Jane's Testimony
Written by Jane E. WolfeShared at the World Missionary Press Chapel Service February 1989
First of all, I desire to give highest praise and thanksgiving to my Heavenly Father for His great faithfulness to me through ALL the varied phases of my life. My life verse has been Psalms 32:8, "I will instruct thee and teach me thee in the way thou shalt go; I will guide thee with mine eye." This God has preciously done for me.
I received the Lord Jesus Christ as my personal Savior at 12 years of age. While still in my teens, I surrendered my life to Him to do with as He chooses. After graduating from high school at a time when our Nation was coming out of the Great Depression, I had dreams of going to MOODY BIBLE INSTITUTE, but for a shy penniless country girl to board the train in Pennsylvania for the big city of Chicago—miles from home—was almost unthinkable. The closest I came to realizing that dream was later to join a local Bible Study Class that was enrolled in the correspondence school of Moody Bible Institute. We got our certificates after several years of study, meeting one evening a week to discuss our assigned questions.
So, what path did God have me travel on instead, that eventually brought me to the doors of World Missionary Press? Since my high school at that time had not offered commercial courses, I took a two-year commercial course at our local business college. To pay my tuition there, I had my first contact with a "Printing Press." I operated the MULTIGRAPH machine. This required me setting up the type—letter by letter, word, by word, line by line—on a steel drum, then place an inked ribbon over the entire drum, and hand-crank out the letters—one by one, for as many hundred as the order required.
From business school, God opened a position for me as secretary in a law office—starting at a weekly salary of $10, less 10 cents taxes, or a net check of $9.90. Those figures of $9.90 on that weekly check have become indelibly imprinted on my memory. During my 16 years' experience in the law office (a story in itself!), I also was Executive Secretary of our local YOUTH FOR CHRIST weekly Saturday night rallies (another story in itself!!). Eventually, after being out of high school almost 20 years, I started my college courses (Lebanon Valley College, Annville, PA)—at first only evening classes, then summer school in early mornings before going to work at the law office. When my attorney–employer became ill and had to give up his practice, I then completed my college courses as a full-time commuting day student. After college, it was on to graduate school at Syracuse University, majoring in English Literature, followed by 20 year of teaching English, German, and Bible in four different Christian academies and four different states. Each of these positions again is another story in itself. My starting salary now no longer was $10 a week, but all the way to $100 a month, plus room and board. These 20 years spanned the decades of the turbulent 60's and 70's, which some of you will recall and pinpoint as the time when prayer was taken out of the public schools, and young people began openly to rebel against all authority, rules, restraints, and regulations.
While I was teaching in upstate New York, my sister Ruth and her family moved from Pennsylvania to Winona Lake, Indiana. In her letters, she began telling me of her next door neighbors, the WORLD MISSIONARY PRESS, and the Watson Goodman Family. In due time, while visiting my sister during summer vacation, I helped her serve dinner to Watson and Rose, along with Harry Goodman, Ray Stair and his son Tim—this was on MOVING DAY when the Press vacated Winona Lake premises and moved to New Paris.
Several summers later, in 1977, I pulled myself from my sister's garden and kitchen and came to the Press for two weeks of volunteering. I got a taste of Treva's Foreign Department and enjoyed living with Elaine Lehrhaupt and Sara Marie Kauffman in what is now Chuck's home. There I volunteered to relieve Elaine of her K.P. duties on the alternate evenings when it was her turn to cook the evening meal. After supper one evening, she and Sara Marie asked me to walk along across the street to inspect the progress being made with the construction of the first duplex then going up. The sides were up, and the roof had just been put on. As I viewed the skeleton of the partitioned rooms, I somehow had the sudden, passing thought, "You just might be inhabiting one of these yourself some day!"
Of course, at that time, I had NO thought at all of giving up teaching. But God knew differently! Just two years later—after my voice failure when I had to give up teaching—I didn't know WHERE to turn for either a place to live, or a place of employment.
In the midst of my tossing about—all to no avail—God reminded me of WORLD MISSIONARY PRESS, where I wrote, from Lancaster, PA, and inquired if there was a possibility of coming onto Staff with my voice limitations. I got a reply that there could be no additions of paid staff at that time, but an application was enclosed for a position as a Resident Volunteer. I returned this completed application, whereupon Watson promptly wrote, stating, "We are looking forward to your joining the team as a Resident Volunteer worker."
And so, a week later, in the providence of God and with His promises to sustain me and to meet my every need, I was on my way to New Paris, Indiana—just 90 miles away from that BIG city of Chicago—to begin work on November 4, 1980 in Gloria's Records office (now Treva's suite of rooms) and later to live in the very duplex I had inspected on that first visit.
I want to take this opportunity to thank each one of you for your many kindnesses to me these eight plus years and for your patience, love, and understanding when my feeble attempts to communicate do not always convey the intended message.
Truly with the songwriter, I can say:
"Jesus led me ALL the way—Led my Step by Step each day."I praise Him. Great is His faithfulness!
The Word Works!
Written by Jane E. Wolfe
I accepted the Lord Jesus as my Savior at age twelve. Soon thereafter, Psalms 32:8 became my life verse with God's assurance, "I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye." This He has faithfully done!
Later, when I was barely out of my teens, my dear mother suddenly became ill and went to Glory. God's Word then came to me as healing balm for my sorrowing heart. I had three younger sisters, and I felt a keen responsibility to be brave in helping them face this new experience with courage by suppressing my own sorrow. The special word God had for me then was Psalms 16:11 - "Thou wilt show me the path of life: in thy presence is fullness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures forevermore." This was a dual blessing that brought me great comfort. It assured me (1) God would be my "way-shower" through life without a mother, and (2) mother was now experiencing eternal joys and pleasures in His presence.
Perhaps the most critical moment when God's Word brought victory and peace to my troubled soul, was when I lay on my hospital bed for three weeks after a ruptured appendix had already become gangrenous. Several months prior, my 20-year teaching career abruptly ended due to voice failure. I found myself without any health insurance and only a small savings account. What should I do? In my perplexity and dismay, I threw myself into God's loving arms. He bought peace with His promises in Isaiah 41:10 - "Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness." I accepted these "Fear Nots" as my pillow and went to sleep—knowing He is faithful to all He has promised. Indeed so He was! I praise Him!
My literary path trails back to Little Red Riding Hood's walks through the woods to visit her grandmother. No matter how often she made the trip, I listened breathlessly each time for the outcome of her dialogue with the big, bad wolf. However, I did not altogether like the connotation this encounter gave to my surname. Why could the villain not have been a big black bear or a sly, red fox? Little Red Riding Hood and I had much in common then. I was certain the stretch of woods through which she went was of the same dimensions as the one which lay adjacent to our home. I also knew exactly what kind of flowers she had stopped to pick along the way—none other than dog tooth violets and spring beauty. With equal captivating charm, I accompanied Heidi up the Swiss mountainside where she frolicked with her grandfather's goats.
I soon abandoned my first love in favor of a charming, blue-eyed, curly-haired blonde named Honey Bunch. She came to me in a succession of long visits which had been arranged by my aunt, first as an award for my having arrived at the stage where I could read without any prompting, later as a Christmas gift, and again as birthday congratulations. Honey Bunch was an adventure-some little lass and told me, at great length, about her trips to the big city, to the seashore, and to the farm. She instilled within me a desire to do some traveling. And then, one day it happened. My uncle pulled into our driveway and announced that he had to make a business trip to the city—the big city of Philadelphia. What was significant was the fact that he asked whether my two sisters and I would like to go along. We couldn't believe our ears when he continued, "Then we'll to go Atlantic City the next day." We made a beeline for the garden to get Mother's permission and, in our frenzied excitement, fell headlong over each other at her feet. She did not dare to say "No." In a flash, we had our suitcases packed and were on our way to enjoy all the fabulous experiences Honey Bunch had had before us.
