even more vile than I presently appear? The parallel then helps with the understand: I am not more vile because the store of God’s grace is so extensive.

The mystery of grace has not transformed: Why am I not perfect if grace “works?” Instead, look at the mystery of grace that he has restrained so much sin.

though all o’re vile do shine This is a fascinating line, particularly in the context of Taylor’s standard imagery. Bright, shine, light are all characteristic he applies to God; while to himself and sin it is a matter of dark and shadow. But here, his vileness shines! The idea of sinfulness so extraordinary that it “lights-up” is strking. 

As full of sin I am, as egg of meat

And a parallel:

yet me thus vile with all

Yet find thy golden rod my sin to treat.

And the the parallel with the second stanza:

I now unsay my say, I wonder more

Thou dash me not to pieces with thy maul

The “rod” would be a rod of correction. But the correction is not destruction. As a side note, too much preaching aims at bare guilt, which is a psychological state of feeling bad for having done something wrong. The trouble with guilt is that standing alone it goes nowhere: Okay, I’m guilty. Since the feeling is bad, one merely tries to overcome the bad feeling. What is needed is repentance. It is the kindness of God which moves us to repentance: “God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance.” Romans 2:4

Look here at Taylor realizes:

Why doesn’t God destroy me? The goodness of God (Romans 2:4 in the KJV uses the word “goodness” rather than “kindness” as the English translation of chréston)

But in the bed, Lord, of thy goodness lies

The reason of’t, 

The addition of a bed of goodness creates a certain peace and restfulness to the whole which is remarkable. 

And now the wonder shifts. At the first, he wondered at his own sin. Now he wonders at the goodness, the kindness, the grace of God:

which makes my wonder rise.

Edward Taylor Meditation 36.3 What strange strange thing am I?

09 Tuesday Nov 2021

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The first two run thy glory would to shame.
The last plea doth my soul to hell confine.
My faith therefore doth all these pleas disdain.
Thou kindness art, it saith, and I am thine.
Upon this bank it doth on tiptoes stand
To ken o’re Reason’s head at Grace’s hand.

Now he considers the possibilities. If vileness indeed has the ultimate power in his life, or if grace lacks the strength to respond to the movement of sin, then God’s promises are weaker than the strength of sin. It would bring God’s glory to shame. For what can we do with a promise such as

For sin will not have dominion over you, since you are not under law but under grace. Rom. 6:14

And he rejects these possibilities on the ground that God cannot untrue.

The third possibility he considered, that he is not truly God’s, he also rejects because that would mean that he is accursed.

What then does he attribute to the basis for this consideration:

My faith therefore doth all these pleas disdain.

These are repugnant to faith, even though they appear as a matter of reason to be the only possibilities. Having worked himself into an apparent dead end, the poem, at this point, spies a way out of the quandary:

His faith “It” sees something. Faith begins with the truth of God: God is kindness. Second, faith knows that it lays hold of God, and those who confess and believe are indeed those who belong to God (I am thine). He knows that God cannot be a liar.

Faith from here spies somewhat difficult to see

Upon this bank it doth on tiptoes stand

Faith stands upon a bank. The bank (such as riverbank) must be (1) the disdain which faith has for the possibilities: since these things cannot be true—even though it seems most reasonable; and (2) the knowledge that God is kind, and he is God’s. I will start here and look for the answer. I belong to a good God. What must that mean for someone in my condition?

Faith has the ability to see over the head of Reason and to see what Grace can do:

To ken o’re Reason’s head at Grace’s hand.

Notice something here about Faith. Faith is not blind. It is not merely guessing or vague hoping. He understands faith as a specific kind of knowledge.

Perhaps it would be best to understand Faith as the means by which persons know one-another. We believe we love another, when we believe another loves us – or hates us for that matter; we are exercising faith. While we use the word “belief” as a weak form of knowledge, that is not the only meaning of that word. Belief/faith is means by which the intangible but real beauty of a relationship can be known.

Reason assumes a sort of self-interestedness: it is unreasonable to give all that you for the good of another. It is unreasonable to love your enemy. These things do not serve my self-interest. But Faith can see things which are unreasonable, not because they are untrue, but because they do not serve one’s self-interest.

There is a kind of love in God which is both true and unreasonable (in this sense). The absolute core of Christianity is the love of the enemy. God loves his enemies and makes them into family. We are then called upon to love our enemies (which is both exalted and impossible, for this is something God must convey through us) and in so doing help to reconcile them to God.

And so Faith can see past reason and see that must exquisite of treasures, Grace.

Faith is needed to understand God, because the work of God is often not directed at the particular moment, but may be directed toward the outcome (thus, as the poet will tell us, God’s patience is not for the purpose of encouraging his sin, but rather for the provocation of the poet’s love toward God). Conversely, difficulties from God often are given out of his love toward us:

Mercy and kindness floweth from him freely, naturally; he is never severe, never harsh; he never stings, he never terrifies us, but when he is sadly provoked by us. God’s hand sometimes may lie very hard upon his people, when his heart, his bowels, at those very times may be yearning towards his people, Jer. 31:18–20. No man can tell how the heart of God stands by his hand; his hand of mercy may be open to those against whom his heart is set, as you see in the rich poor fool, and Dives, in the Gospel; and his hand of severity may lie hard upon those on whom he hath set his heart, as you may see in Job and Lazarus. And thus you see those gracious, blessed, soul-quieting conclusions about the issue and event of afflictions, that a holy, a prudent silence doth include.

Thomas Brooks, The Complete Works of Thomas Brooks, ed. Alexander Balloch Grosart, vol. 1 (Edinburgh; London; Dublin: James Nichol; James Nisbet and Co.; G. Herbert, 1866), 304.