The Way Of Escape

This unrest and questioning came to a head in 1865. Because of family circumstances, we had to leave our delightful home in Germantown — along with all our wide circle of interests — and move to a remote village in New Jersey, where we were almost completely cut off from any congenial society. Financially, it was an advantage, but in every other respect it was a tremendous trial, especially for me. I confess that my spirit rebelled bitterly against the change.

Little did I imagine that in this very place, which felt so desolate and isolated, a glorious new light would dawn, ushering in the fourth and crowning epoch of my spiritual life.

It happened this way. As I’ve said, I was deeply rebellious about the move. Yet I had enough spiritual insight to know that this rebellion was wrong. Since the move was clearly a providential arrangement beyond my control, the only right response was to accept it cheerfully and genuinely say, “Thy will be done.” But although I scolded myself constantly, I couldn’t bring myself to accept God’s will—and in truth, I didn’t want to acc ept it. I felt it was harsh treatment to be forced to leave my happy Germantown home and my sphere of usefulness to live in such a lonely, remote place as Millville. It seemed to me that God ought not to have allowed it, and that I had every right to grumble and fret.

As a result, I fell into a deeply uncomfortable state of mind. Even my clear doctrines could no longer help me, and I began to fear that I was going to lose whatever spirituality I had left.

In the face of a need so real, it was no comfort to know I was forgiven. I wanted more than forgiveness — I wanted deliverance. But I had no idea how to obtain it.

Because we frequently had Mission preachers visit us, I explained my case to several of them and asked for help, but no one could tell me anything useful. At last, a very successful religious teacher came for a few days, and to him I poured out my trouble fully, begging him to suggest some path to deliverance. He considered my situation seriously and finally said he believed what I needed was to engage in some Christian work. If I would go out the next morning to visit the poor in our neighborhood and see how I could help them, he thought my spiritual life would be renewed and everything would come right.

So the next day, I tried his suggested remedy. But I quickly discovered how futile it was. Almost in the first house I entered I found a woman struggling with the very same spiritual difficulty as my own, and she desperately needed help — and I had none to give. I felt like someone trying to feed the hungry out of an empty bowl. It was a silly and impossible task. I returned home more discouraged than ever, convinced that before I could help anyone else, I would have to find deliverance for myself.

There was a local dressmaker who often came to sew for me, and since I had so little companionship in the village, I would sometimes sit and talk with her while we worked. She seemed unusually spiritually minded, and I was fascinated by her experiences. I discovered that she believed in an actual victory over temptation — that it was not necessary, as I had thought, to go through life sinning and repenting, sinning and repenting, but that a Christian could truly be delivered. She told me that among the Methodists there was a doctrine called “Holiness,” and an acc ompanying experience called “sanctification,” or “the second blessing,” which brought people into a place of victory. I was intensely interested in everything she said, and began to hope that perhaps here might be the solution to my struggles.

She also told me that a small meeting was held in the village on Saturday evenings where this doctrine was taught and where people shared their experiences. She urged me to attend. I thought I might go someday, but allowed other things to interfere. I was convinced that poor, uneducated factory workers could not possibly have anything to teach me. I had studied and taught the Bible extensively and had a high opinion of my own religious attainments. I felt that if I did go to the meeting, I would likely have far more to teach them than they would have to teach me.

Eventually, however, one evening I decided to grant them the favor of my presence — and I confess, I did feel it was a great favor. I went to the meeting full of my own importance and superiority, expecting to astonish them with my biblical knowledge.

When I entered, a factory woman with a shawl over her head —she likely didn’t own a bonnet— was speaking. I heard her say: “My whole horizon used to be filled with this great big Me of mine, but when I got a glimpse of Christ as my perfect Savior, that great big Me shriveled down to nothing.”

Those words were a revelation to me. I realized I knew nothing whatsoever of such an experience. My own “Me” was very large and very self - assertive, and I couldn’t imagine how it c ould possibly “shrink to nothing.” But a deep conviction came over me that this must be real Christianity — and perhaps the very thing I had been longing for.

