William
Guthrie
James
Guthrie
They have set his head
on the Netherbow,
To scorch in the summer air;
And months go by, and
the winter's snow
Falls white on its thin grey hair.
And still that
same look that in death he wore
Is sealed on the solemn brow -
A look
as of one who had travailed sore,
But whose pangs were ended now.
Harriet Stuart Menteith, Lays Of The Kirk And
Covenant
Some of our Zaccheus-like men, as full of faith and as
unerring in aim as David, have, like him, been slayers of giants. James Guthrie
was one of them. He and Cromwell knew each other, and the mighty Puritan
referred to him as 'the short little man who could not bow.' Covenanter and
Puritan! Shall we ever see their like again? What a glorious heritage they have
left to us, though somewhat now 'the wild boar from the wood doth waste it.' As
Joses, by the generosity of his character, won the name of Barnabas, Son of
Consolation, so James Guthrie, by the stability of his character, earned the
name of Sickerfoot [Sure of Foot]. And such indeed was he until he mounted the
ladder to the scaffold, where he spoke for an hour, surefooted on the Rock,
dying firm in his Covenanting principles. In life and death, he fulfilled the
Scripture, 'steadfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord.'
One day a friend would have had him compromise a little. Said he, 'Mr Guthrie,
we have an old Scots proverb, "Jouk [duck] that the wave may gang oure ye! Will
ye nae jouk a wee bit" ' And gravely Guthrie replied, 'There is nae jouking in
the Cause of Christ!'
And so it was. That unbending, surefooted,
non-ducking soldier of God held his head high until it was taken from him, and
shamefully set aloft upon a pike above the thronging Netherbow Port of
Edinburgh. There it bleached for twenty-seven years, till lover of the free
Gospel Sandie Hamilton, a student for the Covenanting ministry, climbed the
sombre Port at the risk of his life, and taking down the skull, buried it
reverently away. James Guthrie had much whereof he might have trusted in the
flesh, amongst which was a very liberal education, given not with the object of
making him a Covenanting minister. But, meeting with 'yours in his sweet Lord
Jesus, Samuel Rutherford,' all he had learned against the non-conforming
Presbyterians vanished forever, and among them he became a preacher of the
Gospel in 1638, the year when the National Covenant was signed. His name, too,
is set there on that great spiritual Magna Charta. While on his way to pen his
name, he met the hangman. This moved him somewhat, and, feeling that it was
prophetic, it made him walk up and down a little before he went forward. But
his signature is there in martyr lustre with the honoured names of those
thousands of others on that great parchment of deerskin, 'the holiest thing in
all Scotland, a vow registered in Heaven.' Two months before he died, he boldly
confessed to the Parliament, 'I am not ashamed to give God the glory that until
1638 I was treading other steps.' The last twelve years of his life were spent
in Stirling, the grey fortress town whose castled rock is ever a symbol of him.
Here he lived and devotedly wrought for Christ and His Kirk. Steady in temper,
he believed in the loosening up of the knots of any argument before engaging in
further reasoning. Fervent in spirit, and not slothful in business, he was
careful, loving and true. An undaunted fighter in a worthwhile cause, and a
hater of everything lower than true godliness, such as he was soon, and always,
in conflict with the loose-living King Charles Stuart and his like Committees.
He utterly refused such a profane ruler any authority in the affairs of the
Church. Although dismissed after one big trial, his refusal to allow the king
any power over the conscience of a Christian was made much of against him in
his last trials, ten years later. He helped to write the searching pamphlet,
The Causes of the Lord's Wrath against Scotland, and this paper was the
principal pretext for his condemnation and execution. It had the honour of
being put on a par with Lex Rex by Samuel Rutherford, and copies of both books
were publicly burned by the common hangman. To hold a copy of either work was
treason against King and government. The purpose of these writings was said to
be 'to corrupt the minds of his majesty's loyal subjects, to alienate and
withdraw them from that duty of love and obedience that they owe unto his
sacred person and greatness, stirring them up against his majesty and kingly
government, and containing many things injurious to the king's majesty's person
and authority.' But, above all that base slander, the principles they taught
are those upon which the true British Constitution is based. It was a noxious
doctrine that Erastus taught when he averred that a king was sovereign and
supreme in all matters temporal and sp iritual, and that if a Church exercised
powers of government and discipline in her own lawful sphere, it broke in on
the authority of the magistrate. Every page of the proscribed books is for the
Crown Rights of the Redeemer In His Church, the freedom of the conscience, and
against the so-called Divine Right of Kings. The wordy indictment set forth
against James Guthrie gives some vivid idea of his amazing, activity. 'He did
contrive, complot, counsel, consult, draw up, frame, invent, spread abroad or
disperse - speak, preach, declaim or utter divers and sundry vile seditions and
reasonable remonstrances, declarations, petitions, instructions letters,
speeches, preachings, declamations and other expressions tending to the
vilifying and contemning, slander and reproach of His Majesty, his progenitors,
his person, majesty, dignity, authority, prerogative royal, and government'
Shortly after the Restoration of Charles II, in 1660 Guthrie, with others, was
apprehended and cast into prison. In February of 1661, he was tried, and in
April of that year he made a defence before the well-named Drunken Parliament.
