The Life And Ministry Of J. T. Smith

Gospel Standard 1865:

Death. On Jan. 10th, 1865, Mr. J. T. Smith, minister of the gospel, Peterborough, formerly Vicar of Winterton, Lincolnshire. We have not heard the particulars of his death, except that he was favoured, toward the close of his illness, with much resignation to the will of God, with a sweet sense of pardoned sin, much broken down into the spirit of a little child, desiring to give God ail the glory, and ex­ pressing his astonishment at his long-suffering and forbearance with him.

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I well knew and truly sympathised with the deceased in his trials and afflictions. A few words, perhaps, as to my first acquaintance and connection with him may not be uninteresting. In 1858, I received a letter from him, he being a perfect stranger to me, mentioning his exercises about remaining in the Church of England. He was then vicar of Winterton, near Brigg, Lincolnshire, worth, perhaps, from £200 to £250 a year. I liked the general tone of sincerity which breathed through his letter, and invited him to come and spend a few days with me at Stamford, as I knew that conversation was a far better medium of communication than correspondence. He accordingly came, and, as I expected, I found him remarkably sincere and tender about doing wrong; but of a warm, determined spirit, and with little personal experience of either law or gospel. I felt myself, therefore, placed in a trying position. I hoped, however, from his great sincerity and his readiness to make any sacrifice for it, that the life of God was in him. His views doctrinally of truth were sound and clear, and I could gather from his conversation that he was bold and unflinching in preaching them, to the no small offence of the leading people in his congregation. But I have been so often deceived in men, and fair beginnings have so often proved bad endings, that I am now very slow to receive any one who is not fully commended to my conscience as taught of God. I could not, therefore, give him any counsel one way or the other, except not to sin against his conscience. Indeed, he did not need my counsel, as he had already written to the bishop to resign his living. I found he had no private property, and that a small income by his wife he had given up to a relation. I felt deeply for him, as seeing before him such a sea of difficulties, and he a raw, inexperienced mariner, leaving a peaceful harbour for a stormy ocean. If I had been fully persuaded of his being under the teachings and guidings of the blessed Spirit, I could have comforted and encouraged him; but lacking a clear testimony, and having only a hope, I could say but little. All I could say was this, “God has taken care of me both in providence and in grace, and he can do as much for you. When I left the Church of England, I had not a penny, except a little I had saved in the days when I had a considerable income, nor the prospect of any. And now I am living in a comfortable house of my own, and have never wanted a shilling.” We parted very friendly. I lent him a volume of Huntington’s works to take home with him, and soon received the following letter:

“Winterton Vicarage, Brigg, Oct. 11th, 1858.

“My dear Sir, I am thankful to say that I reached my home in safety, on Saturday night; nor should I feel comfortable did I abstain from saying how pleasing the remembrance of my visit to Stamford is to me. Though I was not in such circumstances as to be able to ask advice about an immediate step, yet, your committing me to the care, protection, and guidance of the Lord was a course that must be right and safe at all times. I must not forget to state what a rich treat I have received in the perusal of Huntington’s ‘Bank of Faith.’ It proves eminently that the God of believers is the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever. As I was unable to say so little by word of mouth to you respecting the path in which I have walked, I shall perhaps trouble you ere long with a short account of what has passed within me. To be sure I am only adding to your already heavy labours by such an act, but as I seem to have been drawn towards you, I am audacious enough to think that I may trespass on your kindness and forbearance.

“That peace may be to your house, and all that dwell therein, is the sincere wish of, 

“Yours, my dear Sir, most sincerely and truly,

“J. T. Smith”

In the early spring of 1859 he quitted his living, and came to reside at Stamford for the benefit, I believe, of my ministry and personal intercourse. Here, again, I felt myself placed in a most trying position. I should have much liked to ask him to preach, as I was often ill, and wanted help; and some of the people wished to hear him. But two things held me back: 1. I was not fully clear about his call by grace, still more about his call to the ministry. 2. It would have been said, as indeed it was, that he had come to Stamford for me to ordain him. On one or two occasions, however, he spoke on a week evening for me, and as he had a good gilt, a bold delivery, and a beautiful voice, he took much with some of the people. During his stay at Stamford he had some remarkable interpositions in providence in answer to prayer, which much encouraged him.

After some time he was invited to Peterborough to take the charge of a church and congregation in a newly-repaired chapel, where three causes, or perhaps to speak more correctly, three parties had united themselves together. He had been previously baptized, but not by me or in any way connected with my church. He could not, perhaps, have gone to any place where grace, wisdom, and judgment were more needed to guide his steps. And here he was full of sincerity, disposed to put down with strong hand whatever he believed was wrong, fearing no man’s face; bold and most decided in his declarations, but warm in temper, and lacking that judgment which under his circumstances was so needful. In some of his movements I could not see with him, nor could I justify some of his words and acts. But we were always very friendly, and he never wavered, I believe, in his esteem and affection for me. This is the more remarkable, as many men would have taken offence at my not standing more fully by him, or not manifesting more sympathy with him, as a brother seceder and a brother minister. It was not that I did not feel for and with him, for I felt much for him in his trials and afflictions; but there was much said and done by him of which I could not approve, and when that is the case I never can stand by any man, be he who he may. Besides which, I felt that I did not understand sufficiently the state of men and things with which he was connected to be a fair judge of matters. Some to whom he was most opposed I had personally known, and others whom he most warmly received have since proved themselves to be altogether out of the way. I therefore judged that my best and wisest course was to stand apart from all the strife, and to watch and wait the result. Indeed, whenever we talked of his church divisions, he used to say, “None can know how matters are at Peterborough who is not in them.” I therefore wish to be silent upon them.

