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William Nevins, whose ordination sermon was preached by Samuel Miller in 1820, died at a young age (37). In the last year of his life (and ministry as pastor of the Presbyterian Church in Baltimore), while battling illness, his diary records his thoughts on health matters. In his city, the cholera raging. But what mattered more to him was faithful service to the Lord. Hear his thoughts on health and holiness from his diary, letters and from his pulpit, extracted from his Select Remains, published after his death by William S. Plumer.
In one undated letter, Nevins writes:
If all my relatives were followers of the Lord, I should feel easy about them, though in the midst of pestilence. Death, even by the cholera, is gain to the Christian.
From his diary:
August 28, 1832. The cholera is raging in the midst of us, but praised be God, I and mine are spared, not for our deserts, but for his great mercies. I feared that when 1 should be called to visit a subject of this disease, I should be appalled at the prospect; but when the summons actually came, I was enabled to obey it without the smallest hesitation or trembling, and to determine at once to comply with every similar call in future, the which I have been aided to do, God gives his servants grace just when they want it; not in anticipation of their necessities. When I think of dying, I feel, if not an unpreparedness, yet an unwillingness to leave the world now, and an inability to exclaim, 'Oh death, where is thy sting?’ but I trust it would not be so, were I actually called to die. I am persuaded there is nothing which the grace of God cannot do for me.
November 20, 1832. On the 26th of September, I was taken ill of a bilious fever, by which I have been laid aside until now, and from which, I have not yet entirely recovered. What thanks do I not owe to my preserving God, that he spared me when so many others were taken! How gracious was he, when the pangs were upon me! But now, that they are removed, how soon I forget God! I am afraid my sickness has not been sanctified to me, I find the same wicked heart in me as ever. Oh how sinfully I live from day to-day! How I suffer little matters to disturb my peace and ruffle my temper, and lead me into sin! How the very minutiae of this world affect me! I am ashamed of the petty cares and anxieties of which I am the subject. I am careful and troubled about many things, and so neglect the one thing needful; and then how many fears I have, unworthy of a Christian. Oh for that perfect love which casts out fear; oh, to know that I am one to whom the gracious God says, ' fear thou not, for I am with thee; I am thy God.’
July 9, 1833. I have been reading Baxter on our unreasonable unwillingness to die, that we may possess the saint's rest. Oh that God would make me willing to do and suffer all his will, just because it is his will. Oh that he would deliver me from all fear of death. His grace is sufficient, and his word is given, and his promise is sure. I will trust him and not be afraid. I shall not be left. He will not disappoint my confidence in him.
August 17, 1833. I have about me a dread of disease and death, such as I was not wont to have before the pestilence came, and which is very unbecoming a Christian. Oh to be delivered from it. Oh for that love which casts out fear.
September 13, 1833. I cannot bear the idea of living along from day to day, unprofitably to myself and others, without making any progress in personal holiness, and without benefiting the souls of others. I desire this day to live usefully — to do something for the glory of God and the good of man, and I resolve that with the Lord's help I will.
September 26, 1833. I would not let this day pass, without noting it as the anniversary of my sickness. This day, one year, I was attacked by that illness, which brought me nearer the grave than I ever was before. But God mercifully spared me, and has lengthened out my term, while he has cut short that of others. Poor brother Fullerton is taken in the dawning of life and usefulness.
December 21, 1833. I thank the Lord for that calm and even and happy state of mind in which I have been for the last few days. May he continue and increase my peace, making it like a river, flowing in a constant, gentle and unrippled current, increasing daily in extent and depth, until it shall reach the interminable ocean of serenity. I feel as if God will revive us. Oh may he not be offended by any act or omission. May none of us grieve the good Spirit of the Lord.
January 30, 1834. Nothing gives me more pain than the fear that I am living to no purpose, neither growing in grace myself, nor promoting the salvation of others. Oh God, let it not be so. Make me useful. Let me not live in vain. " I desire to have these several things, viz.
1. In all I do, a single eye to the glory of God.
2. A uniform and deep sense of my entire dependance on God, especially for the success of my ministry.
3. I desire to feel continually the sweet and powerful constraining of a Saviour's love. I would feel him to be ever and very precious to me.
4. I would endure as seeing him who is invisible. 1 would feel continually, 'Thou God seest me.'
5. I desire to be delivered from all sin. I would be a partaker of the meekness and gentleness of Christ. I would be sincere, upright, true.
