The Legacy of a Godly Life

Bill never ministered to large churches or spoke at conferences. But he touched lives by remaining the same constant Christian year after year. Today, Sinclair Ferguson thanks God for one of the godliest men he has ever known.

Well, it’s Friday already, and it’s another edition of Things Unseen. And this week, I’ve been sharing some memories and reflections on friends who helped me in my early Christian life between my conversion just before my fifteenth birthday and my ordination when I was twenty-three.

The final friend I’ve chosen was a man whose name was Bill. I first saw Bill and his family at the church I attended as a student. And later that year, I met him again in a Hebrew class I took when I was an undergraduate. He was older than I was by some way, and he had several children. And as it happened in the providence of God, we ended up in the same year in our theology degree at university. We were different not only in age but also, I think, very much in personality. But I cannot adequately express the impact his wonderfully human, personal godliness made on me.

He’d been a skilled market gardener, and the Lord had called him into the ministry, and his life was full of the rich, heavenly fruit of the Spirit—and especially patience. He and his wife, Marian, with their children, I think probably survived on a pittance. But what they had, they shared with me and treated me like a member of their family. And I treasure the memory of my student days with them.

Our theological education was by no means all conservative. I’m not quite sure how much I learned from lectures—with some notable exceptions—but I learned a great deal from Bill and his family and their love for Christ. His life was one of humble godliness, seriousness without lugubriousness. His life was weighty with grace without being heavy with dullness. And he had a level of loving devotion to the Lord that made me feel glad and at ease in his presence, even though I felt then—and still do now—that I would never grow spiritually tall enough to be the same height he was.

I want to pick out one thing Bill said to me that has stuck with me and, I think, left an indelible stamp on me, especially as a minister. For a reason I can’t quite remember, I was invited to come one summer Sunday evening from my home city to the city in which we were students in order to preach in the church that they attended all year round.

As it happened, I preached on Christ the Suffering Servant from Isaiah 52:13–53:12. He came to greet me after the service. We hadn’t seen each other for a number of weeks. He mentioned the sermon, and then he added these simple words: “The Holy Spirit loves to exalt the Lord Jesus in preaching.” It may sound strange, but I’d never actually heard anyone say that before. Of course, what Bill said was rooted in John 16:13–14: “When the Spirit of truth comes, He will glorify me,” said Jesus, “He will take what is mine and He will declare it to you.” I knew these words well enough, but it was the way Bill so graciously, so deliberately applied them to preaching that stuck with me—not only that he said them; it was how he said them, and it became a guiding light to me in the years that have followed.

Bill was later the human instrument in bringing me to the first congregation I served as its minister. All the years I knew him, he remained the same constant Christian. He was never minister of a large congregation. He never seemed to speak at conferences or conventions. He never wrote a book. I don’t know if he ever set foot outside the British Isles. But none of that matters to me. What does matter is that he was one of the godliest men I’ve ever met, and I’ve often thought I was never worthy to tie his shoelaces. He’s with the Lord now, in glory. What he was here as a relatively hidden person is no longer hidden. I’m sure he’s had the Lord Jesus saying to him, “Well done, good and faithful servant, enter into the joy of your Lord.”

Bill came from an area of Scotland near where Robert Murray M’Cheyne was minister. He had a very elderly aunt who, as a young girl, had a very elderly friend who’d actually been in M’Cheyne’s congregation in the 1840s—absolutely amazing. We both loved the words of Murray M’Cheyne’s hymn, “When This Passing World Is Done.” It contains these words:

Then, Lord, shall I fully know, Not till then, how much I owe.

Well, Bill knows now. But I also wonder if the Lord Jesus will have shown my dear friend, Bill, how much I have owed to him for the way he befriended me, the way he nurtured me, the way he encouraged me—a much younger man—the way he shared his devotion to Christ with me, and pointed me to this great secret that the Holy Spirit loves to honor Christ in preaching.

So, I’m thankful this week for the man in black, for my friend, Hamish, for Dennis, the student I knew in my first year at university, and for my dear friend Bill. These are just a few of the many who have helped and blessed me along the way. And as I’ve said, I’ve mentioned them in the hope that it might stimulate you to think of people who have helped to shape your life. I hope you can give thanks for similar friends. And I also want to challenge all of us, whether we ourselves have had such friends or not, to become that kind of friend, the kind of Christlike friend who sticks closer than a brother. I hope you’ll have a blessed weekend and join us next week on Things Unseen.