You may well suppose, then, Mr Editor, that the Sabbath is a valued and honoured day in my family; and that the invitation “let us go up together to the house of God,” is heard with gladness, and joyfully accepted. Sometimes, however, the Sabbath is a rainy day!—To be sure, I do not suffer a little threatening of unfavourable weather, or a slight shower, to keep me and mine from the house of God. But sometimes the Sabbath is a very rainy day. In this case I find it extremely difficult to conduct myself and family through the day, in a manner that I like to reflect on afterwards.

In three decades of studying our forefathers’ efforts to improve the observance of the Christian Sabbath in America’s “Southern Country” – mainly by Presbyterians but including some Baptists, Methodists, and Episcopalians – I’m convinced the following letter offers thoughtful readers one of the best little windows into the mindset of early nineteenth-century reformed believers regarding the Lord’s Day.

In a nutshell, the difference between most Christians then and now is this: our forefathers did not conceive of a believer in Christ who did not also hold a deep regard, or affection, for the Christian Sabbath (Lord’s day). Today’s Christians – although loving the Lord Jesus Christ, the Bible, and the church – too often have no particular affection for the first day and its sanctification.

Although lengthy, this candid, heartfelt letter fairly overflows with humbling, humorous, edifying, and encouraging thoughts for today’s readers. (The letter is transcribed in full except, so as not to fatigue the reader, the omitting of one anecdote concerning another of the family’s daughters.)

 

For The [Literary] and [Evangelical] Magazine [Richmond, Virginia, vol. VIII, no. 9 (Sep. 1825)]
The Rainy Sabbath

TO THE EDITOR,—I am too much of a Presbyterian in the least degree to tolerate auricular confession. Yet when I have done wrong, and an acknowledgment promises to be of any use, I am very willing to make it.

In the present case, I confess that I have done wrong many times, in common with many other persons. And I hope that the confession, which I am about to make, will be profitable both to myself and others.

I am a countryman, and a tiller of the soil. I belong to the church, and am blessed with what is called a pious family. My wife—good woman! has in the composition of her mind, as large a mixture of the Martha and the Mary as any person I ever knew. I have no doubt but that she loves to sit at the feet of Jesus and hear his word; that she knows that “one thing is needful;” and that she “has chosen the good part which never shall be taken from her;” and yet I often find her “careful and troubled about many things.” My girls and boys—the blessing of the God of their fathers rest on them!—are thought by their mother and me to be very promising children: and it is our unspeakable pleasure to have a good proportion of them at our side, when we go to the communion table. And I must here tell you that we love to acknowledge domestic relationships in the church; to have our children near to us in the house of God, and on the same seat at the table of our Lord. O! Sir, it is delightful to own as kindred in Christ, those who are dear to us by nature. The object of my youthful affection, the faithful companion of my age, the mother of my children, is never so dear to me, as when to all these relationships, I superadd that of sister in Christ Jesus. And my fond old heart never yearns with such intensity of paternal affection over my children, as when I see their eyes kindling up, and their countenances glowing with love to God, benevolence to man, and the joys of religion.

You may well suppose, then, Mr Editor, that the Sabbath is a valued and honoured day in my family; and that the invitation “let us go up together to the house of God,” is heard with gladness, and joyfully accepted. Sometimes, however, the Sabbath is a rainy day!—To be sure, I do not suffer a little threatening of unfavourable weather, or a slight shower, to keep me and mine from the house of God. But sometimes the Sabbath is a very rainy day. In this case I find it extremely difficult to conduct myself and family through the day, in a manner that I like to reflect on afterwards. The last Sabbath furnished an instance of this; and I mean, in the way of confession to give you some account of our movements, for warning in future to myself and others.

In the morning, the wind came directly from the North East; the clouds hung low and looked watery. This created considerable solicitude; and most of the time, which ought to have been employed in preparation of the heart, was spent in watching the appearance of the weather, and inquiring whether it would rain. Thus the prime of the day was lost. At length all doubts were settled, for the rain came in torrents, and the face of the earth was deluged in water. We then attempted to set ourselves seriously to the proper duties of the season. But it is mortifying to think of the causeless interruptions, and the wanderings of thought and conversation from appropriate subjects, to things entirely unsuitable which took place. To give you a few instances.

I had, as is usual, in family prayer remembered our boys who are at College, and prayed with more than usual earnestness that God might bless and preserve them; and this took a strong hold on the feelings of my wife. I could see that her heart was full of the subject; and she led the conversation respecting them, and our hopes and wishes for them, with the peculiar earnestness of maternal love, when it is considerably excited.—Note, it is our earnest wish that they may be inclined to devote their lives to the ministry of the gospel.[1] A pause ensued after our discourse on these subjects; after which my good wife, suddenly asked me if the tobacco on the creek low grounds, was not in danger of being destroyed? Conversation respecting our absent sons, naturally led the mind to the expenses of their education, and the means of defraying them, and this to the probable fate of the growing crop. The subject had several times before occurred to my own mind, and I had endeavoured to repel it. But at the moment of the question, my thoughts were wandering back to it;—they followed the lead given by my careful helpmeet, and we talked much, and felt great anxiety on things, utterly out of our control.

