The Miserable End of an Apostate - Glenn Conjurske

The Miserable End of an Apostate

The following account I take from the Methodist Magazine for 1820, pages 347-351. An introductory note tells us that it is an “account of the life and death of Mr. R—-—-—-—- A—-—-—-—-, late of —-—-—-—- county, Maryland,” and is “taken from a pamphlet published by the Rev. J. Fletcher.” It is a solemn warning to those who contemplate marrying an unbeliever. Those who do so may fancy themselves strong enough to withstand such temptations, but the plain fact is, their marrying an unbeliever in the first place is proof enough that they are not strong at all, but weak indeed. We would not suppose that every child of God who marries an unbeliever will be subjected to just such temptations as these, yet they may—-–and they will certainly be subjected to some degree of influence which is against God.—-editor.]

As death is the inevitable lot of mortals, however distant the thoughtless may think the period, it is the wisdom of all that must encounter the important scene to prepare for the solemnities of that hour. The means of improvement are numerous, and among those the life and death of such as have gone before us, are not to be accounted the smallest.

The relation which I am now to give of a person, with whom I was intimately acquainted, may serve to awaken our fears, “lest a promise being left us of entering into rest, any of you come short of it.”

This youth, like all others, in an unawakened state, lived in security somewhere about twenty years. It pleased the Father of Mercies to convince him that the life he lived would lead him to destruction, and that it was high time to seek the Lord while he might be found, and call upon him while he was near. With this conviction he set out to save his soul. He thought it his duty to join the Church of God, and to beg divine assistance to fulfil the covenant engagements that were made in his behalf at the time of his baptism. It was not long before he thought he had found the pearl of great price, and appeared to rejoice in a present salvation. His words were, “I know by experience that God has power on earth to forgive sin.” He walked in all the means of grace for several years. At length he thought it his duty to change his condition of life. Unhappy for him he chose a gay, handsome young lady, but a stranger to religious seriousness; and although she was not of his way of thinking, his family and personal appearance pleased her so well that she submitted to his request, thinking that after they were married, she could cure him of his religious frenzy; and too well she succeeded in the attempt. At first she began to reason with him in her way; she observed that if they meant to be thought any thing of by their friends and neighbours, they should not treat them with so much neglect; when they visited them to go to this, that, and the other place of diversion. That he knew how much persons of his way of thinking were neglected by people of respectability; that he kept so much reading and praying going on in his house, that the neighbours laughed at it; in fine, said she, I married you to be happy, but I utterly despair of happiness, unless you leave it off, and be like other people. He told her that happiness was what he wanted, what he sought, and what he had found: but he never found it in those things, which she esteemed to be objects of happiness, but that he found it in his God and religion; he told her that he hoped he should ever make it his highest ambition to make her happy, but that he was certain that happiness that arose from the customs and manners of this world was not substantial; that although for the present it might afford imaginary sweetness, in the end it would be bitter as death. When she found that mildness would not do, she took the harsher way. She refused to conform to family devotions. He grieved, he wept, and in secret often prayed for her, but to no purpose. She used every stratagem that her fruitful imagination could invent. She persisted on till she finally wearied him out,—-he thought it was useless to try any longer to bear up under the opposition he met with. He thought he would attend to his private duties, and try to get to heaven alone if she would not go with him; but she pursued him to his closet, and finally drove him from every retreat, until he gave up every religious duty. When he gave over the cultivation of his heart by grace, and the regulation of his life by religion, he soon found the corruptions of his heart to stir within; they broke out in his life, till he finally gratified her in every request she made, and ran to greater lengths than ever he did before he made a profession of religion: he found the truth of this proverb, “The backslider in heart shall be filled with his own ways.” Some time after this he went to hear a sermon, that was preached on a particular occasion, in which the minister entered into all the feelings of the heart, and all his sins were brought to his remembrance. He there promised the Lord, once more, that he would set out to serve him let his opposition be what it would. But his difficulties appeared to be greater, and he found he had much less strength to resist them than he had before. He found himself in his enemies hands, and that he was like a man who had been bound by his enemy when he was asleep, and afterwards awoke with surprise. He struggles, but he cannot get free; he groans under his bondage, and wishes for liberty, but in vain. His wife redoubled her efforts, and gained her point a second time. He continued in this state for some time, sinning with but little remorse of conscience. He lost his desires for all the means of grace, and entirely forsook the company of the people of God; he gave himself up to the customs and maxims of the world, without having regard even to morality. After this he was laid upon a bed of affliction, and his life was despaired of by himself and his friends. In this affliction his fears were all alarmed, his sins appeared in dreadful colours before him, and he viewed them in such a light, that he thought he dare not look up to God for mercy.