It concludes with these words, 'My Lord, my conscience I cannot submit But this
old crazy body and mortal flesh I do submit, to do with it whatsoever ye will,
whether by death, or banishment, or imprisonment, or anything else; only I
beseech you to ponder well what profit there is in my blood. It is not the
extinguishing of me or of many others that will extinguish the Covenant or work
of the Reformation since 1638. My blood, bondage or banishment will contribute
more for the propagation of these things than my life in liberty would do,
though I should live many years.' At the close of this speech, some members
withdrew, saying that they would have no part in his death, and one made a
strong appeal urging banishment But his judges were baying for his bloo d, and
he, with Captain William Govan, a fit companion, was sentenced to be hanged at
Edinburgh Cross on 1 June 1661. The head of Guthrie was to be stuck on a pike
high above the Netherbow Port, his estate confiscated, and his family arms
torn. The head of Govan, pike-stuck, was likewise to be high up on the West
Port. On receiving this sentence, Guthrie said to the members of the Drunken
Parliament, 'My Lords, let never this sentence affect you more than it does me,
and let never my blood be required from the King's family.' But it was
required, with the blood of many others, in the fullness of time. While lying
in the Tolbooth, he saw Archibald Campbell, Marquis of Argyle, 'not afraid,' as
Argyle said, 'to be surprised by fear,' going forth with Christian dignity to
his martyrdom. Said Guthrie, 'Such is my respect for your Lordship that were I
not under sentence of death myself I could cheerfully die for your Lordship.'
There was but a week between their meeting and their parting. He told his wife,
'I am more fortunate than the Great Marquis, for my Lord was beheaded, but I am
to be hanged on a tree as my Saviour was.' His wife wept sorely when for the
last time she parted from him. 'I do but trouble you,' she said. 'I must now
part from you.' And he replied, 'Henceforth I know no man after the flesh'
James Cowie, his dear friend and manservant, was with him in the Tolbooth, and
he tells us that James Guthrie ever kept through his busy life his own personal
fellowship with Christ, in the fresh joyous bloom of his new birth, as if he
had been but a young convert; and thus it wondrously was till his last day on
earth dawned, and the summer sun streamed in through the iron bars of his cell
windows. Sure-of-Foot arose at about four o'clock for worship, and was asked by
Cowie how he was. 'Very well,' said Guthrie. 'This is the day that the Lord
hath made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.' Soon was to be fulfilled the
prophecy of his godly cousin, William Guthrie, of Fenwick, author of the
spiritual classic, The Christian's Great Interest. He had said, 'Ye will have
the advantage of me, James, for ye will die honourably before many witnesses
with a rope about your neck, and I shall die whinging upon a wee pickle straw.
'[die groaning on his bed].'' This was the day and the Lord had made it, and
his confessed desire - called by him a lust - that he should die for his
Saviour, was to be granted. His two little children, Sophia and William, came
to see him. Taking five-year-old William on his knee, he said to him, 'Willie,
the day will come when they will cast up to you that your father was hanged.
But be not thou ashamed, lad. It is in a good cause.' Little Sophia and her
mother were banished from the country, and part of the savage sentence was that
the children and their posterity should be beggars forever - which was to
reckon without Him who takes beggars from the dunghill and sets them among
princes, and who will not see the righteous forsaken nor his seed begging
bread. On that fatal afternoon of the day of his father's death, while children
more knowing were running at the sound of the drum's frightening tattoo, it was
with difficulty that little Willie Guthrie was restrained by James Cowie from
playing in the streets. With hands tied together, James Guthrie walked slowly
up the High Street to the city cross. Broad-shouldered William Govan kept pace
beside him. The one was nearly fifty, the other not yet out of his thirties.