"Tillie the Toiler", in the Sunday comics, made her bid for my attention in my adolescent years. There was one disadvantage, however, to living in the country, especially during the era that is now chronicled as "the Great Depression"—Sunday comics and movies bordered too near the realm of luxuries to be allotted a slot in the family budget. Consequently, four or five weeks would elapse before I could catch up with Tillie's experiences. My aunt accumulated her comics pending our visits. With the passing of this character from the comic page, also went my appetite for this brand of diversion, which was soon supplanted by the magazine section of the Grit weekly, along with serials featured in the Country Gentleman.
I later found hours of delight in the novels of Grace Livingston Hill, whose forceful portrayal of true-to-life situations and conflicts kept me burning the midnight oil on many occasions. After having had the privilege of hearing Mrs. Hill lecture to a youth convention, I could better understand how it was that the salutary influence of her books channeled the current of many young lives and deflected them, during their stormy teens, from the motley array of literary claptrap on sale at the corner drugstore. Her dignified and magnetic personality permeated her books with a freshness and fervor that was animating. I found it difficult to lay the book aside until I was assured of the outcome of the character with whom I had allied my sympathies. Along with Mrs. Hill's novels, I was intrigued by Gene Stratton Porter's nature novels, especially The Harvester. I began to envision possibilities of a like business venture from a harvest of roots, herbs, and leaves with medicinal qualities, which I was certain I could find on our five-acre tract of land.
When I entered high school, I began to traverse new literary paths. Our inherited classics were unfolded before me. How full of meaning those rereadings were after our teacher dissected them in class and had given us the key with which to interpret and understand each one. Milton must be read against the backdrop of rising Puritanism and of the Cavalier element in English society or else "L'Allegro" and "Il Penseroso" are irreconcilable. I eagerly followed Sir Launfal's quest for the Holy Grail. In Ivanhoe, the pomp and pageantry of the tourneys and of the noble life of the Knights and ladies of the court was attracting. I pitted the piety, peace, and serene simplicity of "Cotter's Saturday Night" against the vice, revelry, and superstition of "Tam O" Shanter." My elective reading in other areas during those years, usually hinged around historical novels which had sprung forth from events in the early American scene or which depicted life peculiar to a particular region of our country, such as Jean Ritchie's "The Singing Family of the Cumberlands." I also acquired a slight propensity toward autobiography and biography; in fact my high school career concluded with research reading, in preparation of my commencement oration, on the life of Conrad Weiser in his role as mediator between the early Pennsylvania colonists and the Indians. In later years, I enjoyed the biographies of the lives of Booker T. Washington, Queen Victoria, George Mueller, Jonathan Edwards, and others. These accounts no longer were mere chronological recordings of happy, carefree days as Honey Bunch knew; I discovered that a biography reveals the effect that society has had on the individual, as well as the impress the individual, in turn, has left on his society.
My bouts with poetry were cyclical. In the elementary grades, whenever a page of poetry loomed on the horizon of our reading books, the inevitable assignment was a memory selection. This was not too disheartening as long as rime and rhythm were present, as in "The Village Blacksmith" and Tennyson's "To a Brook." But along came Bryant's "Thanatopsis" in eighth grade—without any rime; nonetheless, it had to be memorized. I was one with Bryant, however, in a love for nature and the great out-of-doors; so I rigidly applied myself and mastered his immortal lines evidently to the teacher's satisfaction—she later "rewarded" me with a request to give a public recitation of the poem. After that, I knew better than to persevere for perfection in memorizing poems. In high school, I could breathe more freely at the sight of poetry. Our memory selections were limited to choice single stanzas or couplets, such as Coeridge's "Water, water everywhere, ..." and "He prayeth best who loveth best..." We concerned ourselves chiefly with the rich imagery and symbolism which served as the framework of the particular poem. Later, in college, I thrilled to Wordsworth's majestic and vivid portrayal of the commonplace, as well as the extraordinary in nature. To him, the frail yellow daffodil is not to be overrun by the foaming cataracts which come rushing down from yon lofty mountain heights. I greatly enjoyed his sincere tribute to "The Old Cumberland Beggar." Here is rusticity which is not without charm. —Only once in my college contacts with poetry was I tortured with the threat of possible memorization as a term assignment. The professor, however, evidently recalled how very elusive can be the memory of a college student and finally compromised in favor of a matching set of neatly-phrased quotes in the final examination. This technique requires no memorization whatsoever, merely skills in association.
The span between my high school and college years had been filled with reading excursions of varied nature. Following graduation from high school, I had hoped to enroll as a day student in the Moody Bible Institute in Chicago. Again the inelasticity of the family budget was a barrier. Instead, I enrolled in the correspondence school of the same institution. During the four years of intensive study of the Bible, I found it to be a veritable treasure house whose rooms are filled with lofty poetry, history, prophetic symbolism, biography, and doctrine. Through those long hours of guided study, I discovered that there truly breathes through its pages the voice of the Eternal One with a timeless, yet timely message for the individual heart. Of the many reference readings supplementing the textbook to this course, I particularly enjoyed Life By The Son, by Dr. Donald Grey Barnhouse, and Pastoral Psychiatry, by Dr. John Suterland Bonnell, both of which made very pointed and practical application of the Christian Life to everyday problems which confront the laymen.
Undoubtedly my most extensive reading career began as a college student. Here I not only trod down Poetry Lane, as I have already indicated, but I also became acquainted with the philosophies of some of the great minds, such as Plato, Aristotle, Socrates, Kant, Nietzche, and others. A general introduction to art came through the reading of the Romance of Leonardi De Vinci. I sympathized with Odysseus through long weary years of heartbreaking experiences in the Odyssey; I learned about the whaling industry and set sail in quest of the big white whale in Moby Dick. Again, I journeyed to Canterbury with Chaucer's pilgrims and gathered much information about medieval society in England. They all were rich, rewarding experiences indeed. On many occasions, when I did not want to be closeted alone with my literary friends, I introduced them, by reading aloud through entire books, to either my blind uncle or to an elderly lady who was bent over her quilting or crocheting while she listened.
My sampling of American literature in college was another extremely fascinating journey. It has left me with a long list of "musts" to return to in future reading hours. Outer space fiction intrigues me not one bit so long as there still remains so very much of the American continent for me to explore through the literary probes of Bret Harte, Hamlin Garland, and others. Consequently, I anticipate graduate school where I intend to browse further in American literary pasture.
An Ever-Widening Path
Written by Jane E. Wolfe
English Class Assignment - Lebanon Valley College
I soon abandoned my first love in favor of a charming, blue-eyed, curly-haired blonde named Honey Bunch. She came to me in a succession of long visits which had been arranged by my aunt, first as an award for my having arrived at the stage where I could read without any prompting, later as a Christmas gift, and again as birthday congratulations. Honey Bunch was an adventure-some little lass and told me, at great length, about her trips to the big city, to the seashore, and to the farm. She instilled within me a desire to do some traveling. And then, one day it happened. My uncle pulled into our driveway and announced that he had to make a business trip to the city—the big city of Philadelphia. What was significant was the fact that he asked whether my two sisters and I would like to go along. We couldn't believe our ears when he continued, "Then we'll to go Atlantic City the next day." We made a beeline for the garden to get Mother's permission and, in our frenzied excitement, fell headlong over each other at her feet. She did not dare to say "No." In a flash, we had our suitcases packed and were on our way to enjoy all the fabulous experiences Honey Bunch had had before us.
