Excerpted From: Providence and Grace: As Exemplified in Some Account of the Life of Mrs. Sarah Baker; A True Narrative. (London: The Religious Tract Society, n.d.).
Editor’s Introduction
The following story aims to illustrate the display of God’s providence and grace, in his patient pursuit of an elect soul. It provides an account of the conversion of a young woman named Sarah Baker. The excerpted portion below are her own words as recorded in an interview. Born to parents of some wealth, Sarah spent her earliest years in a loving, pleasant home and was afforded a full array of comforts and care, including an education at a boarding school and instruction in general morals. When she was nine years old, however, an event occurred which completely changed her prospects and course of life—the untimely death of her beloved father. From that point forward, one disastrous circumstance after another caused her formerly comfortable life to unravel into poverty and hardship. Ultimately, Sarah’s mother abandoned her, forcing her to take refuge in a workhouse. Finding this personally unacceptable, she foolishly decided to run away to London, in hopes of locating her mother. Along the way, she naively joined up with an older, traveling woman, who turned out to have connections with a gypsy settlement.
In the LORD’s overseeing providence, an elderly gentleman observed her and, fearing her intended demise, waved down a postboy and paid him to rescue her by an unsuspected kidnapping in his coach! The postboy then returned to the inn where he stayed, now in the possession of an orphaned runaway. His mistress, upon hearing Sarah’s story, felt compassion for her and secured respectable lodgings and employment. The young girl spent the next eight years in the service of Mrs. Wallis, a kind and generous woman who made outward claims to a Christian testimony and practice. At the death of this mistress, the young girl was cast once more onto the providence of God. But he did not forsake her, quickly providing an opportunity for her to be received into the service of Lady Johnson, a woman of truly eminent godliness. This household engaged in regular family prayers and required attendance at public worship. Furthermore, the minister of this parish, Mr. Chapman, preached with earnestness and great affection and took an active role in shepherding those under his care. He would frequently come to the house to conduct family worship, and he made it a rule to speak to all the servants he could find, giving them pious advice and exhortation. The following excerpt picks up the story at this point in the narrative.
— Rev. Robert D. McCurley
Sarah Baker tells her own story.
I had not been in my situation many months before I was seized with a violent attack of rheumatic fever, which confined me to my bed many weeks. I now remember with shame the hard thoughts I entertained of the Lord’s dealings with me. I bless God, however, for that affliction, for in it, I found the truth of that line, “Oft from apparent ills our blessings rise.”
It was customary in cases of illness to inform Mr. Chapman, the clergyman; and with that kindness for which he was distinguished, he never failed to attend as soon as possible. It so happened that he called at our house the day I was taken ill, but owing to the violence of my disorder, it was thought best to defer his visit to me till some more proper time. He took, however, an early opportunity of coming to see me. After expressing is sympathy, he proceeded to make a few enquiries concerning my spiritual state. To all these, I gave him, as I thought, the most satisfactory answers, for I assured him I was in perfect charity with all the world, and have always regularly attended divine worship, neither was I afraid to die! Alas! I knew not the pride of the human heart! I was a little mortified, however, to find that my declaration did not produce that conviction on the mind of the minister which I expected; and supposing he rather doubted the truth of what I had advanced, I added, not without some degree of pertness, that though I had not made so much fuss and display with religion as some people, my principles were as good, and my practice as regular. In reply to all this, my pious visitor mildly informed me that, as disease had much weakened me, he would not prolong his visit, but call another time, only recommending me, in the interim, to read carefully of the third chapter of St. John’s Gospel, and to dwell particularly on the third verse. He then prayed for me and retired.
When he was gone, I reflected on what had passed, and felt I had done wrong in showing anything like petulance. I thought of his kindness and condescension in visiting a servant in her sickness. My curiosity induced me to request one of my attendants to read over the chapter he named, and to tell me when she read the third verse. The chapter was read, but I could find nothing in it that appeared suitable to my case, and wondered why I should have had my attention directed to this chapter in particular. The conversation between Nicodemus and our Lord I could not understand, and especially the verse referred to: “Verily, verily, I say unto thee, except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” At first, I thought being born again must mean baptized; but I recollected that in my Catechism, I had been taught that the outward and visible sign was different from the inward and spiritual grace; that the outward and visible sign was water, and that the inward and spiritual grace was a death unto sin, and a new birth unto righteousness. Here I felt myself bewildered, and being unable to comprehend its meaning, I abandoned the text altogether. My thoughts were, however, directed more to serious subjects than they had before been, and reflection on some parts of my conduct almost inclined me to think my life had not been so good and unblamable as it might have been, yet I thought God was merciful and would forgive my defects. I forgot that God was just also.
