The Life And Ministry Of Charles Guy

Earthen Vessel 1896:

Pastor Charles A. Guy, Of Gravesend

Our brother, Mr. I. C. Johnson, informs me you have expressed a wish to be furnished with a few details concerning my unworthy self, for use in our denominational magazine. Those details will be mainly of such circumstances in my life as are particularly connected with the particular and special mercy of a covenant God. One in looking back upon all the past, feels to have more occasion than others to gratefully hymn:—

“O to grace how great a debtor,

Daily I’m constrained to be.”

On the 19th of July, 1857, my eyes first saw the light of day in the old town of the beautiful Sussex sea-side resort, Eastbourne. Several times during my boyhood days was I brought in imminent danger of losing my life. One instance is often vividly before me even now. A carter, in the employ of my uncle, during hay-season was driving a team attached to a wagon loaded with hay, and whilst resting the horses, lifted me up and placed my head on the ground close up to the front wheel. The horses of their own will started as he snatched me away; two seconds more, and my head must have been crushed. This (with other narrow escapes) proves a “vessel of mercy is invulnerable until called by grace.”

“Not a single shaft can hit,

Till the God of love sees fit.”

I am the child of many prayers, both from a godly mother (my father died when I was about four years of age) and a now glorified grandfather, and from earliest remembrance have been subject to influence for good at home; but the prayers and example for a time seemed unheard in heaven, and unheeded on earth.

From quite early life I was now and again the subject of conviction of sin (whether natural merely or the incipient workings of the Sovereign Spirit I must leave), which wrought terror in my mind, and resolutions “to be good” were made; and for a time the Bible was read, prayers were said, and I tried hard to become “a little saint;” but, alas for human resolutions, saintship resulting from legality may be lost, though sanctity in Christ is inalienable. And so, as soon as the immediate cause for fear was removed, the saint again became a sinner. 

These seasons of fear were of repeated occurrence, and finding from past experience that they gradually wore off, many times have I sat by the side of my dear mother in Bond-street Chapel, Brighton, quaking as Mr. Glaskin (the then pastor) spoke of eternal matters, and lest the feeling should pass away, I have all the way home from chapel repeated the word “Eternity” over and over again, imagining if I could but keep the solemnities of eternity in view, I should be able to keep from sin, and then all would be well. Strange! though favoured with good sound teaching, the necessity of atonement did not trouble me. “That which is of the flesh is flesh, and that which is of the Spirit is spirit.”

This went on until, at about the age of fourteen, I was apprenticed to the printing business, when the influence was only for evil. The overseer was a hard drinker, and when muddled with drink would get the boys about him, and, suffice it to say, the suggestions from him were not of the purest. Oh that Christians were as ready to sow the good seed as wicked men are the bad. Mixed up with a set of lads and young men, mostly my elders, it was not long before religion became hateful, Sunday-school was neglected, and chapel attended only by compulsion; still I could never for long get rid of the dread of eternity.

When about seventeen, two of my companions professed to have been converted at some revival services, and with them I attended the Y.M.C.A. meetings, and was again striving hard to earn heaven. A fellow-apprentice sometimes attended, and I remember at one meeting all were urged to say something, either a prayer or a text, or relate some experience. I was far too nervous, but my companion said a prayer, while I sat trembling by his side. He was so elated with his fluency that he told me he should write out a prayer, and repeat it from memory the following week. This horrified me, for though unconsciously looking for heaven by my own works, I yet felt true religion made a person humble, and I was very miserable, and could see I was not right before God.

Shortly after, the revivalist, Mr. H. Varley, conducted a mission in the Dome at Brighton. One night, in company with the two before-mentioned comrades, I went, and at the close of the address, people went about asking others if they were saved. Three ladies came to our group, and my companions immediately gave an affirmative reply to their query, but I was silent. They turned to me and repeated the question, to which I replied, “I did not feel that I was.” To my astonishment, I was told salvation was not a feeling matter, I only had to believe. They argued with me, kindly prayed for me, and sought to cajole me, to all which I could only reply, “I did not feel I was God’s child.” 

Finding they could not convert me, they handed me over to the “tender mercies” of Mr. Varley, who read the usual stock texts; but he was no more successful than the ladies. They prayed and pitied my dense stupidity, but Mr. Varley had the very bad taste to get angry, and did not pray for me, but turning to a gentleman by his side, said, “Isn’t it sad to see one so young, yet so dark!” and left me to my darkness. Unsophisticated as I then was in the knowledge of the religious pride of the human heart, it immediately flashed upon me that his object was to glory in the number of his proselytes, and finding he could not perform his will in me, grew angry, and turned to some more pliable subjects.

