In March 1840, William Miller visited Portland, ME and gave a course of lectures on the second coming of Christ. These lectures produced a great sensation and the Christian church on Casco Street, where the lectures were given, was crowded day and night. No wild excitement attended these meetings but a deep solemnity pervaded the minds of those who heard. Not only was a great interest manifested in the city, but the country people flocked in day after day bringing their lunch baskets, and remaining from morning until the close of the evening meeting. In company with my friends I attended these meetings. Mr. Miller traced down the prophecies with an exactness that struck conviction to the hearts of his hearers. He dwelt upon the prophetic periods, and piled up proofs to strengthen his position. Then his solemn and powerful appeals and admonitions to those who were unprepared held the crowds as if spellbound.
Englishman's Prediction of the End of the World
Four years previous to this, on my way to school, I had picked up a scrap of paper containing an account of a man in England who was preaching that the earth would be consumed in about thirty years from that time. I took this item home, and read it to the family. In contemplating the event predicted, I was seized with terror; the time seemed too short for the conversion and salvation of the world. Such a deep impression was made upon my mind by the little paragraph on the scrap of waste paper, that I could scarcely sleep for several nights, and prayed continually to be ready when Jesus came.
Announcement of the Second Advent
I had been taught that a temporal millennium would take place prior to the coming of Christ in the clouds of heaven; but now I was listening to the most solemn and powerful sermons, and to the startling announcement that Christ was coming in 1843, only a few short years in the future.
Special meetings were appointed where sinners might have an opportunity to seek their Saviour and prepare for the fearful events soon to take place. Terror and conviction spread through the entire city. Prayer meetings were established, and there was a general awakening among the various denominations; for they all felt more or less the influence that proceeded from the teaching of the near coming of Christ.
When sinners were invited forward to the anxious seat, hundreds responded to the call; and I, among the rest, pressed through the crowd and took my place with the seekers. But there was in my heart a feeling that I could never become worthy to be called a child of God. I had often sought for the peace there is in Christ, but I could not seem to find the freedom desired. A terrible sadness rested on my heart. I could not think of anything I had done to cause me to feel sad; but it seemed to me that I was not good enough to enter heaven, that such a thing would be altogether too much for me to expect.
Prevented from Seeking Advice
A lack of confidence in myself and a conviction that it would be impossible to make any one understand my feelings, prevented me from seeking advice and aid from my Christian friends. Thus I wandered needlessly in darkness and despair, while they, not penetrating my reserve, were entirely ignorant of my true state.
One reason that led me to conceal my feelings from my friends was the dread of hearing a word of discouragement. My hope was so small and my faith so weak that I feared if another should take a similar view of my condition, it would plunge me into despair. Yet my heart longed for someone to tell me what I should do to be saved, what steps to take to meet my Saviour and give myself entirely up to the Lord. I regarded it a great thing to be a Christian, and supposed that it required some peculiar effort on my part. My mind remained in this condition for months.
One evening my brother Robert and myself were returning home from a meeting where we had listened to a most impressive discourse on the approaching reign of Christ upon the earth, followed by an earnest and solemn appeal to Christians and sinners to prepare for the judgment and the coming of the Lord. My soul had been stirred within me by what I had heard. And so deep was the sense of conviction in my heart that I feared the Lord would not spare me even to reach home.
These words kept ringing in my ears "The great day of the Lord is at hand! Who shall be able to stand when He appeareth?" The language of my heart was, "Spare me, O Lord, through the night! Take me not away in my sins. Pity me, save me."
For the first time I tried to explain my feelings to my brother, who was two years older than myself. I told him that I dared not rest or sleep until I knew that God had pardoned my sins. My brother made no immediate reply, but the cause of his silence was soon apparent,--he was weeping in sympathy with my distress. This encouraged me to confide in him still more. I told him that I had coveted death in the days when life seemed so heavy a burden; but now the thought that I might die in my present sinful state, and be eternally lost, filled me with terror. I asked him if he thought God would spare my life through that one night, if I spent it agonizing in prayer to Him. He answered, "I think He will, if you ask Him in faith; and I will pray for you and for myself Ellen, we must never forget the words we have heard this night." Arriving at home, I spent most of the long hours of darkness in prayer and tears.