The worthy clergyman soon called again to see me, and enquired whether I had complied with his desire. I informed him I had, but that as I did not understand the subject, I derived no benefit from it.
“You’re not understanding the subject,” said he, “is a proof that you have not experienced the state of which it treats; and as the chapter tells you, that without it, you cannot enter the kingdom of heaven, how do you hope to be saved?”
I knew not what reply to make, but hoping to find shelter in a crowd, I said, “I have as much reason to expect salvation as others, for my life has been as good.”
“But,” said Mr. C, “if others have no goodness, and their faults and follies sink them to hell, will this be any consolation to you?”
“Hell, Sir,” said I, indignantly, “I hope you do not think I shall go there? I thought, Sir, you would have comforted me, but,” said I, bursting into tears, “you only trouble and distress me.”
“Sarah,” said Mr. Chapman, most affectionately, “I have no wish to give you unnecessary distress, but I dare not say, Peace, when there is no peace. It is my duty to correct as far as I can, what I discover to be wrong. I must, therefore, plainly inform you that your state is by no means a safe one. You have talked of the goodness of your principles, and the uprightness of your conduct; I would rather have heard you say, ‘God be merciful to me a sinner.’ Do you not know that we are ‘born in sin, and shapen in iniquity;’ that we bring into the world a depraved nature which shows itself in our earliest conduct? Have you never read in your Bible such words as these: ‘Man is like the wild ass’s colt’—There is none righteous, no not one—All we, like sheep, have gone astray’? Recollect, I beseech you, what the law of God requires, and ask yourself if you have come up to its requisitions! Have you kept the law in every particular, and at all times? Have you not transgressed in one point? Have you always loved the Lord your God with all your heart, and your neighbour as yourself? Has the mind which was in Christ Jesus always been in you? Have you never given way to anger, wrath, malice, pride, envy, censoriousness, love of the world, and such like vices? Have you done what you ought to have done, and left undone the things you ought not to have done? Will you say you have done in all cases just as you ought to have done? And if not, how can you talk of your principles, or of your conduct? Believe me, Sarah, it would better become you, in common with other sinners, to say, ‘The whole head is sick, and the whole heart is faint; from the crown of the head to the sole of the foot there is no soundness, but wounds, and bruises, and putrifying sores.’ Do not suffer yourself to be deluded; remember, ‘the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked;’ but pray to God to give you light, and spiritual understanding, that you may know your real condition. I do not say these things to pain you; God knows I do not delight in the distress of my fellow creatures, but my duty compels me to say, as Jesus himself said, ‘Unless ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish!’”
This close and pointed address was like a peal of thunder in my ears. My feelings were alternately of the most varying kind. Anger, love, resentment, acquiescence, by turns prevailed, and I felt that I had exaggerated my good qualities, but I could by no means think that my state was so bad as was represented. I did not think that Mr. C had any intention to torment me, and I could discover no reason for these severe remarks. As soon as I had recovered from the agitation his words had occasioned, I said, “I believe, Sir, you have mistaken my character: your remark may apply to others, not to me.”
“They are of universal application,” replied he, “for there is no person who can be justified by the deeds of the law; none can enter into the kingdom, until that divine change, called the new birth, takes place in him. You hope to go to heaven, yet you know nothing of justification by faith in Christ; of sanctification by the influence of the Holy Ghost; of adoption into God’s family; or of the witness of God’s Spirit with yours, that you are a child of God! Sarah, I wish you to be happy, and I advise you to pray for repentance as the way to be so: ‘Repent and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out.’”
After he had spent a few minutes longer in conversation and prayer, he left me. When he was gone, I was miserable! During his stay, I had kept up my supposed uprightness and semblance of religion, but now I felt that my religion, if I had any, was all external. I immediately sent for one of the underservants, who was considered pious, to converse with me on the subject of religion. I told her my case, my fears that all was not right within, and requested her candidly and openly to tell me what she thought. The poor creature was so affected that she first smiled, then wept, then uttered exclamations of praise, and then expressions of prayer. She then told me that she was happy indeed to find me under a concern for my soul, and thought the best advice was contained in her own conversion, which, with my permission, she would recite. I requested she would, and she immediately related to me the whole history of her religious life. She told me of her stupid insensibility when in a state of nature, the means of her conviction of sin, the happy hour in which she was enabled to believe to the salvation of her soul, her subsequent peace, and the hope she then possessed of everlasting life, through the merits of a dying Redeemer.