"Tillie the Toiler", in the Sunday comics, made her bid for my attention in my adolescent years. There was one disadvantage, however, to living in the country, especially during the era that is now chronicled as "the Great Depression"—Sunday comics and movies bordered too near the realm of luxuries to be allotted a slot in the family budget. Consequently, four or five weeks would elapse before I could catch up with Tillie's experiences. My aunt accumulated her comics pending our visits. With the passing of this character from the comic page, also went my appetite for this brand of diversion, which was soon supplanted by the magazine section of the Grit weekly, along with serials featured in the Country Gentleman.
I later found hours of delight in the novels of Grace Livingston Hill, whose forceful portrayal of true-to-life situations and conflicts kept me burning the midnight oil on many occasions. After having had the privilege of hearing Mrs. Hill lecture to a youth convention, I could better understand how it was that the salutary influence of her books channeled the current of many young lives and deflected them, during their stormy teens, from the motley array of literary claptrap on sale at the corner drugstore. Her dignified and magnetic personality permeated her books with a freshness and fervor that was animating. I found it difficult to lay the book aside until I was assured of the outcome of the character with whom I had allied my sympathies. Along with Mrs. Hill's novels, I was intrigued by Gene Stratton Porter's nature novels, especially The Harvester. I began to envision possibilities of a like business venture from a harvest of roots, herbs, and leaves with medicinal qualities, which I was certain I could find on our five-acre tract of land.
When I entered high school, I began to traverse new literary paths. Our inherited classics were unfolded before me. How full of meaning those rereadings were after our teacher dissected them in class and had given us the key with which to interpret and understand each one. Milton must be read against the backdrop of rising Puritanism and of the Cavalier element in English society or else "L'Allegro" and "Il Penseroso" are irreconcilable. I eagerly followed Sir Launfal's quest for the Holy Grail. In Ivanhoe, the pomp and pageantry of the tourneys and of the noble life of the Knights and ladies of the court was attracting. I pitted the piety, peace, and serene simplicity of "Cotter's Saturday Night" against the vice, revelry, and superstition of "Tam O" Shanter." My elective reading in other areas during those years, usually hinged around historical novels which had sprung forth from events in the early American scene or which depicted life peculiar to a particular region of our country, such as Jean Ritchie's "The Singing Family of the Cumberlands." I also acquired a slight propensity toward autobiography and biography; in fact my high school career concluded with research reading, in preparation of my commencement oration, on the life of Conrad Weiser in his role as mediator between the early Pennsylvania colonists and the Indians. In later years, I enjoyed the biographies of the lives of Booker T. Washington, Queen Victoria, George Mueller, Jonathan Edwards, and others. These accounts no longer were mere chronological recordings of happy, carefree days as Honey Bunch knew; I discovered that a biography reveals the effect that society has had on the individual, as well as the impress the individual, in turn, has left on his society.
My bouts with poetry were cyclical. In the elementary grades, whenever a page of poetry loomed on the horizon of our reading books, the inevitable assignment was a memory selection. This was not too disheartening as long as rime and rhythm were present, as in "The Village Blacksmith" and Tennyson's "To a Brook." But along came Bryant's "Thanatopsis" in eighth grade—without any rime; nonetheless, it had to be memorized. I was one with Bryant, however, in a love for nature and the great out-of-doors; so I rigidly applied myself and mastered his immortal lines evidently to the teacher's satisfaction—she later "rewarded" me with a request to give a public recitation of the poem. After that, I knew better than to persevere for perfection in memorizing poems. In high school, I could breathe more freely at the sight of poetry. Our memory selections were limited to choice single stanzas or couplets, such as Coeridge's "Water, water everywhere, ..." and "He prayeth best who loveth best..." We concerned ourselves chiefly with the rich imagery and symbolism which served as the framework of the particular poem. Later, in college, I thrilled to Wordsworth's majestic and vivid portrayal of the commonplace, as well as the extraordinary in nature. To him, the frail yellow daffodil is not to be overrun by the foaming cataracts which come rushing down from yon lofty mountain heights. I greatly enjoyed his sincere tribute to "The Old Cumberland Beggar." Here is rusticity which is not without charm. —Only once in my college contacts with poetry was I tortured with the threat of possible memorization as a term assignment. The professor, however, evidently recalled how very elusive can be the memory of a college student and finally compromised in favor of a matching set of neatly-phrased quotes in the final examination. This technique requires no memorization whatsoever, merely skills in association.
The span between my high school and college years had been filled with reading excursions of varied nature. Following graduation from high school, I had hoped to enroll as a day student in the Moody Bible Institute in Chicago. Again the inelasticity of the family budget was a barrier. Instead, I enrolled in the correspondence school of the same institution. During the four years of intensive study of the Bible, I found it to be a veritable treasure house whose rooms are filled with lofty poetry, history, prophetic symbolism, biography, and doctrine. Through those long hours of guided study, I discovered that there truly breathes through its pages the voice of the Eternal One with a timeless, yet timely message for the individual heart. Of the many reference readings supplementing the textbook to this course, I particularly enjoyed Life By The Son, by Dr. Donald Grey Barnhouse, and Pastoral Psychiatry, by Dr. John Suterland Bonnell, both of which made very pointed and practical application of the Christian Life to everyday problems which confront the laymen.
Undoubtedly my most extensive reading career began as a college student. Here I not only trod down Poetry Lane, as I have already indicated, but I also became acquainted with the philosophies of some of the great minds, such as Plato, Aristotle, Socrates, Kant, Nietzche, and others. A general introduction to art came through the reading of the Romance of Leonardi De Vinci. I sympathized with Odysseus through long weary years of heartbreaking experiences in the Odyssey; I learned about the whaling industry and set sail in quest of the big white whale in Moby Dick. Again, I journeyed to Canterbury with Chaucer's pilgrims and gathered much information about medieval society in England. They all were rich, rewarding experiences indeed. On many occasions, when I did not want to be closeted alone with my literary friends, I introduced them, by reading aloud through entire books, to either my blind uncle or to an elderly lady who was bent over her quilting or crocheting while she listened.
My sampling of American literature in college was another extremely fascinating journey. It has left me with a long list of "musts" to return to in future reading hours. Outer space fiction intrigues me not one bit so long as there still remains so very much of the American continent for me to explore through the literary probes of Bret Harte, Hamlin Garland, and others. Consequently, I anticipate graduate school where I intend to browse further in American literary pasture.
The Silent Challenge
Written by Jane E. Wolfe
A Fictional Story
Ardith Benson reluctantly started back to work following her hurried lunch. It was a balmy Indian-summer afternoon with falling leaves rustling all about her. As she sauntered along, taking her favorite alternative route through Monument Park, her thoughts took her to her choice hiking paths along the Appalachian trail, which follow the top of the Blue Mountain ridge, twelve miles north of the city where she lived. This imaginary jaunt to the great out-of-doors ended abruptly, however, when Bruce Horting pulled to the curb and offered to drive her to her office door.
"There should be a law against working indoors on as lovely a day as this," Ardith addressed the young attorney as she seated herself beside him. She certainly did not expect his ready response when she remarked that it would be an ideal afternoon to go the mountain in search of winter garden plants.