Methodist Camp Meeting
I had usually attended the Methodist meetings with my parents; but since becoming interested in the soon appearing of Christ, I had attended the meetings on Casco Street.
The following summer my parents went to the Methodist camp meeting at Buxton ME, taking me with them. I was fully resolved to seek the Lord in earnest there, and obtain, if possible, the pardon of my sins. There was a great longing in my heart for the Christian's hope and the peace that comes from believing.
I was much encouraged while listening to a discourse from the words, "I will go in unto the king, ... and if I perish, I perish." In his remarks the speaker referred to those who were wavering between hope and fear, longing to be saved from their sins and receive the pardoning love of Christ, yet held in doubt and bondage by timidity and fear of failure. He counseled such ones to surrender themselves to God, and venture upon His mercy without delay. They would find a gracious Saviour ready to extend to them the scepter of mercy, even as Ahasuerus offered to Esther the signal of his favor. All that was required of the sinner, trembling in the presence of his Lord, was to put forth the hand of faith and touch the scepter of His grace. That touch insured pardon and peace.
Those who were waiting to make themselves more worthy of divine favor before they ventured to claim the promises of God, were making a fatal mistake. Jesus alone cleanses from sin; He only can forgive our transgressions. He has pledged Himself to listen to the petition and grant the prayer of those who come to Him in faith.
Many have a vague idea that they must make some wonderful effort in order to gain the favor of God. But all self-dependence is vain. It is only by connecting with Jesus through faith that the sinner can become a hopeful, believing child of God.
These thoughts comforted me, and gave me a view of what I must do to be saved. I could not see my way more clearly, and the darkness began to pass away. I earnestly sought pardon for my sins, and strove to give myself entirely to the Lord. But my mind was often in great distress, because I did not experience the spiritual ecstasy that I supposed would be the evidence of my acceptance with God, and I dared not believe myself converted without it. How much I needed instruction concerning the simplicity of faith!
Fanaticism
Some things at this camp-meeting perplexed me exceedingly. I could not understand the exercises of many persons during the conference meetings, both at the stand and in the tents. They shouted at the top of their voices, clapped their hands, and appeared greatly excited. Quite a number fell, through exhaustion, it appeared to me; but those present said they were sanctified to God, and this wonderful manifestation was the power of the Almighty upon them. After lying motionless for a time, these persons would rise, and again talk and shout as before.
In some of the tents, meetings were continued through the night, by those who were praying for freedom from sin and the sanctification of the Spirit of God. Quite a number became sick in consequence of the excitement and loss of sleep and were obliged to leave the ground.
These singular manifestations brought no relief to me, but rather increased my discouragement. I despaired of ever becoming a Christian if in order to obtain the blessing it was necessary for me to be exercised as these people were. I was terrified by such peculiar demonstrations, and at a loss to understand them.
I passed into a tent where the people were praying and shouting, some confessing their sins and crying for mercy, while others were rejoicing in their new-found happiness.
A Little Girl and Her Parasol
My attention was attracted to a little girl who seemed to be in great distress. Her face would pale and flush by turns, as though she were passing through a severe conflict. Tightly clasped in her arms was a pretty little parasol. Occasionally she would loosen her hold on it for a moment, as if about to let it fall, then her grasp would tighten on it again; all the time she seemed to be regarding it with a peculiar fascination.
At last she cried out, "Dear Jesus, I want to love Thee and go to heaven! Take away my sins! I give myself to Thee parasol and all." She threw herself into her mother's arms, weeping and exclaiming, "Ma, I am so happy, for Jesus loves me, and I love Him better than my parasol or anything else."
The face of the child was fairly radiant. She had surrendered her little all. In her childish experience she had fought the battle, and won the victory. There was much weeping and rejoicing in the tent. The mother was deeply moved, and very joyful that the Lord had added her dear child as a lamb to His fold.
She explained to those present that her little daughter had received the parasol as a present not long before; she was very much delighted with it, and had kept it in her hands most of the time, even taking it to bed with her. During the meeting her tender heart had been moved to seek the Saviour. She had heard that nothing must be withheld from Jesus; that nothing short of an entire surrender of ourselves and all we have would be acceptable to Him.