Needless to say, I did not attempt any teaching that night. I sat instead as a learner at the feet of these humble Christians, who knew little of book learning but whose souls were clearly taught by the Holy Spirit in depths of spiritual truth I had never touched. I began attending the meeting regularly as a learner, and took every opportunity I could to talk with those who understood this way of life. I found that its essence was exactly what Paul meant when he wrote, “Not I, but Christ”— that the victory I sought would come through ceasing to live my own life and allowing God’s power to “work in me to will and to do His good pleasure.”

In my diary, dated October 18, 1866, I wrote: “The Lord has been teaching me in many ways lately my utter weakness in the face of temptation. I have grown much in knowledge, but not in grace, and I find that I have no more real power over sin than I did when I was first converted. This has not led me to doubt that I am a child of God — justified, forgiven, possessing eternal life, and heir to a heavenly inheritance.

But even with this assurance, I cannot be happy while my heart condemns me. I long for more holiness, more power over sin, more unbroken communion with God. But I do not know how to attain it. Resolutions are useless; my efforts in vain. My prayers go unanswered. A thousand times I have been ready to give up in des pair and conclude that it is not God’s will for me ever to gain victory over sin. And yet the Bible presents such a different picture —‘blameless, harmless, without rebuke’; with every temptation a ‘way of escape’; ‘purified’; ‘conformed to the image of Chr ist’; ‘holy as He is holy.’”

Then I wrote: “I find there are Christians who say that by receiving Christ by faith for our sanctification, just as we received Him by faith for our justification, all this work I long for is accomplished — that is, the method of accomplishing it is discovered. They claim that the Bible teaches that the Lord can deliver from the power of sin as well as from its guilt, and that the soul learns to trust Him to do this, ceasing to rely on its own resolutions or efforts at holiness, and committing the entire work of being kept from evil to the Lord alone.”

And finally: “I am beginning to see more clearly that the Lord is worthy of the most unlimited and boundless confidence; and perhaps this is the first dawning of the light I have been seeking. It is a Methodist doctrine, and I have long been accustomed to hearing Methodists criticized for it, but it seems to be the only thing that meets my need, and I feel compelled to try it.”

On February 11, 1867, I recorded my early efforts to grasp this conquering faith, and wrote: “My soul’s present posture is one of trusting the Lord. And I’ve discovered that this is a practical reality — He actually does deliver. When temptation comes, if I turn to Him at once with the prayer, ‘Lord, save me. I cannot save myself from this sin, but You can and will,’ He never fails.

Either He completely changes my feelings or He makes me forget the whole matter — and the victory, or rather His victory, is complete. This is a secret of the Christian life I never knew before.

But why did I not know it? Why has my path been so halting and miserable when I might have lived in victory? I am a striking example of the inherent legalism and unbelief of the human heart. While trusting the Lord entirely for my justification, I have always trusted myself for my sanctification.

I have relied on my own efforts, resolutions, watchfulness, fervor, and striving to accomplish holy living. This was legalism — just as truly legalism as if I had trusted these things to save my soul in the first place. I was ‘frustrating’ the grace of God as fully in sanctification as those whom I had condemned as legalists were frustrating it in justification. I could easily see how they nullified Christ’s death by their legal efforts, but I was blind to th e fact that I was doing the same thing. Their striving and mine differed in the goal, but in both cases it was self and not Christ. For ‘if righteousness comes by the law, then Christ died in vain.’

But now how different everything is! Now I entrust my daily life to Him just as I entrust my eternal destiny. I trust Him just as nakedly in one as in the other. I am equally powerless in both.

I can do nothing —not even I, the ‘new man’— and if the Lord does not do everything, nothing will be done.

And oh, glorious truth — He does do it! When I trust Him, He gives deliverance from the power of sin as well as from its guilt. I can place everything in His care — my troubles, my temptations, my growth, my service, my daily life, moment by moment. Oh, the rest and calm of living this way!

