They leavened his whole
soul. They mingled with all his conversation. They were his only
counsellors and his chief comforters. They were his law, his politics,
his philosophy, his morals. They were his treasure and his song. And he
received their teachings in their simple, obvious, common-sense meaning.
He had quite a distaste for commentaries, because they would not allow
the Scriptures to speak forth their own solemn meaning in their own
plain, artless way. He hated the notes to Bunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_
for the same reason. He could understand the Bible, but he could not
understand the explanations of it given by theologians. He would not
study theology. He would study the Bible and Christ; he would study
precepts and promises, exhortations and warnings, examples and
historics; but not theology. And he never bothered us with theology.
There was no theology in his conversation. There was none in his
prayers. He never used theological terms. In all he said on religious
matters, whether to God or man, he used the simplest Bible terms. He
seldom talked much to his children about religion; he taught us more by
his deeds and spirit than by words; but when he did say anything to us
on the subject, it was the pure, unadulterated Word of God.
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