The little parasol was the child's earthly treasure, upon which her heart was set, and in the struggle to give it up to the Lord, she had passed through a trial keener, perhaps, than that of the mature Christian who sacrifices this world's treasures for the sake of Christ.
It was afterward explained to the little girl that since she had relinquished her parasol to Jesus, and it no longer stood between herself and her love for Him, it was right for her to retain it and use it in a proper manner.
Many times in after life that little incident has been brought to mind. When I have seen men and women holding desperately to the riches and vanity of earth, yet anxiously praying for the love of Christ, I have thought, "How hard it is to give up the parasol!" Yet Jesus gave up heaven for our sake, and became poor, that we, through His poverty and humiliation, might secure eternal riches.
The Burden Lifted
While bowed at the altar with others who were seeking the Lord, all the language of my heart was, "Help, Jesus; save me, or I perish! I will never cease to entreat until my prayer is heard and my sins are forgiven!" I felt my needy, helpless condition as never before. But suddenly, as I prayed, my burden left me, and my heart was light. At first a feeling of alarm came over me, and I tried to resume my load of distress. It seemed to me that I had no right to feel joyous and happy. But Jesus seemed very near to me; I felt able to come to Him with all my griefs, misfortunes, and trials, even as the needy ones came to Him for relief when He was upon earth. There was a surety in my heart that He understood my peculiar trials, and sympathized with me. I can never forget this precious assurance of the pitying tenderness of Jesus toward one so unworthy of His notice. I learned more of the divine character of Christ in that short period, when bowed among the praying ones, than ever before.
One of the mothers in Israel came to me and said, "Dear child, have you found Jesus?" I was about to answer, "Yes," when she exclaimed, "Indeed you have. His peace is with you; I see it in your face!" Again and again I said to myself, "Can this be religion? Am I not mistaken?" It seemed too much for me to claim, too exalted a privilege. Though too timid to confess it openly, I felt that the Saviour had blessed me and pardoned my sins.
Immaculate Children
I can now look back on my youthful experience, and see how near I came to making a fatal mistake. I had read many of the religious biographies of children who had possessed numberless virtues and lived faultless lives. I had conceived a great admiration for the paragons of perfection there represented. But far from encouraging me in my efforts to become a Christian, these books were as stumbling blocks to my feet; for I despaired of ever attaining to the perfection of the youthful characters in those stories, who lived the lives of saints, and were free from all the doubts and sins and weaknesses under which I staggered. Their faultless lives were followed by a premature but happy death, and the biographers tacitly intimated that they were too good and pure for earth, therefore God, in His divine pity, had removed them from its uncongenial atmosphere.
The similarity of these avowedly true histories seemed to point the fact to my youthful mind that they really presented a correct picture of a child's Christian life. I repeated to myself again and again, "If this is true, I can never be a Christian. I can never hope to be like those children." This thought drove me almost to despair. But when I learned that I could come to Jesus just as I was, that the Saviour had come to ransom just such unworthy sinners as I was, then light broke upon my darkness, and I could claim the promises of God.
Later experiences have convinced me that these biographies of immaculate children mislead the youth. They extol the amiable qualities of their characters, and suppress their faults and failures. If they were represented as struggling with temptations, occasionally vanquished, yet triumphing over their trials in the end, if they were represented as subject to human frailties and beset by ordinary temptations, then children would see that they had experienced like trials with themselves, yet through the grace of God had conquered. Such examples would give them fresh courage to renew their efforts to serve the Lord, hoping to triumph as those before them had done.
But the sober realities and errors of the young Christian's life were vigorously kept out of sight, while the virtues were so exaggerated as to lift them far above the common level of ordinary children, who naturally despair of ever reaching such excellence, and therefore give up the effort, in many cases, and gradually sink into a state of indifference.
Change Wrought by Conversion
Soon after this the camp-meeting closed, and we started for home. My mind was full of the sermons, exhortations, and prayers we had heard. It seemed to me that every one must be at peace with God, and animated by His Spirit. Everything that my eyes rested upon seemed to have undergone a change.