6. I desire to be able to say, 'Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none on earth I desire besides thee.' Oh to have such a love for God and such a delight in him.
7. I desire to be willing to die, whenever the Lord wills to take me. I want to be weaned from this world before I am taken from it. I would not be driven away. I would go willingly.
8. I desire to have no will of my own in any thing, but to say and feel always, ‘Thy will be done.’
February 3, 1834….I choose for my motto this, ‘To me to live is Christ.’
May 3, 1834. I returned yesterday from Philadelphia and New York, where, for three or four weeks, I have been for my health, which has failed me. The Lord has laid me aside from his active service, for how long 1 know not ; whether altogether, he knows. May his will be mine, and may they not merely accidentally coincide, but may his will be mine because it is his. On the first of May, in Philadelphia, I wrote as follows:
O Lord, let me have now, though all unworthy, a little sweet communion with thee: canst thou, with all thy care of worlds, attend to me? Thou canst, for even worlds are no cares to thee! And wilt thou? Wilt thou so condescend, not merely to such littleness, but to such guilt? O how unworthy I am of what I ask! I am convinced that no one is more unworthy than I am. How can any one be more unworthy ? If mercy were any thing merited, I should be sure of never receiving it. Oh how I spoil my actions by my motives ! My heart is not right even when my conduct is. Oh thou who ponderests hearts and weighest spirits, sanctify my motives. Make them such as thou wouldst have them.
May 6, 1834. I ask not, O Lord, that thy will may coincide with mine, but mine with thine. I am only in a very subordinate sense in the hands of physicians and other advisers. I am in the Lord’s hands. There I ought to be. There may I delight to be. O for confidence.
May 13, 1834. Will the Lord deign to restore my voice to me, and to allow me once more to preach Jesus? I am not needed; and I am unworthy. But may such he employs. I shall esteem it a great favor. I shall praise him forever for it. I am too fond of life and this world. Oh, I am too unwilling to die. I cannot say to death, ‘Where is thy sting?’ I would be weaned from earth and time. I would desire to depart and be with Christ. I would see and feel that to be far better. Oh for sweet and complete submission to the divine will.
May 20, 1834. Will the Lord dictate the means I should employ for the recovery of my health, and then bless those means. O may I love Jesus more before I preach him again, and have a clearer and more satisfactory experience of the work of grace on my own heart, that out of the abundance of the heart, my mouth may henceforth speak to sinners. I would be careful for nothing, but in every thing by prayer, &c. Phil, iv, 6. Then I shall enjoy that peace of God, which passeth all understanding.
May 24, 1834. How I am held in bondage by the fear of death ! O that Christ would deliver me ! It was one great purpose of his death, to deliver those who, through fear of death are, all their lifetime, subject to bondage. Strange that I should be afraid and unwilling to go to my Father, to my Saviour, to my home and inheritance. Ah, it is because of unbelief. Last night I waked up with a pain in my breast, and how unduly it alarmed me—how unmanly, above all, how unchristian are my fears ! O that God would say to me, ' fear thou not, for I am with thee ; be not dismayed, for I am thy God,' — that he would speak these words to my heart. O, I needed this affliction, and I ought not to desire its removal until it has answered the purpose for which it was sent. I have been an unfaithful minister. I wonder God should have borne with me so long. Wonderful is the patience of God ! To reflect on it, will be among the employments of eternity; — to contemplate and admire the long-suffering and forbearance of God ! How slow he is to anger!
My throat affection seems not so well for the last few days. But let not this distress me. I am in the best hands — in hands divine — in the very hands that were pierced for me, and from which no foreign power can pluck me. If I die, yet dying is not going out of those hands, or if it is, it is going from the hands to the bosom of God, — a gainful and blessed exchange. Will the Lord dictate what means I shall use for recovery, and bless those means, else the most wisely adapted will be of no avail.
June 1, 1834. Again, as last Sunday, I am detained from the house of God, and it is now more than two months since I preached. The Lord has some object in this affliction. May I not defeat it. O how strange it seems to me to have no voice to preach of Jesus. Shall I never again be permitted to tell sinners of him? Will the Lord counsel me in regard to going to Norfolk to-morrow. Let thy will be done. O Lord, thou canst make me well, and thou canst make me holy; speak but the word, and I shall be whole both in body and in soul. Thou art the physician of both. Thou alone canst mend thy own work. O for the privilege of preaching the gospel again! Lord sanctify this affliction to me. Help me to cast my burden on thee, and to make the best of every thing.
