In Chains to Them in Chains

“Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.” — 1 Corinthians 13:1 (KJV)

About five or six years after his struggles began, some of the most respected members of the Bedford church asked Bunyan to speak at one of their meetings. He was shaken by the idea, but he agreed, and spoke twice in private. They were moved and thanked God. After prayer and fasting, the church set him apart to preach in public. “When the country understood, they came in to hear the Word by hundreds.”

He could hardly believe God was using him. “I at first could not believe that God should speak by me to the heart of any man.” But people kept telling him he had shown them the way to Christ, and in the end he had to accept it.

He preached exactly what he had lived through. For the first two years he preached about sin and guilt, because that was what he was still feeling. “I preached what I felt, what I smartingly did feel.” Then he wrote one of the most famous lines in the book: “I went myself in chains to preach to them in chains; and carried that fire in my own conscience that I persuaded them to beware of.” Sometimes he walked up to the pulpit full of guilt and terror, felt free while he was preaching, and was “as bad as I was before” before he got to the bottom of the stairs. Later, as God gave him more peace, he preached about Christ, and then about being joined to Christ.

He loved the people who came to faith. When any of them later fell away, he said it hurt him more “than if one of my own children, begotten of my body, had been going to its grave.” He wanted to go to the darkest places, to people who had never heard. And he was still tempted while he preached: by blasphemous thoughts, by sudden blankness, “as if my head had been in a bag,” and by pride.

Against pride, he used Paul's picture of the cymbal. A cymbal can make wonderful music, but the music comes from the player, not from the cymbal. Gifts are like that. “What, thought I, shall I be proud because I am a sounding brass? Is it so much to be a fiddle?” His conclusion is one of the best things he ever wrote: “great grace and small gifts are better than great gifts and no grace.”

Then came the rumours. People said he was “a witch, a Jesuit, a highwayman.” Worst of all, they said he had lovers and children by them, and even two wives at once. Bunyan denied it all flatly and invited anyone to prove otherwise. He did not chase every rumour down. “I bind these lies and slanders to me as an ornament,” he wrote, remembering Jesus' words about being blessed when people falsely say all kinds of evil against you for his sake.

Notice that Bunyan didn't wait until he was fixed before God used him. He was still fighting fears when he first preached, and he says so. God used his broken places to reach broken people. And notice his warning about gifts. Being talented, popular or a good speaker is not the same as being close to God. A little grace, he said, “a little love, a little of the true fear of God, is better than all these gifts.”

One thing to do this week: think of one gift you have, anything from music to listening to fixing things. This week, use it once quietly for someone else's good, and when you're done, thank God for it instead of waiting for anyone to praise you.