"I have often wanted to bring plants along home for that purpose when I spotted them while I was hiking," he said, "but I never seem to be equipped with containers in which to carry them."
Ardith could hardly believe she was hearing correctly. Was it possible that he, mercenary Bruce Horting, who seemed interested only in that which held promise of furthering his already lucrative practice, actually had both the desire and the patience to search painstakingly for anything so trivial and unremunerative as specimens for a winder garden? Did he not cater to a wealthy clientele and, in recent months, flauntingly lay aside the ethics of his profession to appease favored clients? What grieved Ardith even more was the report that lately he was compromising his heretofore high moral standards. Having thus started to drink—contending that he was merely being sociable in accepting the kind of proffer of friends now and then—he had become so completely a slave to this demon that he seldom arrived at his office before eleven in the morning. He seemed to have lost all sense of fairness and justice as he adopted a new set of values in his made desire to rise to unprecedented heights of success in his chosen profession.
Nonetheless, Ardith gleaned a ray of hope from this tidbit of conversation. As she thanked him for the ride, she knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, where to place the lustrous winter garden which she and Beverly Norton had completed only night before. This brief contact with him revealed to her not only a need in his life but also an opportunity to thrust a challenge into the midst of the false security in which he was presently enveloped.
"After all, what does constitute success in life?" she mused that afternoon while trying the last sheet of the inventoried assets in the estate of a prosperous landowner who had died of a sudden heart attack the previous week. "Were not Bruce's foundations for true success very shallow indeed?
For several years, blithe Ardith and petite Beverly Norton, who was also a meticulous office secretary, had been pursuing the exhilarating hobby of making sealed winter gardens. They soon discovered that this common interest was knitting them into a close friendship. Each fall, with fresh enthusiasm, they anticipated this invigorating trek to the mountain. Any number of their friends were ready to accompany them only, however, to feast on the majestic scenery of the mountainside, which was all aglow with color. Few joined Ardith or Beverly in their tedious search for the miniature plant specimens, which always took on added splendor and verdancy when they were later placed in sparkling glass bowls.
Although the two girls chatted much about some day turning this delightful pastime into a profitable business partnership, they always concluded that their finished products were priceless. Consequently, they reserved them as Christmas gifts for special friends. One of their prized gardens, which they termed the friendship bowl, they circulated from year to year on specific missions. In turn, it had cheered the eighty-year-old grandmother with a broken leg; it had welcomed distressed patients in the doctor's reception room; and it had buoyed the spirits of indisposed students in the college infirmary.
Thus it was that Ardith found herself, two days after the ride to work, depositing that year's treasured friendship bowl on Bruce Horting's office desk. In his absence, she left a note which identified the variety of plants—trailing arbutus, hepatica, pipsissewa, prince's pine, crow's foot, club moss, tree moss, as well as the distinctive partridge berries and rattlesnake orchids. Her note concluded: "Presented as an incentive for you to go prepared with containers on your next mountain hike." The challenge, as she inaudibly expressed it, was, "May he ever be mindful of the beauty and value to be found in the seemingly small insignificant things—things which money cannot buy—which he bypasses each day in his vain pursuit for success and happiness."
She waited hopefully for evidence that he had not only detected, but also accepted the ulterior hidden challenge, now continually before him on his window sill. Besides a brief word of gratitude, she had heard no more from him until a month later. As a chairman of the program committee for the annual Rally Day services in the youth department of her church, Ardith gave much thought as to whom she might ask as a guest speaker for the occasion. Was she fair in thinking that Bruce should be ready to manifest outwardly, in this matter, his acceptance of the challenge? This was, indeed, one of the small plants which grew at his feet; for the stately, brick church was opposite his residence on the north side of the city.
Ardith finally summoned sufficient courage to lift the receiver, dial the number of Horting, Hall, and Horing law firm, and ask for Bruce. After extending her invitation, she thought an eternity was in the long pause that followed. She could almost feel the lump which arose in his throat before he answered rather exultingly, "Yes, I will; in fact, I am sure that I will be on the receiving end and that the experience will do me far more good than it possibly could my listening audience."
"Oh," she reflected as she hung up the receiver, "have I put fresh temptation before him? Did he consent because he considered the invitation a further opportunity to come before the public and thus gain added prestige in the community?"
Whatever misgiving remained in her mind soon vanished when Bruce entered the youth department auditorium that following Sunday morning with his Bible in his hand. She had been disappointed in last year's speaker—a prominent ministerial student—for that very reason. Does she not always stress that each of her pupils be equipped with his textbook when he enters her classroom on Sunday mornings? She was glad for Bruce's example in this respect.
Standing tall, erect, and resolutely, he took his place on the platform. The triumph of the soul set free was wreathed on his countenance as he quoted in firm, measured tone, the Psalmist—"The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul."1 Ardith needed no more evidence. She promptly marked this lawyer as one who has submitted to Divine precept. How she thrilled with joy at his climaxing admonition to the very attentive teenagers when he said most decisively, "As one matures, one must have a higher goal in life than merely to acquire the best education, to become happily married, or to attain success in a particular position—one must remember that this life is a preparation for the life to come.
Silently, Ardith breathed a "Thank you!" to her heavenly Father who had faithfully translated the silent challenge of the bowl and burned its message indelibly into Bruce's heart, speaking first in firm conviction and later in tender peace and assurance.
By the time the next fall season arrived, Bruce Horting had married the daughter of an eminent surgeon in the city. Again Ardith reflected, "Will he forget the challenge?" She doubted no more, however, after a telephone call one bright, balmy afternoon when the warm rays of a late October sun radiated the scintillating resplendency of the variegated mountainside. The soft, pleasant voice on the other end announced, "This is Jewell Horting. Bruce and I have just returned from hunting winter garden plants, but we cannot find rattlesnake orchids. Will you please tell us where they are?"
"There should be a law against working indoors on as lovely a day as this," Ardith addressed the young attorney as she seated herself beside him. She certainly did not expect his ready response when she remarked that it would be an ideal afternoon to go the mountain in search of winter garden plants.
"I have often wanted to bring plants along home for that purpose when I spotted them while I was hiking," he said, "but I never seem to be equipped with containers in which to carry them."
Ardith could hardly believe she was hearing correctly. Was it possible that he, mercenary Bruce Horting, who seemed interested only in that which held promise of furthering his already lucrative practice, actually had both the desire and the patience to search painstakingly for anything so trivial and unremunerative as specimens for a winder garden? Did he not cater to a wealthy clientele and, in recent months, flauntingly lay aside the ethics of his profession to appease favored clients? What grieved Ardith even more was the report that lately he was compromising his heretofore high moral standards. Having thus started to drink—contending that he was merely being sociable in accepting the kind of proffer of friends now and then—he had become so completely a slave to this demon that he seldom arrived at his office before eleven in the morning. He seemed to have lost all sense of fairness and justice as he adopted a new set of values in his made desire to rise to unprecedented heights of success in his chosen profession.
Nonetheless, Ardith gleaned a ray of hope from this tidbit of conversation. As she thanked him for the ride, she knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, where to place the lustrous winter garden which she and Beverly Norton had completed only night before. This brief contact with him revealed to her not only a need in his life but also an opportunity to thrust a challenge into the midst of the false security in which he was presently enveloped.
"After all, what does constitute success in life?" she mused that afternoon while trying the last sheet of the inventoried assets in the estate of a prosperous landowner who had died of a sudden heart attack the previous week. "Were not Bruce's foundations for true success very shallow indeed?