At length conscience roused up and smote me so violently, that I was compelled to turn to something else. I resolved to assemble my family, and read and pray with them. But while all were coming to order and silence, and I was sitting with a volume of [Rev. George] Burder’s Village Sermons, ready to begin the service, an outcry was raised that some disaster, had taken place among the young fowls: and before this was fairly remedied, it was told that a [panel] of the garden fence had been blown down, and that the hogs were in the garden. Finally, however, we got over all these interruptions, and I proceeded with my service. It was not long before the pattering of the rain lulled some of the servants to sleep, and thenceforward it was a part of our duty to watch, and waken the drowsy. Yet such are our habits, that, on the whole, a decent attention was given for the most part. But I could sometimes observe my careful wife cast anxious looks at the weather without, and sigh. And I knew by the state of my own heart, what was the subject of her thoughts.

After these exercises were over, all were dismissed to follow the peculiar turn of their own minds, but not without an exhortation to remember and apply to their consciences what had been heard. I retired to my chamber, and at length became so drowsy as to persuade myself that a recumbent posture would put my mind more at ease for meditation. I lay down, and slept profoundly until dinner was ready. I rose ashamed that on God’s day I had wasted time in sleep, which on any other day I should have employed in attention to my own business. And these feelings prevented my customary enjoyment of domestic communion around my table. I was thoughtful, silent, and abstracted. At length my attention was roused by the remark of one of my half grown daughters, that she reckoned Miss ——   ——— was very sorry it was a rainy day; for she had got a new bonnet last week, and no doubt wanted to wear it to church to-day. The child is thought to be something of a wit. And the vivacity of her manner contrasted with the gloom of the day, made her observation appear excessively diverting. There was a general laugh at the table. This was followed by a number of remarks, such as are too often heard in domestic circles, on the person, dress, manners, habits, &c. of the neighbours and their children. The conversation ran on in this way a considerable time, before I could summon enough energy of moral feeling to interpose. I am happy to say that in my family a single word from me is sufficient. No sooner had I spoken than all appeared to be ashamed. And I could soon see that there was a general effort to say something, that might in some way make atonement for the improper spirit displayed.

After dinner, I made another attempt to redeem the time, by reassembling the family, and engaging again in devotional exercises. But the drowsiness increased with the rain, and the difficulty of fixing attention became greater. And I felt how hard it is to get through the Sabbath well, without the privileges of God’s house.

At length, towards evening, the clouds began to part in the west, and the sun looked forth, like the countenance of a christian bedewed with tears, yet radiant with hope in the promises of God’s covenant. Presently, on the dark bosom of the mass of vapours, which contending winds had accumulated in the East, was seen the bow of heaven in all its brilliance and beauty, throwing its varied and lovely hues on fields and trees, and presenting a most striking contrast with the dark cloud on which the hand of the mighty artist had painted it. The sight attracted the attention of all, and filled every bosom with new animation. And, while assembled in one group to contemplate a scene which seems to be clothed with new beauties every time it appears, we thought and discoursed on God’s promise, of which the object before us was a sign, and of God’s faithfulness, in maintaining the grateful vicissitudes of day and night, summer and winter, seedtime and harvest. And I felt ashamed that I had wavered during the storm in my confidence in the faithfulness of my heavenly father. I looked at my wife whose arm was then, as it has been for thirty years, locked in mine—She read my feelings in my eyes, and felt corresponding emotions in her own heart. She threw her head on my bosom, and with a pathos which made every syllable tremble on her tongue, said “Oh! my husband, I ought to be less careful and troubled about the things of this world—and have my heart more fully set on the one thing needful—Pray for me, that I may have stronger faith, and more fervent love.” My heart went up in aspiration to our Father in heaven, for a blessing on me and mine. . . .

On the whole when we assembled for evening devotion, I felt humbled and confounded in presence of my God; and could only confess that we had misimproved our privileges, and wasted much of that precious time, which Heaven in mercy has consecrated to the peculiar and exclusive services of religion.

The history of this day has given rise to many serious reflections, for which now I have no time nor room. There is one question, however, which I must propose for serious consideration—How do families make out to spend the Sabbath profitably, when they have no opportunities of public worship?

Another question—How can christians bear to be deprived, three Sabbaths out of four; or one out of two, of the privileges of God’s House?

I confess that with all my helps; with a faithful pastor, and regular worship, I make out very poorly in a rainy day.

[SABBATICHOS]

Forrest L. Marion is a ruling elder in the First Presbyterian Church (PCA), Crossville, Tennessee.

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[1] The college was not identified, but could easily have been Presbyterian-affiliated Hampden-Sidney College (later, Hampden-Sydney) near Farmville, Va.