I left the Dome that night with spirit steeled, divested of the yearning after good I had had on entering the building, and determined to think no more about religion. Forsaking my better companions, I joined with others whose delight was sin. Harden myself as I would, I could not get rid of my wretchedness, for the terrors of eternity were before me. Most of my new associates were teetotallers, but were much addicted to evil ways other than those associated with drink, and I greedily followed; and so it continued, sinning in the teeth of an accusing conscience, until the time inscribed in the Book of Decrees for my deliverance came on, and varied means were used to bring this about. 

My health had always been extremely delicate, and it was by no means improved by the long hours of confinement in a printing office, at a time when the Factory Act was not so stringent as now, and I have often persisted, against the wish of my dear mother, in having my run in the streets, when I hardly knew how to keep up and to put one foot before the other. Verily, sin is a hard master. 

The doctor under whose care I was, said the action of the heart was very weak, and with any excitement or strain it might prove dangerous. I had joined a dramatic society in connection with the temperance party, where I learned only evil. I took part in one performance, and was cast for another, but the night of the performance I shall never forget. It was very late when I reached home, to find my dear mother in deep distress, she knowing better than I the risk I ran. That night severed my connection with the amateur drama. The fear of suddenly dying was dreadful to me, and often when I felt the numbed, lifeless symptoms round the heart, accompanied by the desire to breathe deeply, I have been afraid lest it should cease beating, and I should drop into hell; and many times when leaving the office in the early hours of the morning, with the fear on me, felt I should be found in the street dead when day dawned.

The Bible was afresh studied, and prayer for mercy made. Reticence concerning self has been an unconquerable thing with me, so that it was alone I endured this blackness of soul, save as it may have been observed. The feeling of dread became less poignant, but the longing to know my sins forgiven was strong. My dear sister’s baptism, and a letter from her treating of the blessedness of believers in Jesus, intensified the longing to be a partaker of this salvation.

Months I continued in a dark state of mind, praying for the earnest of the Spirit. Attending the watch-night service at Salem that year (1877), I determined that I would pray so earnestly (silently, of course) that the blessing must come. I began and persevered through the meeting, but found “that it is not by might, nor yet by power,” and left the chapel as miserable as ever, and feeling there was no hope for me. The next Lord’s-day morning, went to chapel in much the same state of mind. The text was Isa. 54:10. Mr. Glaskin, in his opening, referred to the first verse, and after giving the historical bearings, treated it experimentally, showing the promise of fruitfulness was to those who felt themselves barren, and destitute of spiritual life. Then were the doors of my heart opened. I could see my character there, and, blessed be God, was, by the Holy Ghost, able to rejoice in Him and in the hope of salvation. Light and dark, peace and unrest have since alternated, but the hope has never been lost.

The following December I was baptized, and two years later joined the Church at Salem, the late John Bunyan McCure giving me the right hand of fellowship. On the evening of my baptism, Mr. Glaskin remarked to my dear mother, it was his conviction the Lord had a work for me to do. This came to my knowledge long before I attempted to speak, but it was far from my expectation that I should ever be engaged in the ministry, my natural timidity and extreme nervousness appearing to preclude the possibility of such a thing: Nevertheless, there was a strong wish to

“Tell to sinners round,

What a dear Saviour I had found.”

And alone in my room I would try to sermonise on texts that occurred to the mind, and would sometimes venture to anticipate my pastor (Mr. Masterson) when he announced his text.

In due course, an invitation to preach at Poynings came, and was refused. Several times the invitation was repeated and refused, until fearful of closing a door the Lord might have opened, I ventured on the last Sunday in February, 1884, to make the attempt. Oh, with what trepidation and fearfulness did I go, but lost all my fears on announcing my text, “But Christ is all and in all,” and with happy liberty spoke for half-an-hour. After “supplying” for a short time, I, in conjunction with Mr. Waterer (former pastor of Elthorne-road, Hornsey), rented a schoolroom at Burgess Hill, where I regularly preached for twelve months. Soon after, a hearty and unanimous call to the little Church at Uckfield was sent me, where for nearly six years, and with tokens of the Divine blessing, I laboured, continuing at the same time my secular business. My connection with the Uckfield cause closed in June, 1894. The following September I received an invitation to preach for three months “with a view,” from the Church at Zoar, Gravesend, and after a thrice repeated call to the pastorate, I have felt constrained to accept the call, believing it to be of the Lord. His seal has been upon His own word, repeated additions to the Church have been made, it is believed of such “as were ordained unto eternal life,” and peace and love generally abounds in Church and school.

May it be a pledge of coming years of happy, useful association with the dear people at “little” Zoar, is the earnest prayer of

Yours very sincerely in Jesus, 

Charles Guy