For several years, blithe Ardith and petite Beverly Norton, who was also a meticulous office secretary, had been pursuing the exhilarating hobby of making sealed winter gardens. They soon discovered that this common interest was knitting them into a close friendship. Each fall, with fresh enthusiasm, they anticipated this invigorating trek to the mountain. Any number of their friends were ready to accompany them only, however, to feast on the majestic scenery of the mountainside, which was all aglow with color. Few joined Ardith or Beverly in their tedious search for the miniature plant specimens, which always took on added splendor and verdancy when they were later placed in sparkling glass bowls.
Although the two girls chatted much about some day turning this delightful pastime into a profitable business partnership, they always concluded that their finished products were priceless. Consequently, they reserved them as Christmas gifts for special friends. One of their prized gardens, which they termed the friendship bowl, they circulated from year to year on specific missions. In turn, it had cheered the eighty-year-old grandmother with a broken leg; it had welcomed distressed patients in the doctor's reception room; and it had buoyed the spirits of indisposed students in the college infirmary.
Thus it was that Ardith found herself, two days after the ride to work, depositing that year's treasured friendship bowl on Bruce Horting's office desk. In his absence, she left a note which identified the variety of plants—trailing arbutus, hepatica, pipsissewa, prince's pine, crow's foot, club moss, tree moss, as well as the distinctive partridge berries and rattlesnake orchids. Her note concluded: "Presented as an incentive for you to go prepared with containers on your next mountain hike." The challenge, as she inaudibly expressed it, was, "May he ever be mindful of the beauty and value to be found in the seemingly small insignificant things—things which money cannot buy—which he bypasses each day in his vain pursuit for success and happiness."
She waited hopefully for evidence that he had not only detected, but also accepted the ulterior hidden challenge, now continually before him on his window sill. Besides a brief word of gratitude, she had heard no more from him until a month later. As a chairman of the program committee for the annual Rally Day services in the youth department of her church, Ardith gave much thought as to whom she might ask as a guest speaker for the occasion. Was she fair in thinking that Bruce should be ready to manifest outwardly, in this matter, his acceptance of the challenge? This was, indeed, one of the small plants which grew at his feet; for the stately, brick church was opposite his residence on the north side of the city.
Ardith finally summoned sufficient courage to lift the receiver, dial the number of Horting, Hall, and Horing law firm, and ask for Bruce. After extending her invitation, she thought an eternity was in the long pause that followed. She could almost feel the lump which arose in his throat before he answered rather exultingly, "Yes, I will; in fact, I am sure that I will be on the receiving end and that the experience will do me far more good than it possibly could my listening audience."
"Oh," she reflected as she hung up the receiver, "have I put fresh temptation before him? Did he consent because he considered the invitation a further opportunity to come before the public and thus gain added prestige in the community?"
Whatever misgiving remained in her mind soon vanished when Bruce entered the youth department auditorium that following Sunday morning with his Bible in his hand. She had been disappointed in last year's speaker—a prominent ministerial student—for that very reason. Does she not always stress that each of her pupils be equipped with his textbook when he enters her classroom on Sunday mornings? She was glad for Bruce's example in this respect.
Standing tall, erect, and resolutely, he took his place on the platform. The triumph of the soul set free was wreathed on his countenance as he quoted in firm, measured tone, the Psalmist—"The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul."1 Ardith needed no more evidence. She promptly marked this lawyer as one who has submitted to Divine precept. How she thrilled with joy at his climaxing admonition to the very attentive teenagers when he said most decisively, "As one matures, one must have a higher goal in life than merely to acquire the best education, to become happily married, or to attain success in a particular position—one must remember that this life is a preparation for the life to come.
Silently, Ardith breathed a "Thank you!" to her heavenly Father who had faithfully translated the silent challenge of the bowl and burned its message indelibly into Bruce's heart, speaking first in firm conviction and later in tender peace and assurance.
By the time the next fall season arrived, Bruce Horting had married the daughter of an eminent surgeon in the city. Again Ardith reflected, "Will he forget the challenge?" She doubted no more, however, after a telephone call one bright, balmy afternoon when the warm rays of a late October sun radiated the scintillating resplendency of the variegated mountainside. The soft, pleasant voice on the other end announced, "This is Jewell Horting. Bruce and I have just returned from hunting winter garden plants, but we cannot find rattlesnake orchids. Will you please tell us where they are?"
_______________________________
1 Psalm 19:7
George Herbert's "Assurance"
Written by Jane E. Wolfe
Syracuse University Graduate School
Published in March 1962 – College Association Language Journal
Syracuse University Graduate School
Published in March 1962 – College Association Language Journal
In attempting to construct a spiritual biography of George Herbert, as Bernard Knieger suggests can be done from a reading of "five of his best poems,"1 one must conclude with, not "Love," but rather "Assurance," which poem depicts a sixth or final stage at which Herbert arrived in his spiritual manhood. This state of full assurance of his salvation and of his unqualified acceptance by God—a state never quite attained to by his contemporary, John Donne—Herbert there expressed most firmly and with unmistakable finality.
A few weeks before his death, Herbert sent to Nicholas Ferrar the manuscript of The Temple, which included his poem, "Assurance," with this accompanying note to the bearer:
Sir, I pray deliver this little book to my dear brother, Ferrar, and tell him he shall find in it a picture of the many spiritual conflicts that have passed betwixt God and my soul, before I could subject mine to the will of Jesus my Master, in whose service I have now found perfect freedom; desire him to read it: and then, if he can think it may turn to the advantage of any dejected poor soul, let it be made public...2As we, consequently, undertake a careful analysis of "Assurance," we shall note that here Herbert is at home, on a plane of restful peace and security which no force of Satan, not even Satan himself, can disrupt. We immediately are struck with the easy, conversational tone which pervades the entire poem. There is no more of turmoil nor distress; the victory has been won; Herbert is in possession of the key to full and abiding assurance. However, he pauses long enough—as if pulling up a chair in a drawing room before a burning hearth-fire, much in the manner of a traveler, "long afterwards, mentioning where he has been and what happened to him, as if only to pass the time"3—to rehearse a most dramatic, yet crucial, moment of his life with such verisimilitude that one gains the impression of a difficult journey actually undertaken. Or, in the later phrasing of Wordsworth, there is here a "spontaneous overflow of powerful emotion, recollected in moments of tranquility." Herbert does it all, however, with a serious underlying purpose and intent, namely, "that it may turn to the advantage of any dejected poor soul" who may change to read. He is eager to share the "key" to the victory and assurance which was his possession, in much the same way as St. Paul informed us that, "All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness: That the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works" (II Timothy 3:16-17).
As the curtain rises on this drawing room scene, we hear a vehement ejaculation which has the ring of a serpent's hiss. It seems as if the speaker desires to spew from out of his system something hideous and horrid—and truly, such it is, a "spitefull bitter thought," yea, a "bitterly spitefull thought."4 Thereupon, we immediately become conscious of the presence of a second person, a seeming listener who is being addressed with a series of rapid-fire, rhetorical questions, to which Herbert does not pause long enough to receive any answers. He knows the answers. While this listener does not speak, yet we know that somehow he plays a vital part in the development of this dramatic monologue, which also, in the development, reveals much to us of the personality and character of the monologist.