And this is the Methodist ‘blessing of holiness.’ Expressed by them in terms I do not fully endorse, and surrounded by what seems to me a mixture of error — but still genuinely experienced and enjoyed by them. I am truly grateful for their testimony to its reality. And I now see that it is far better to have the experience — even if mixed with error — than to live without it and be doctrinally correct, as I formerly was.”

My diary from this period is full of the astonishing discoveries I was making, but these extracts are enough. From then on, the possibilities of faith opened before me in ways I had never dreamed. I saw that faith was truly the victory that overcomes the world, and I marveled at my blindness in never having understood it.

Once again, it felt as if a veil had been stripped from the Bible, and it became a new book to me: “The truth that was mine yesterday Is larger truth today; Its face has grown more divine, Its kingship fuller sway.

For truth must grow as ages roll, And God loom larger in the soul.”

One day I was at a meeting where the speaker read John 15, and the words “Without Me you can do nothing” struck me with breathtaking force. I had read and quoted these words hundreds of times — even preached on them. But now they blazed with such meaning that it seemed as though they must have been newly added to the Bible. Here was the Lord saying plainly, “Without Me you can do nothing,” and yet all the while I had been thinking I could— and must — do so much.

What meaning ha d I previously given the word “nothing”? I tried to recall, but there was only a blank. I had never truly noticed it.

Another day I read the passage in Matthew 6 where Jesus tells us to “take no thought for your life,” because our Heavenly Father cares for us — citing the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, and reminding us that we are of far greater value. I read the passage repeatedly in utter astonishment. Could it possibly be true? Had it really been in the Bible all these years? If so, how had I never seen it? And yet not only had I seen it — I had memorized it and recited it often. But in the only sense that matters, I had never seen it before.

Now I saw — and at that sight, my cares, worries, fears, and anxieties vanished like mist before the sun.

The same happened with all the familiar Scriptures — they were illuminated with entirely new meaning. Every page proclaimed, as if with a trumpet, the reality of a victorious Christian life lived by faith in Jesus Christ. My whole soul burned with the discovery. I could think and speak of little else. I had found something about the salvation of Christ I had never imagined — something that proved Him a far more complete Savior than I had ever conceived.

I saw that He was not only my Savior for the future but my all-sufficient Savior for the present.

My Captain to fight my battles so I need not fight them myself. My Burden-Bearer so I could roll my burdens off my weak shoulders. My Fortress from my enemies. My Shield, my Guide, my Comforter, my Shepherd. No longer did I need to protect, defend, or fight for myself. Everything was in the hands of One mighty to save — and what else could I do but trust Him?

No words can express the fullness and sufficiency I found stored up in the Lord. I could not keep such glorious news to myself. Everyone who came near me was obliged to hear my story.

One of the first I told was the cousin I had mentioned earlier — the one who had once been puzzled by my teaching that although our sins were forgiven, we must remain lifelong slaves to sin’s power. I seized the earliest opportunity to invite her for a visit, and as soon as she arrived, I exclaimed: “Oh, Carrie, I have something wonderful to tell you. We mustn’t lose a minute!”

As soon as we were alone, I poured out my discovery — that in Christ there is not only forgiveness for sin but deliverance from its power , and that we need no longer live as slaves to sin but may be more than conquerors through Him.

She listened with astonished, perplexed interest, her expression growing more amazed at every sentence. Finally she burst out: “But Hannah, what do you mean? You always told me that even though you were a child of God, you couldn’t expect deliverance from sin or from worry— that the old Adam was too strong and the new nature too weak. When I was converted, I fully expected to be delivered from sin and unrest, but when I asked you about it, you said it was impossible in this life. And I believed you!

And now you say the opposite. It’s terribly confusing—I don’t know what to think!”

I agreed it was confusing, but it had been ignorance, not malice, that had enabled me to teach such a distorted view. Now that I had discovered something far better in the gospel, all we needed to do was abandon the old error and embrace the new truth shown us.

My cousin — who all along had instinctively felt the old view could not possibly represent the best Christ had to offer — embraced the new teaching with eagerness and lived it out far more faithfully than I did.