June 4, 1834. I am at Norfolk for the benefit of my health. How vain are all means without God’s blessing! And what slight remedies prove successful in his hands! May he bless the retirement this visit affords me to my soul! Ah, this is what is most out of order. I ask for health, but for grave I cry. Lord, hear my cry. I cannot move along without grace. Grace I ask, to be, and do, and suffer all though have me to. If Christ has no more work for me to do, how little he lets me off with; for how very little I have done for him. I have not been laborious for my Saviour; and much that I have seemed to do for him, I have reason to fear has been done for myself. Why should I not be willing to be released from further labor, if the Lord has no more for me to do. O, why so very reluctant to depart and be with Christ. Will the Lord be my wisdom and strength to-day.
June 20, 1834. I am in New York again for my health. I bless the Lord that I seem to be getting better….
I am in quest of health. How much more important to ‘follow holiness!’ I hope I desire the latter, the rather of the two — holiness, conformity, moral conformity to God, submission to his holy will.
July 11, 1834. I must record it to the praise and glory of God, that I feel better to-day than I have felt since I was taken sick. May I increase in holiness more rapidly than in health, being strengthened in the inner as well as outer man. O that God would give me the ‘earnest of the Spirit,’ that I also may be always confident, that in being absent from the body I shall be present with the Lord. I am persuaded God will be my counsellor.
It was in November 1834 that Nevins’ wife passed away and went to be with the Lord. It was nearly twelve years to the day after their wedding when she died of cholera. Six weeks later his mother-in-law also passed away. The grief, and submission to the divine will, expressed by Nevins in his diary is profound. But to keep with the particular theme of this post, we pass over this tremendous loss and resume our extracts, this time from a letter dated June 21, 1834:
Health is a precious blessing, but it is not the blessing of greatest price. Holiness is the inestimable pearl. What a wonderful book the Bible always is, but especially sometimes. How it speaks to the heart! It seems to be all alive!
After a partial recovery in the summer of 1834, Nevins’ health deteriorated especially after his wife’s death. In the spring of 1835, doctors sent him to Saint Croix in the West Indies (at that time owned by Denmark, now a part of the U.S. Virgin Islands) in hopes that the climate would benefit him. However, his body was in a long, slow decline from which he would not recover.
In September 1835, having returned to Baltimore, he made a substantial donation to the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions. He told a friend, “There are one hundred dollars for the Board. It is, I suppose, the last donation I shall ever make to the cause of Christ. If you see any suitable way of saying it, I would like to have it known that the nearer I get to heaven, the dearer is the cause of missions to my heart.”
He died on September 14, 1835. His last words were: “Death — death, now, come Lord Jesus — dear Saviour.”
William and Martha Nevins are buried together at Westminster Burial Ground in Baltimore, Maryland.
Most of his written legacy was published after his death, and his writings are indeed a treasure, some of which are still in print today, particularly, his Practical Thoughts and Thoughts on Popery. Read more about the man and his writings here, and consider his words — that health is a precious blessing, but holiness is an inestimable pearl.
These concluding thoughts come from an 1832 sermon which Nevins preached to his congregation in Baltimore while the cholera epidemic was raging.
There is a great deal of dying now. And it is apprehended by many that there will be more. Death is abroad. The insatiate archer has got a new arrow in his quiver, severer and sharper than any of the rest. A new terror clothes the brow of the king of terrors. The aged are sickening and dying, nor are the young men and maidens exempt. And it is appointed to us to die. We shall be sorry to part with any of you; but if you must go, we cannot feel indifferent as to how and where you go. There is a direction we would have you take, and a conveyance we would have you employ. If you must leave earth, let it be for heaven. If you must go, go by the safe way and regard your company. There is but one safe way into eternity. There is only one rod and one staff that can comfort in death. It is not morality, nor philosophy, nor the poetry of Christianity. And there is but one companion of the way, who can give the charm of society to death. You know his name. It is Jesus. Oh, that you did but trust in him! Oh, if you only loved him! Oh, would you but obey him! Oh, that you were not ashamed of him! Into his hands I am willing to resign you.