The issue in question is similar to that of the earlier "limited-scope" morality plays wherein there waged a contest between the forces of good and of evil for the whole soul of the protagonist; in "ungratefulness," Herbert had conceded the possibility of man having a divided heart—a "box apart." The difference here, however, is that the battle has already been fought and won. Herbert knows beyond any shadow of doubt that his life "is hid with Christ in God," as evidenced by his stanza based on Colossians 3:3 – "Our life is Hid With Christ in God." In his message to Ferrar he had openly declared himself to be the indentured servant of Jesus Christ, "my Master"; likewise, in "Obedience," using the terminology, alluded to by Dr. Knieger, of a business transaction, he recounts this surrender of his whole person:
My God, if writings may
Convey a Lordship any way
Whither the buyer and the seller please;
Let it not thee displease
If this poore paper do as much as they.
On it my heart doth bleed
As many lines, as there doth need
To passe itself and all it hath to Thee;
To which I do agree,
And here present it as my speciall Deed.
Satan, however, is a poor loser; consequently, in a very subtle manner, he attempts to destroy the covenant relationship into which the Victor in the fray had entered with Herbert. Edward Taylor, in his poem, "Upon a Spider Catching a Fly," had picked up the same analogy which runs through "Assurance," of Stan as "Hells Spider" who sets to "spin a web out thyselfe...To tangle Adams race / In's stratagems / To their Destructions."5 Thus would Satan endeavor to inflict "punishment"6 by robbing Herbert of the peace and blessings which inure to him as a contracted member to a "league" with God and by reducing him to an ultimate state of pain and misery—"cold despair and gnawing pensiveness"—where, with the Psalmist, he would be driven to cry out of the depths, "Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation" (Psalms 51:12).
For a proper understanding, therefore, of the underlying tension and spiritual conflict which resolves itself, in this poem, into a deep-settled peace and assurance, it behooves us to inquire into the past history and character of this assailant visitant who has come once more bidding for an audience with Herbert. Ever since Satan was cast out of heaven because of attempting to set his "I will" (Isaiah 14:12-15) above God's will and command, he has looked with disdain, if not envy, upon any mortal with who God deigns to enter into covenant relationship and, consequently, seeks by divers methods to prevent the individual believer from giving himself "wholly" in submission and surrender to God's will. This he set out to do after the very first covenant was entered into between God and man in the Garden of Eden.7 There he wielded the same strategy as he did with Herbert in "Assurance," by casting venomous doubt upon the Word, or promises, of God. When he saw that he was gaining Eve's ear with his stealthy query, "Hath God said?" (Gen.3:1), he quickly injected into that ear the further poison of a lie: "Ye shall not surely die" (Gen.3:4).
Again, under the Mosaic, or Old, Covenant 8 which god established with the nation of Israel, Satan scored victory after victory as Israel failed to do all that the Lord God had commanded them, but rather went their own willful ways even to the following after the false gods and idols of the heathen nations which had surrounded them (Deuteronomy 32:17; Acts 7:14). In "Assurance," however, the "league," or covenant, which is being attacked is the New Covenant—an unconditional covenant of grace—which rests, not upon the works or faithfulness of man, but rather upon the Work, or sacrifice of Christ in the believer's behalf, and upon the faithfulness of God in keeping his Word.9
In further considering the past attempts of Herbert's arch-enemy to wean man away from wholly submitting to the will of God, we notice, in passing, two classic exemplars—whom Satan had to score in his account-book as failures—whose techniques Herbert employed in his handling of his adversary. These earlier protagonists were Job, whom Satan wanted to "curse God and die" (Job 2:9), and Christ Himself. Job, even from the depth of despair, nonetheless maintained firm confidence in God's integrity and insisted, "Though he slay me, yet will I trust him" (Job 13:15); Christ, on the other hand, met Satan's cunning onslaught by hurling at him, in rebuttal, the Word of God—"It is written...It is written...It is written..."(Matthew 4:4-10).
Here then, in the first stanza of "Assurance," Herbert informs us that Satan had invented the grossest form of torture with which to assail him. Implicit in the verb "bought" is the idea of an unfolding, as in the fold of a cloth, or a "fencing in," an "in-closing," as in a sheepfold (NED). Restated, Herbert is implying that these poisonous thoughts, if entertained and given lodging by man, will effectually work the desired "punishment"—mental suffering and misery—which will rob man of all joy in his relationship with God. In his terse, closing epigrammatic couplet, Herbert asserts that there can be no stronger poison than "wit" in league with Satan.
The "invented poyson," or lie, is bared in the second stanza and proves to be another attempt to invalidate a covenant relationship between God and man. Again, Satan would have man doubt God' promises. The "league" in question, as above indicated, is the New Covenant under which the believer is promised everlasting life (John 3:16). Satan would have Herbert think that his standing before God is in grave danger of collapsing; that he is "indulging in,"10 yea coining, or dissembling, false and specious hopes. He takes the further step, as he had done in Eden, and says that Herbert is deceived. Whereas in Eden he had stated, "Ye shall not surely die," here, in effect, he is saying, "Ye shall not surely live," thus nullifying the promise of God. By implying that the league was "broke, or neare it," Satan would have Herbert doubt not only God's promises which secure the New Covenant, but also the efficacy of Christ's atoning death, which effectually undergirds it.
In the third stanza, Herbert succinctly informs Satan that this poyson is not to be "bought"—not to be entertained and given a chance to do its deadly work—in his heart; that he see beneath the surface of the lie and detects its true intent. In fact, he reminds Satan that he previously had penned this knowledge: "I see, I know;/I writ thy purpose long ago." As we refer to this previous penning, we note that Herbert had, like Job, experienced the worst of Satan's resorts "to raise devils" within his inner soul. In "Affliction (I)," he stated:
However, Herbert does not end the argument by casually referring Satan to his own written statement on the matter; he makes appeal to a higher authority and hands Satan over to the One Whose Word and Whose character are in question. In so doing, he also heeded Job's example to "seek unto God, and unto God...commit my cause: Which doeth great things and unsearchable; marvelous things without number" (Job 5:8-9). We, consequently, become keenly aware of a third Presence in the drawing room; especially do we note the calm, confident manner in which Herbert turns to and addresses his Heavenly Father. He was conscious all this while of God's Presence with him, as a witness—even as He had been in Job's case—to all of Satan's accusations. Truly the believer is never alone in waging the battle against Satan. Just as the Psalmist, in Psalm 91, assured that the Lord "shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler" (v. 3) and "shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways: (v. 11), even so did Herbert make clear in the eighth stanza of "Man" that
The sixth stanza of "Assurance" is virtually a pean of highest praise to the faithfulness of God in keeping His Word. Herbert is assured that His faithfulness will outlast the standing of the rocks and the stirring of the rivers; yea, after all things have disbanded, God shall remain his rock and tower—the Covenant shall remain intact—and the ruin, not only of the rocks, but also of the enemy, shall praise His power. "Ev'n poysons praise thee," he exclaimed in "Providence" (line 85):
We can thus visualize Satan's forced retreat from this drawing-room tete-a-tete as he holds up his hands before his face to fend off the impact of Herbert's words. Herbert, on the other hand, stands unscathed, radiantly clothed in the righteousness of God, "which is by faith of Jesus Christ unto all and upon all them that believe" (Rom. 3:22). While Satan is fading out of the picture, Herbert flings after him the bone, or doubtful thought, which Satan had first cast to "set stryfe betweene"12 Herbert and God. The rebounding bone, however, has been metamorphized by Herbert into the promises,13 or Word, of God, which Satan could not swallow nor gainsay. And, while closing the door in Satan's face, Herbert still sends ringing through the night air a final triumphant note of victory and assurance, by way of an epilogue to the whole incident:
This, then, is that state of assurance to which George Herbert had attained; that assurance which he would leave for the "advantage of a dejected poor soul" who may chance to read. It is a most vital and significant chapter in his spiritual development and may not be omitted from any spiritual biography which one would desire to intuit from a reading of his poems. For this purpose, I submit "Assurance" as a sixth poem—"a private ejaculation"—to be added to the five which Dr. Kneiger has already dealt with. Only thus will we have a complete picture of the "Holy George Herbert"—a man whose motto was "Lesse than the least of Gods mercies"—a man such as the Psalmist described as having his delight "in the law of the Lord and in his law doth he meditate both day and night" (Ps. 1:2)—yea, a man saturated in thought, word, and deed with the Word of God, to which fact the printers of the 1633 edition of The Temple attest in their preface when they state:
Syracuse, New York
Again, under the Mosaic, or Old, Covenant 8 which god established with the nation of Israel, Satan scored victory after victory as Israel failed to do all that the Lord God had commanded them, but rather went their own willful ways even to the following after the false gods and idols of the heathen nations which had surrounded them (Deuteronomy 32:17; Acts 7:14). In "Assurance," however, the "league," or covenant, which is being attacked is the New Covenant—an unconditional covenant of grace—which rests, not upon the works or faithfulness of man, but rather upon the Work, or sacrifice of Christ in the believer's behalf, and upon the faithfulness of God in keeping his Word.9
In further considering the past attempts of Herbert's arch-enemy to wean man away from wholly submitting to the will of God, we notice, in passing, two classic exemplars—whom Satan had to score in his account-book as failures—whose techniques Herbert employed in his handling of his adversary. These earlier protagonists were Job, whom Satan wanted to "curse God and die" (Job 2:9), and Christ Himself. Job, even from the depth of despair, nonetheless maintained firm confidence in God's integrity and insisted, "Though he slay me, yet will I trust him" (Job 13:15); Christ, on the other hand, met Satan's cunning onslaught by hurling at him, in rebuttal, the Word of God—"It is written...It is written...It is written..."(Matthew 4:4-10).