Greatheart and Valiant for Truth were to be seen once again upon the human
scene. Soon they were upon the scaffold above the serried rows of glittering
steel, and Sickerfoot, who had been offered a bishopric and had refused it,
stepped forward with loving zeal to give his last message. The great crowd
stood hushed to hear him say, 'I take God to record upon my soul, I would not
exchange this scaffold with the palace and mitre of the greatest prelate in
Britain. Blessed be God who has shown mercy to me such a wretch, and has
revealed His Son in me, and made me a minister of the everlasting Gospel, and
that He hath deigned, in the midst of much contradiction from Satan, and the
world, to seal my ministry upon the hearts of not a few of His people, and
especially in the station whe re I was last, I mean the congregation and
presbytery of Stirling. Jesus Christ is my Life and my Light, my Righteousness,
my strength, and my Salvation and all my desire. Him! O Him, I do with all the
strength of my soul commend to you. Bless Him, O my soul, from henceforth even
forever. Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace for mine eyes have
seen Thy salvation.' A copy of his last testimony was handed by him to a
friend, for his son William when he should come to years. Then further up the
ladder of death he went, exclaiming, 'Art not Thou from everlasting, O Lord my
God. I shall not die but live.' And in the last seconds before he was with
Christ, Mr Sickerfoot, as sure of foot and as full of faith as Joshua, lifted
the napkin from his face, crying, 'The Covenants! The Covenants! They shall yet
be Scotland's reviving.' Captain William Govan, intently watching, stood by.
His martial shoulders were squared. Gazing lovingly at the dangling dead
minister of Christ, he thought of Calvary's Tree. 'It is sweet! It is sweet!'
he cried, 'otherwise how durst I look with courage upon the corpse of him who
hangs there, and smile upon these sticks and that gibbet as the very Gates of
Heaven.' The hangman had him prepared. The brave soldier taking a ring from a
finger, gave it to a friend, asking him to carry it to his wife, and to tell
her that he died in humble confidence and found the Cross of Christ sweet, and
that Christ had done all for him, and that it was by Him alone that he was
justified. Someone called to him to look up to the Lord Jesus, and he smilingly
said, 'He looks down and smiles at me.' As he ascended the ladder there rang
out from him across the crowds these words: 'Dear friends, pledge this cup of
suffering as I have done before you sin, for sin and suffering have been
presented to me and I h ave chosen the suffering part.' The rope adjusted, he
ended his witness with, 'Praise and glory be to Christ forever.' A little
pause, a little prayer, the signal given, and all was over, and he too swung in
the fresh summer air. Another who had magnified Christ in life, had magnified
Him also in death. Later, friends came for the bodies from which the heads had
been removed. They were lovingly laid out and arranged for burial, while the
heads were put up in grisly fashion above the Netherbow and West Ports. Day by
day, week by week, little feet pattered over the cobbles to the Netherbow, and
young pained wondering eyes looked up at the head high above them, and
returning to what home he had, little Willie Guthrie would hide himself away
for hours, saying, when found, 'I've seen my faither's heid! I've seen my
faither's heid!' In childhood, boyhood, and youth, in summer suns and winter
storms, he saw the head that was given for Christ: 'my faither's heid !' He,
too, was for Christ Jesus and the Covenants, spending much time alone in
prayer, a serious seeker after God.' He became a scholar of excellent promise,
and bent his steps after his father to a suffering ministry. But he sickened
and died, and his young head was laid in the earth while the bleached skull of
his father still witnessed high above the Netherbow Port of Edinburgh.
William Guthrie of Fenwick endeavoured to go to the execution of his valued
cousin, but he was prevented from doing to so by fellow-believers. They feared
for his life. This truly wonderful man of God, banished from his church, died a
few years later 'whinging upon a wee pickle straw.' He had a complication of
diseases, and passed away in great agonies, but was uncomplaining in his
suffering. He said, 'The Lord has been kind to me, notwithstanding all the
evils I have done, and, I am assured, that though I should die mad, I shall die
in the Lord. Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord at all times; but more
especially when a flood of errors, snares, and judgements are beginning or
coming on a nation, church or people.' A student under Samuel Rutherford, he
received through him his call to the ministry in something of the fear and
terror of the Lord. This turned to a joy and peace in believing which thrilled
and filled him to the end. Only forty five when he died, he was accounted in
Scotland the greatest preacher of his day. He was the means of bringing
thousands to Christ, and of establishing thousands in Christ. His lasting
monument i s his book, The Christian's Great Interest, a true spiritual
classic. On this we have the word of John Owen, 'and, for a divine [taking out
of his pocket a small gilt copy of Guthrie's treatise], that author I take to
be one of the greatest divines that ever wrote. It is my vade mecum; I carry it
and the Sedan New Testament still about me. I have written several folios, but
there is more divinity in it than in them all.' The famous Welsh-English
Puritan, in lowliness of mind, was esteeming another better than himself. But
what a commendation, to get such a word from John Owen,' a scribe every-way
instructed in the mysteries of the Kingdom of God; in conversation he held up
to many, in his public discourses to more, in his publications from the press
to all, who were set out for the celestial Zion, the effulgent lamp of
evangelical truth to guide their steps to immortal glory.
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