In 1863, he had a most severe and unexpected stroke in the loss of his wife, to whom he was much attached. She died in childbed, and left him with three little children. Soon after, his own health began to fail. He had always a consumptive appearance, and it showed itself in him in a peculiar and very deceptive form, manifesting itself in the throat with hoarseness, and not so much in the chest. He could, therefore, scarcely believe his complaint was so serious, and almost to the last entertained hopes of recovery. Though his chapel had become much thinned, and some of his best supporters had left, still the Lord wonderfully appeared for him in his providence, and raised up help for him in a remarkable way. Though never really separated, for I felt deeply for him, and always manifested it to him, yet as I could not sanction all his proceedings, there was a little suspension of intercourse between us. He sometimes, however, came over to see and hear me, and always manifested much friendship and affection, which I reciprocated, and never treated him with coldness or distance, for I much liked the man, though I did not like all his ways. But in the autumn of 1864, I left Stamford, and saw afterwards but little of him. He gradually grew worse in health, and lost his voice from the affection in the throat, which of course put an end to his ministry. He was most tenderly and affectionately nursed by a member of his church, the writer of the account below of his last days. I understand that on his death-bed he acknowledged and lamented his warmth of spirit, though his views were not altered as to the general circumstances. As I always hoped well of him, admired his great sincerity of heart and integrity of life, for none could find a blemish there, though I never had that full union of spirit with him which I have had with many others, it rejoiced me that the poor dear man, after all his trials and afflictions, made so good an end, and is entered into his eternal rest. His name and memory thus leave a sweet savour on my spirit, and will, I believe, on others also, for he was much beloved by the few who continued under his ministry, when, for various reasons, others had withdrawn from it. 

Joseph Philpot

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Some Of The Last Words Of The Late Mr. J. T. Smith, Of Peterborough, Minister.

At one time he said, “Read me that hymn, ‘”Heaven is that holy, happy place, Where sin no more defiles.'”

At another time he said, “The Lord has enabled me to do what I have long wanted to do, that is, to pray for my enemies. I feel now like Stephen of old, I can say, ‘Lay not this sin to their charge.'”

Another time he said many times over, “‘Hail, sovereign love, that first began.'”

Another time he said, “They want me to settle my little earthly affairs, but I want everything of a spiritual matter settled first; then I know everything else will drop in the right place.” 

Another time he said, respecting his earthly affairs, “They want to hurry me; but I am waiting for God’s guidance.” Many times he would repeat, “‘For mercies countless as the sands, Which daily I receive;'” then he would add, “I desire to thank God for the kindness done to my poor body.”

On leaving him for a short time to go to chapel, he said, “Do give my kind love to all the dear children of God, and tell them my last days are my very best days; tell them I am now living on the truths I have been enabled to preach.” I am sure the church of God lay very near and dear to his heart. 

Another time he said, “Be assured that when this breath has left the body, I shall be in glory,” such assurance he had at times of his interest in Christ.

He always had had a great fear of death; but it was now all taken away. He said, “The swelling of Jordan I have so much dreaded; but I can now meet it with pleasure.” 

Once he said, “This heart and flesh fail.” I said, “Yes; but God is the strength of your heart and your portion for ever.” He replied, “That’s it.”

Another time he said, “Is it not wonderful? Here I lie as happy and as comfortable as I can well wish to be. My bed has not been made for such a time, but the Lord makes my bed. I lie as soft and as comfortable as though it was made every day. How good the Lord is!” 

Many different times he said, “You can’t think how happy I am; I think I never felt so happy in all my life.” “O!” he would say, “it is good to be brought here.”

A few days before he died, he took my hand and pressed it, and said, “I am very happy and comfortable, for the Lord is round about me. He won’t let Satan harass me.” And he waved his poor hand.

Another time, when he had scarcely spoken all day, a little before twelve at night, he said, “Now I feel a little revived, I want to give you a little instruction about my funeral;” and this he did with much composure. 

He felt quite satisfied respecting the dear children. Many times he would say, “I have left them in the Lord’s hands, and I feel confident they will be taken care of and well provided for.”

He always seemed to express much thankfulness for what was done for him, and was often much in secret prayer to God, not able, at times, to talk much, owing to the disease.

The last night he was here, he was most of the night very restless. I said, “You can’t find a place of rest; but I trust you will soon rest on the bosom of Jesus.” He said, “Yes; but this is the conflict. Pray for me.” I was enabled to lift up my heart to God on his behalf, that the Lord would cut short his work.

About five o’clock in the morning he had a severe struggle for a few minutes, expecting every minute he would go off. After much sickness he revived again, and several times asked for his medicine, and then a little brandy and water. I said to him, “I hope the Lord is precious?” His answer was, “More so.” He said very few words after this; but a short time before he died, I said, “What a mercy it is your senses are retained!” He looked up, and said, “Yes, I am surrounded with mercies.” At another time he waved his hand and said, “I am so happy; for the Lord is all round me.”

This I would also add; his heart and hand were always open to them that needed, whether in the church or out of the church.

At half-past seven in the morning, January 10th, 1865, he quietly fell asleep in Jesus, without a sigh or a groan.

Alice Newell