Here then, in the first stanza of "Assurance," Herbert informs us that Satan had invented the grossest form of torture with which to assail him. Implicit in the verb "bought" is the idea of an unfolding, as in the fold of a cloth, or a "fencing in," an "in-closing," as in a sheepfold (NED). Restated, Herbert is implying that these poisonous thoughts, if entertained and given lodging by man, will effectually work the desired "punishment"—mental suffering and misery—which will rob man of all joy in his relationship with God. In his terse, closing epigrammatic couplet, Herbert asserts that there can be no stronger poison than "wit" in league with Satan.
The "invented poyson," or lie, is bared in the second stanza and proves to be another attempt to invalidate a covenant relationship between God and man. Again, Satan would have man doubt God' promises. The "league" in question, as above indicated, is the New Covenant under which the believer is promised everlasting life (John 3:16). Satan would have Herbert think that his standing before God is in grave danger of collapsing; that he is "indulging in,"10 yea coining, or dissembling, false and specious hopes. He takes the further step, as he had done in Eden, and says that Herbert is deceived. Whereas in Eden he had stated, "Ye shall not surely die," here, in effect, he is saying, "Ye shall not surely live," thus nullifying the promise of God. By implying that the league was "broke, or neare it," Satan would have Herbert doubt not only God's promises which secure the New Covenant, but also the efficacy of Christ's atoning death, which effectually undergirds it.
In the third stanza, Herbert succinctly informs Satan that this poyson is not to be "bought"—not to be entertained and given a chance to do its deadly work—in his heart; that he see beneath the surface of the lie and detects its true intent. In fact, he reminds Satan that he previously had penned this knowledge: "I see, I know;/I writ thy purpose long ago." As we refer to this previous penning, we note that Herbert had, like Job, experienced the worst of Satan's resorts "to raise devils" within his inner soul. In "Affliction (I)," he stated:
Sorrow was all my soul; I scarce beleeved,Also in "Affliction (IV)," we see him "Broken in pieces all asunder," a "wonder tortur'd in the space /Betwixt this world and that of grace," with thoughts that were "all a case of knives, /Wounding my heart /With scatter'd smart," and attendants that were "at strife, /Quitting their place /Unto my face." Moreover, his firm, resonant declaration, "I know," indicates that he previously had come through the ordeal to the plane of ringing assurance where he could echo Job's confident declaration, "I know that my Redeemer liveth" (Job19:25), as well as the certainty of St. Paul who asserted "for I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day" (II Timothy 1:12).
Till grief did tell me roundly, that I lived.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I was entangles in the world of strife,
Before I had the power to change my life.
However, Herbert does not end the argument by casually referring Satan to his own written statement on the matter; he makes appeal to a higher authority and hands Satan over to the One Whose Word and Whose character are in question. In so doing, he also heeded Job's example to "seek unto God, and unto God...commit my cause: Which doeth great things and unsearchable; marvelous things without number" (Job 5:8-9). We, consequently, become keenly aware of a third Presence in the drawing room; especially do we note the calm, confident manner in which Herbert turns to and addresses his Heavenly Father. He was conscious all this while of God's Presence with him, as a witness—even as He had been in Job's case—to all of Satan's accusations. Truly the believer is never alone in waging the battle against Satan. Just as the Psalmist, in Psalm 91, assured that the Lord "shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler" (v. 3) and "shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways: (v. 11), even so did Herbert make clear in the eighth stanza of "Man" that
More servants wain on Man,Significant also, in this respect, is the fact that as Herbert calls upon God, it is not in the plaintive or commanding manner in which Donne had beseeched Him, but rather it is as one who pleads his insufficiency and weakness—one who affirms anew his utter abandonment to God's mercies and his complete dependence upon His strength to fight the enemy. He further avows his reliance upon God's faithfulness to perform not only His part in defending the covenant, but Herbert's also. Just as Jacob had exclaimed, "I am not worthy of the least of all thy mercies, and of all the truth, which thou has shewed unto thy servant" (Gen. 32:10), even so did Herbert plead no goodness, no worth, no deserving of his own, but rather hangs all hope upon the "desert," or "excellence" of God. He admitted to the same fact in "Sighs and Grones":
Then he'l take notice of...
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Oh mightie love! Man is one world, and hath
Another to attend him.
. . .look not on my desert,Peter was conscious of the same invading foes referred to in the fifth stanza of "Assurance" when he speaks of being sober and vigilant, "because your adversary, the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour" (I Peter 5:8); St. Paul, in describing the armour which the believer is to wear in order to be able to stand against the wiles of the devil, likewise warned that these invading foes are not "flesh and blood," rather he said, "we wrestle against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places" (Ephesians 6:12). Herbert was confident, nonetheless, that "God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape" (I Cor. 10:33); he, therefore, counted upon God—as did the Psalmist in Psalm 35—to plead his cause, to fight against them that fight against him, to "take hold of shield and buckler" and stand up for his help—yea, to do double duty just as He had done when the league was first entered into. Then God had not only indited for Himself (See II Corinthians 3:3), but also held Herbert's hand while he did write. To this latter fact, Herbert attested in the opening line of "Providence":
But on thy glorie! then thou wilt reform
And not refuse me . . . .
—11. 2-4
O Sacred Providence, who from end to endThe Apostle Paul speaks of this same inability on the part of the believer to contribute anything, except faith, toward the binding effect of the New Covenant; even that faith, he says, is "the gift of God ... lest any man should boast" (Ephesians 2:8-9).