The practical working of my discovery amazed me. I surrendered my entire rebellious spirit to the Lord and told Him I could not conquer it but believed He could conquer it for me. Then I stepped aside, so to speak, and left the battle to Him. To my indescribable joy, He removed all my rebellion and replaced it with such peaceful acceptance of His will that the life which had seemed so distasteful now appeared pleasant —even desirable. I could say “Thy will be done” with genuine gratitude.

My discovery proved itself a practical success, and I was delighted. I tested it in countless ways — and it never once failed. One instance in particular remains vivid in my mind.

There came a time when I was treated in a way I felt was utterly unfair — unjustifiable then, and still unjustifiable now when I look back on it. I felt deeply wronged and was strongly tempted to retreat into a long, simmering sulk, letting my silence and coldness express the indignation I felt so keenly.

But the moment the temptation came, I saw at once the way of escape. I hurried off to be alone, prac tically running to my bedroom because I was so full of provocation that I couldn’t even walk calmly. I slammed the doors behind me, desperate for privacy to fight the battle out.

Once alone, I knelt down and prayed: “Lord, I am provoked. I want to be provo ked. And honestly, I think I have good reason.

But I know I shouldn’t give in to this, and I want victory. I give this whole matter to You. I cannot fight this battle —You must fight it for me. Jesus saves me now.”

I said those words while my heart still felt completely rebellious. Outwardly, it probably looked as though I was declaring a lie. I didn’t feel saved from my anger, and it didn’t seem at all likely that I could be. But by faith I clung to the truth, insisting — even in the midst of turmoil — that the Lord could and did save me now.

And then it happened.

Instantly, a calm as bright as a summer morning settled over me. All my resentment vanished.

My anger dissolved. I felt as carefree and joyful as a bird in the sunshine, delighting in the very situation that only moments before had enraged me. My faith had seized hold of a divine reality: God was able to deliver, and He did deliver the soul that trusted Him.

I realized what a remarkable truth it was that I did not need to fight my own battles at all. The Lord would fight for me, and I could simply be still. Since that day, hundreds of such battles have been fought — and won — for me by the Captain of my Salvation. The secret I learned then, of placing the battle entirely in His hands and stepping aside to let Him fight, has never once failed when I have practiced it. It has proven again and again to be a living demonstration of Christ’s words: “Be of good cheer—I have overcome the world.”

He has overcome it — not we — and He always will, if only we will surrender the matter into His hands.

Never once, when I have done this, have I been disappointed. It is gloriously true — though so few seem to realize it — that He is able to save completely those who come to God through Him , because He lives forever to intercede for them. He was able when the Epistle to the Hebrews was written, and He is just as able now, for He is not dead — He still lives to intercede for us.

I had discovered that faith is the governing law of the universe . God spoke, and it was done; and when we rely on Him, we too may speak, and it shall be done. A brilliant new light shone on the words in 1 John 5:14 – 15: “This is the confidence we have in Him: that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us. And if we know He hears us, whatever we ask, we know we have what we asked of Him.”

I had always thought such words were merely beautiful ideals — bright dreams of the Christian life that no sensible person would expect to experience on earth. But now I saw they were not dreams at all, but straightforward statements of a divine law : the law of faith, as real and as dependable as the law of gravity, if only one understands it.

Christ tells us again and again that it will be to us according to our faith, and He declares without limitation that all things are possible to the one who believes . I had assumed this was poetic exaggeration. Now I understood: He was simply describing the laws of the spiritual kingdom — laws that anyone may test and prove. Faith connects us to the almighty power of God, making it possible for our weakness to draw freely on His strength. Its possibilities seemed endless.

“Faith, mighty faith, the promise sees And looks to that alone; Laughs at impossibilities, And cries, ‘It shall be done.’”

I wish I could say that from that moment forward I continually lived in the power of this divine law. I have not. But I can say this: every time I have deliberately chosen to lay hold of God’s strength by faith, His strength has been made perfect in my weakness, and I have been victorious. Again and again I have been able to echo the ap ostle’s triumphant words: “In all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.”