This account, so far from giving me peace, only increased my distress, and my case appeared worse than ever. I would have given the world to change states with this person. Where have I been? What have I been doing, thought I, and the more I thought, the more my distress increased. It is true I occasionally mustered up my works of charity, but they would not do; my conscience told me sin was mixed with them all, and I appeared to have no support, no ground of hope for that inheritance which is incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away. Poor Jane rejoiced over me as one that had found great spoil, and endeavoured to comfort me by the promises of the gospel, but I could find no rest. In the meantime, my bodily disorder continued with great violence, so that, what with my pain of body and distress of mind, I was almost distracted, and wished to die rather than live. Yet to die, I was afraid, because I felt that I deserved nothing but the vengeance of heaven.
Every succeeding day increased my distress. My convictions became stronger and stronger. I was completely wretched, and wished myself a beast rather than a human creature. I was so much afraid of increasing my sin, and consequently my punishment, that I durst scarcely venture to speak a word, or suffer another to speak in my presence. My distress was indescribable, yet I was not given over unto spiritual death. I could even then almost venture to say, “Rejoice not over me, O mine enemy; when I fall, I shall arise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord shall be a light unto me.” I was saved from absolute despair, yet my hope was exceedingly faint. I knew God delighted not in the death of a sinner, but I saw no way by which my sins could be forgiven, yet forgiveness was what I most earnestly sought. My contrition was genuine. I only desired a yet larger measure of it. I knew I could not be sufficiently penitent.
The visits of that faithful servant of Jesus Christ, Mr. Chapman, were unremitted, and the kind attention he paid me was greatly blessed to my soul. Such was his love to souls, that he would, like St. Paul, labour night and day with tears, if he might but be useful to one fellow creature. With what tenderness did he watch over me! How meekly did he bear with my stupidity and perverseness! How assiduously did he instruct and teach me! I should be ungrateful indeed to forget his labour of love; I shall always count him worthy of double honour, for his office sake, and my prayer shall not be wanting on his behalf! When he found into what distress my mind was brought, he sympathized tenderly with me, yet I perceived that he was pleased with it. It was indeed what he had been labouring to produce, for he knew that there must be a godly sorrow for sin, before pardoning mercy could be obtained. He saw, therefore, with considerable satisfaction, those tears of sorrow which should issue in smiles of joy. He saw me as a penitent prodigal regretting the distance that separated me from my heavenly parent, about to flee from the husks of earthly pleasure, to seek at God’s hand refined and spiritual delight. As he looked upon me, he felt what St. Paul expresses; “Herein I do rejoice, yea and will rejoice.”
The distress of my mind would have been more tolerable, had it not been accompanied with bodily sickness. With a soul encumbered by an oppressive load of guilt, death appeared terrible. It pleased God, however, to rebuke my disorder and, as the disease retired, my strength returned, but not my comfort. A consciousness of guilt weighed down my spirits, and deprived me of sleep in the night, and comfort in the day. Various indeed were the remedies my visitors prescribed: some advised more company, others a friendly game at cards, or some similar amusement, and others endeavoured to draw off my mind from reflecting upon deeds evidently sinful, and fix it upon those which were apparently meritorious, such as acts of charity, attention to divine service, etc. Alas! these were pitiful sources of comfort to a spirit broken down with the recollection of too much time squandered in these pursuits, or lost in the mere formalities of religion. Mr. Chapman was my best adviser. He recommended Christ as a Saviour; but even this advice I could not receive. Sometimes I thought it could not be, it was an expression of love too great to be credited; at other times I thought I must at least wait till, by continued sorrow, I had made a sort of atonement for my sins. Such were the devices of Satan to keep me from the Saviour.
When I was so far recovered as to go out of the house, I thought myself bound to attend divine service, and return thanks to God for raising me up. And I cannot but express my astonishment that so many should solicit the prayers of the congregation when sick, who, when restored to health, never think of acknowledging the mercy God has vouchsafed to them. It shows that they are more anxious for bodily health than spiritual submission to the will of God. I believe my thanks were sincere, yet I did not receive any particular good at that time. My trouble of mind on account of sin still continued.
A few weeks after, however, I found what I sought. The sermon that Mr. Chapman preached that day seemed made on purpose for me. His discourse was grounded on these words in the first verse of the fifth chapter of the Romans, “Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ.” The reverend gentleman considered the nature of justification—the means by which it is obtained, and the blessing consequent on receiving it. When he described justification as a state of a person delivered from the curse of the law, and eased of the burden of guilt, I thought it the greatest blessing a human soul could enjoy. When he mentioned it as a blessing to be possessed now in this life, I was surprised and delighted. I had foolishly supposed that the remission of sin could not be obtained till the day of judgment; but I now found that the business of that day was not to forgive, but to assign punishments or rewards; and that, if justification was obtained by faith, it must be before the judgment, because at that time, faith will be lost in sight. I was delighted to hear that a weary soul could in this world find rest, and earnestly did I long to enter into this rest. My prayer was, “Lord, Let this blessedness be mine.”