—-“How can I, said he, expect that God will pardon me, when I have run counter to his will, grieved his spirit, sinned away all that peace I once enjoyed, and finally have gone farther since my apostasy, than I ever did before I pretended to religion? O, that I had my time to live over again, or that I had never been born!” His disorder increased, and his fears were wrought up to terror. “If (said he) God would give me another trial, I would amend my ways. If God will not hear me perhaps he will hear the prayers of his people in my behalf. O send for them that they may pray for me, for how can I stand before the avenger of sin in this my lamentable condition?” His friends visited him, and God heard prayers in his behalf, and contrary to expectation he recovered. But as his strength of body increased, his conviction subsided, and by the time he was restored to health, he was ready for, and actually did return to all his former vices. Several years after this, I fell in company with him, when we entered into close conversation about the state of his soul; I asked him what he thought would become of him, if he died in his present state? “Why” said he, “as sure as God is in heaven, I shall be damned.” “Well,” said I, “do you mean to die in this state? do you never think of changing your course of life?” “My friend,” said he, “I have no desire to serve God, I have no desire for any thing that is good; to tell you the truth,” said he, “I as much believe my damnation is sealed, as I believe I am sitting conversing with you.” “I know,” said he, “the very time when the Spirit of God took its flight, and what you may be more surprised at than all I have yet said, is, I am not troubled about it, no, no more than if there was no God to punish sin, nor a hell to punish sinners in.” I was struck speechless. I cannot paint to the reader’s imagination the feelings I had at that time, but I could say no more to him, I could only observe with what an air of indifference he spoke it, and notwithstanding he spoke with confidence, and his words made such impressions on my mind, yet his heart appeared to be as unfeeling as a stone. After I parted with him I fell into meditation on the awful subject. Lord, thought I, who have I been talking with? An immortal spirit clothed with flesh and blood, that appears to be sealed over to eternal damnation! A man that once had a day of grace, and the offer of mercy, but now all appears to be lost! The door of heaven is shut against him, never to be opened more. He once had it in his power to accept of salvation, and because he did not improve his time and talent, God, judicially has taken them all away, and given him over to hardness of heart, and blindness of mind. He is neither moved by mercy, nor terrified by judgment,—-may this be a lesson to me, thought I, to improve to the glory of God, and the salvation of my own soul. About two years after, he was laid on a dying bed, and his conscience roared like thunder against him, and every sense within him appeared to be awakened to torment him. His sickness was short, and his end awful. His Christian friends came to visit him, and wanted to administer to his comfort, but he was comfortless. They told him, perhaps he was mistaken, it was not as bad with him as he imagined. “Oh!” said he, “would to God I was mistaken, happy would it be for me, but,” continued he, “can I be mistaken about my affliction? Is it imagination that confines me here? Are my pains imaginary? No, no, they are a reality, and I am as certain of my damnation as I am of my affliction.” Some persons offered to go to prayer with him, but he forbid it. He charged them not to attempt it; “For,” said he, “that moment you attempt to lift up your hearts to God in my behalf, I feel the flames of hell kindle in my breast. You might as well pray for the devil as for me—-You would have as much success. Do you think to force God? Do you think to force the gates of heaven that are barred by Justice against me? No, your prayers shall return upon your own heads, I want none of them.” The distress of his mind seemed to swallow up that of his body, and he continued nearly in the same situation till the day he made his exit. All that Christians or Christian ministers could say to him, made no impression on his mind. He never asked any one to pity, or pray for him. Just before he departed, after he had been rolling for some time from side to side, with horror depicted in every feature of his face, he called out to his wife, to bring him a cup of cold water, “For” said he, “in one hour I shall be where I shall never get another drop.”—-She brought him the water, he took and drank it with greediness—-he reached back the cup with his trembling hand, and stared her in the face; his eyes flashing terror all around him, he cried out, “Becky, Becky, you are the cause of my eternal damnation.” He turned over, and with an awful groan left the world, and launched into a boundless eternity. If the reader should ask after his wife, what impressions it made upon her mind; all I have to say is, I fear she died as she lived.

This melancholy history should prove precautionary to two descriptions of people, in an especial manner. 1st, Persecutors of religion may see what will probably be the result of opposing their relations, who wish to save their souls alive, viz. That the eternal destruction of those they turn aside will be measurably laid to their charge. Better (said the Saviour) were it for that man that a millstone were hanged about his neck and he drowned in the depth of the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones that believe in me.” 2dly, Professors of religion are hereby cautioned against “Being unequally yoked together with unbelievers.” Whatever may be their accomplishments, beauty, family or fortune, they are dangerous companions; and one of this character can do you more harm, than a thousand enemies whose society you may shun—-—but once bound to an ungodly companion, you plant your bed full of thorns for life without a miracle of God’s grace in changing the heart.

Glenn Conjurske