During the meeting, clouds and rain prevailed a greater part of the time, and my feelings had been in harmony with the weather. Now the sun shone bright and clear, and flooded the earth with light and warmth. The trees and grass were a fresher green, the sky a deeper blue, and the birds sang more sweetly than ever before; they seemed to be praising the Creator in their songs. The very earth seemed to smile under the peace of God. So the rays of the Sun of Righteousness had penetrated the clouds and darkness of my mind, and dispelled its gloom. I did not care to talk, for fear this happiness might pass away, and I should lose the precious evidence of Jesus' love for me.
As we neared our home in Portland we passed men at work upon the street. They were conversing with one another upon ordinary topics, but my ears were deaf to everything but the praise of God, and their words came to me as grateful thanks and glad hosannas. Turning to my mother, I said, "Why, these men are all praising God, and they haven't been to the camp-meeting." I did not then understand why the tears gathered in my mother's eye, and a tender smile lit up her face, as she listened to my simple words. They had recalled a similar experience of her own.
My mother was a great lover of flowers, and took much pleasure in cultivating them, and thus making her home attractive and pleasant for her children. But our garden had never before looked so lovely to me as upon the day of our return. I recognized an expression of the love of Jesus in every shrub, bud, and flower. These things of beauty seemed to speak in mute language of the love of God.
There was a beautiful pink flower in the garden, called the Rose of Sharon. I remember approaching it and touching the delicate petals reverently; they seemed to possess sacredness in my eyes. My heart overflowed with tenderness and love for these beautiful creations of God. I could see divine perfection in the flowers that adorned the earth; God tended them, and His all-seeing eye was upon them. He had made them, and called them good.
"Ah," thought I, "if He so loves and cares for the flowers that He has decked with beauty, how much more tenderly will He guard the children who are formed in His image." I repeated softly to myself, "I am a child of God; His loving care is around me. I will be obedient, and in no way displease Him; but will praise His dear name, and love Him always."
My life appeared to me in a different light. The affliction that had darkened my childhood seemed to have been dealt me in mercy, for my good, to turn my heart away from the world and its unsatisfying pleasures; and incline it toward the enduring attractions of heaven.
Uniting with the Methodist Church
Soon after our return from the camp-meeting, I, with several others, was taken into the church on probation. My mind was very much exercised on the subject of baptism. Young as I was, I could see but one mode of baptism authorized by the Scriptures, and that was immersion. Some of my sisters tried in vain to convince me that sprinkling was Bible baptism. The Methodist minister consented to immerse the candidates if they conscientiously preferred that method, although he intimated that sprinkling would be equally acceptable with God.
Finally the time was appointed for us to receive this solemn ordinance. It was a windy day when we, twelve in number, went down into the sea to be baptized. The waves ran high and dashed upon the shore, but in taking up this cross my peace was like a river. When I arose from the water, my strength was nearly gone, for the power of the Lord rested upon me. I felt that henceforth I was not of this world, but had risen from the watery grave into a newness of life. The same day in the afternoon I was received into the church in full membership. A young woman stood by my side who was also a candidate for admission to the church. My mind was peaceful and happy till I noticed the gold rings glittering upon this sister's fingers, and the large, showy earrings in her ears. I then observed that her bonnet was adorned with artificial flowers, and trimmed with costly ribbons arranged in bows and puffs. My joy was dampened by this display of vanity in one who professed to be a follower of the meek and lowly Jesus. I expected that the minister would give some whispered reproof or advice to this sister; but he was apparently regardless of her showy apparel, and no rebuke was administered.
We both received the right hand of fellowship. The hand decorated with jewels was clasped by the representative of Christ, and both our names were registered upon the church book.
This circumstance caused me no little perplexity and trial as I remembered the apostle's words, "In like manner, also, that women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety; not with braided hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array; but (which becometh women professing godliness) with good works." The teaching of this scripture seemed to be openly disregarded by those whom I looked upon as devoted Christians, and who were much older in experience than myself. If it was indeed as sinful as I supposed to imitate the extravagant dress of the worldings, surely these Christians would conform to the Bible standard. Yet for myself, I determined to follow my convictions of duty. I could but feel that it was contrary to the spirit of the gospel to devote God-given time and means to the decoration of our persons; that humility and self-denial would be more befitting those whose sins had cost the infinite sacrifice of the Son of God.