Strongly and sweetly movest, shall I write,
And not of thee, through whom my fingers bend
To hold my quill? shall they not do thee right?
Of all the creatures both in sea and land
Onely to Man thou hast made know thy wayes,
And put the penne alone into his hand,
And made his Secretarie of thy praise.
The sixth stanza of "Assurance" is virtually a pean of highest praise to the faithfulness of God in keeping His Word. Herbert is assured that His faithfulness will outlast the standing of the rocks and the stirring of the rivers; yea, after all things have disbanded, God shall remain his rock and tower—the Covenant shall remain intact—and the ruin, not only of the rocks, but also of the enemy, shall praise His power. "Ev'n poysons praise thee," he exclaimed in "Providence" (line 85):
Since where are poysons, antidotes are most:The Psalmist likewise affirmed that "the wrath of man shall praise thee" (Ps. 71:10); in "Man's Medley," Herbert further contended:
The help stands close, and keeps the fear in view.
—11.87-88
Yet ev'n the greatest griefsHaving thus taken opportunity, in "Assurance," to make fresh declaration of his faith—inferring that here is another incident which Satan may chalk down on the "defeat" side of this ledge—and to extol, in Satan's ear, the greatness of his God, Herbert is now ready, in stanza seven, to dismiss his adversary with a command, "go on," similar to Christ's rebuke, "Get thee behind me, Satan" (Lk. 4:8), and further sarcastically suggests that Hell's spider now spin out thread from his poison to make a coat to hide his shame. Just as Satan effected the shame of Adam and Even when the Edenic Covenant was broken, which necessitated their making for themselves aprons of fig leaves to hide their shame (Gen. 3:7,21), here Satan is reduced to the same necessity. Herbert's shaming of Satan, begun in the first stanza, is thus perfected in the last or seventh stanza (the number "seven" being the Scriptural symbol of completeness and perfection). Herbert, to the contrary, desires his "spinning," as indicated in "Praise III," ever to be of God's praise:
May be reliefs,
Could he but take them right and in their wayes.
Happie is he whose heart
Hath found the art
To turn his double pains to double praise.
Lord, I will mean and speak thy praise,This praise he had majestically "spun out" in the sixth stanza.
Thy praise alone.
My busie heart shall spin it all my dayes.
We can thus visualize Satan's forced retreat from this drawing-room tete-a-tete as he holds up his hands before his face to fend off the impact of Herbert's words. Herbert, on the other hand, stands unscathed, radiantly clothed in the righteousness of God, "which is by faith of Jesus Christ unto all and upon all them that believe" (Rom. 3:22). While Satan is fading out of the picture, Herbert flings after him the bone, or doubtful thought, which Satan had first cast to "set stryfe betweene"12 Herbert and God. The rebounding bone, however, has been metamorphized by Herbert into the promises,13 or Word, of God, which Satan could not swallow nor gainsay. And, while closing the door in Satan's face, Herbert still sends ringing through the night air a final triumphant note of victory and assurance, by way of an epilogue to the whole incident:
What for it [Satan's bone first cast in Eden] selfThis compact couplet is a neat rephrasing of St. Paul's earlier statement concerning Love and Truth perfected and meeting—countering the spite and poison injected into the first stanza of "Assurance"—in one man, the Second Adam (see I Cor. 15:22,47) Who is able to save to the uttermost all who "come to God by Him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them" (Heb. 7:25). St. Paul had also spoken of "one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus" (I Tim. 2:5) and was further persuaded that "neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Rom. 8:38-39).
Love once began,
Now Love and Truth will end in man.
This, then, is that state of assurance to which George Herbert had attained; that assurance which he would leave for the "advantage of a dejected poor soul" who may chance to read. It is a most vital and significant chapter in his spiritual development and may not be omitted from any spiritual biography which one would desire to intuit from a reading of his poems. For this purpose, I submit "Assurance" as a sixth poem—"a private ejaculation"—to be added to the five which Dr. Kneiger has already dealt with. Only thus will we have a complete picture of the "Holy George Herbert"—a man whose motto was "Lesse than the least of Gods mercies"—a man such as the Psalmist described as having his delight "in the law of the Lord and in his law doth he meditate both day and night" (Ps. 1:2)—yea, a man saturated in thought, word, and deed with the Word of God, to which fact the printers of the 1633 edition of The Temple attest in their preface when they state:
Next God, he loved that which God himself hath magnifiedSyracuse University
above all things, that is, his Word: so as he hath been
heard to make solemne protestation, that he would not part
with one leaf thereof for the whole work, if it were
offered him in exchange.
Syracuse, New York
Link to Herbert's Poem "Assurance" written in 1633
Link to Jane's article published in College Association Language Journal in March 1962
Notes
1 Bernard Knieger, "The Religious Verse of George Herbert," CLA Journal, IV:2 (December, 1960), 138.
2 Sir Izaak Walton, Lives (1824), "Life of George Herbert," p. 250.
3 William Empson, Seven Types of Ambiguity (New York, 1947), p. 163.
4 All quotations from Herbert's poems in this article are from The Works of George Herbert, edited by E.F Hutchinson (Oxford, 1941); all Scripture references are from the KJV.
5 Printed in Major American Writers, ed. Howard M. Jones, et.al. (New York, 1952), p. 22.
6 NED: orig., "that inflicted by a pugilist upon his opponent, as pain, damage, orl loss; also pain, suffering, or misery."
7 The Edenic Covenant (Gen. 1:28-30; 2:16-17) is the first of the eight great covenants of Scripture which condition life and salvation; the others herein referred to are the Mosaic (Exodus 20L1-17) and the New (Hebrews 8:7-10:39).
8 See Cruden's Concordance: A "covenant of works," the terms of which are "Do and live; sin and die."
9 Ibid., "But his Covenant is called New in respect of the manner of its dispensation, being ratified afresh by the blood and actual sufferings of Christ...as it contains a more full and clear revelation of the mysteries of religion and is attended with a larger measure of th gifts and graces of the Spirit; neither is it ever to wax old or be abolished."
10 NED, definition for "allow."
11 Cf. PS. 18:2; also Luther's Ein Feste Burg (Stanza 1).
12 J. Heywood, Proverbs and epigrams (1562), p. 47 - "The diuell hath cast a bone to set stryfe Betweene you."
13 Cf. Rogers, Naaman (1642), p. 579: "who make no bones of the Lords promises, but devoure them all."
6 NED: orig., "that inflicted by a pugilist upon his opponent, as pain, damage, orl loss; also pain, suffering, or misery."
7 The Edenic Covenant (Gen. 1:28-30; 2:16-17) is the first of the eight great covenants of Scripture which condition life and salvation; the others herein referred to are the Mosaic (Exodus 20L1-17) and the New (Hebrews 8:7-10:39).
8 See Cruden's Concordance: A "covenant of works," the terms of which are "Do and live; sin and die."
9 Ibid., "But his Covenant is called New in respect of the manner of its dispensation, being ratified afresh by the blood and actual sufferings of Christ...as it contains a more full and clear revelation of the mysteries of religion and is attended with a larger measure of th gifts and graces of the Spirit; neither is it ever to wax old or be abolished."
10 NED, definition for "allow."
11 Cf. PS. 18:2; also Luther's Ein Feste Burg (Stanza 1).
12 J. Heywood, Proverbs and epigrams (1562), p. 47 - "The diuell hath cast a bone to set stryfe Betweene you."
13 Cf. Rogers, Naaman (1642), p. 579: "who make no bones of the Lords promises, but devoure them all."
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