He described, with considerable clearness, the means by which it was obtained; distinguishing between the bare assent of the understanding, and that reliance on Christ which is characteristic of saving faith. It appeared, in the description, so simple and so proper an act, that I wondered I could not perform it. By an enlargement on the subsequent blessedness of justification, he showed it to be the only source of solid satisfaction and joy, and gave an extended view of the goodness of God, as displayed in the unspeakable gift of his Son, Jesus Christ.
The discussion of this subject greatly interested and exercised my mind. The knowledge it conveyed only exposed my own ignorance. The blessedness of true faith aggravated my sin of unbelief; and the whole gave me the most humiliating views of my state, and at the same time, excited the warmest desire to be delivered from it. Thus was I in some sort prepared for the powerful applicatory remarks with which he closed his discourse. He observed that the doctrine of justification was the most cheering and animating of which we could conceive; that it took off the burden of guilt, removed the cumbrous load, and enabled the soul to contemplate its Maker as its reconciled God. “But,” said he, “if the majesty of language fails to describe the blessedness of this inestimable state, what surprise should not be excited, when we hear that this great, this precious, this exalted height of privilege is possessed by the most easy and accommodating means! What does God require? Does he require rivers of oil, or seas of blood? Does he command slaughtered hecatombs? No, he requires a simple act of faith! Admirable simplicity! Wonderful condescension! And will you by unbelief shut yourselves out of heaven? Will you despise means, because they are easy, and within your reach? God forbid! Come, my brethren, behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of the world! Renounce your bondage, wrestle with your God in prayer, cast your souls on Jesus, throw yourselves into the sea of love! And why not now? Will Christ be more willing tomorrow? Will your souls be more fit? Be not deceived! You are now fit for Christ, for you are weary and heavy laden; you are faint and sorrowful; you are sick and dying! And Jesus is now willing! This is the acceptable time, this is the day of salvation! He will in no wise cast out them that come to him!”
This powerful exhortation came home to my heart; I felt every word. I had wished for mercy and forgiveness, but dared not expect it yet; but when Mr. C thus spoke of the Saviour’s willingness, I thought I should trust him. I must trust him. I said, “Lord help me! O help me to believe, and to believe now! I have no other hope, be thou my all in all.” My confidence seemed to increase; I prayed and struggled, and struggled and prayed. The kingdom of heaven suffered violence. I felt myself able to trust my Saviour, to throw all my soul upon him. Blessed be his name, it was not in vain! He bore my sorrows, and gave me peace and rest. My grief was dissipated. I seemed as one alive from the dead. Those words, “I am he that blotteth out thy iniquities,” were powerfully impressed on my mind, and I was able to say from my heart, “O Lord, I will praise thee; though thou wast angry with me, thine anger is turned away, and thou comfortest me.” How I kept myself from speaking aloud in the church, I know not. My heart was full of joy, and my lips of praise.
The interviewer provides some of his own concluding remarks to Mrs. Baker.
“There is in your history such a display of providence and grace, that one can hardly tell which to admire most: both require the most unfeigned acknowledgment. You may look back and say, ‘What hath God wrought!’ Consider them all as pledges of his willingness to help and bless you, and learn in time of need to cast your care upon him. Look for more, pray for more, and God will give you more.
“In this latter part of your history,” I continued, “though grace most strikingly appears, it is pleasingly connected with the Providence of God. It was providence that placed you in the family of Lady Johnson, that privileges you with a minister such as Mr. Chapman, that sent you that sanctified affliction, and that led to your union with Mr. Baker. It was grace that removed your prejudices, fastened convictions upon your conscience, brought you to seek Christ as your Saviour, and eventually enabled you to rejoice in him as your Redeemer. May that grace, in connexion with that providence, still be your portion, that through life’s intricate mazes, you may be safely guided. Do not let temporary comfort seduce you into the belief that trials have ceased, but rather remember, ‘this is not our rest.’ The billows of adversity may again roll high, the clouds may gather blackness over your head, and yawning gulfs may threaten to swallow you up; but look to God, and he will steer you through every storm, and land you safely on the heavenly shores. Stay by the Shepherd’s side, and when you walk through the valley of the shadow of death, you will fear no evil, his rod and staff will comfort you.”
We then knelt down and offered the sacrifice of praise. It was a time of refreshing from the presence of the Lord.
And now, in conclusion, let me ask thee, reader, is the God whose providence and grace have been illustrated thy God? Is thy soul converted? Art thou born of the Spirit? If thou art not, and from the perusal of these pages seest the necessity of it; or if thou art, and, from this account, art led to prize thy privilege, look unto Jesus: the writer will join thee in saying, “Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us; but unto thy name be the glory.”
