W. B. Godbey - Enter His Rest
W. B. Godbey - Enter His Rest
W. B. Godbey - Enter His Rest
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In spirit and in disposition;<br />
This the Holy Scriptures teach,<br />
'Tis plain without an exposition.”<br />
Now, beloved, you have the book for which you long clamored, I. e., my autobiography. It simply falls in line<br />
with its forty-seven predecessors, having but the one end in view and that is that, by the superabounding grace<br />
of God in Christ, freely dispensed by the omnipotent Holy Spirit, all of the dear Holiness people to whom the<br />
entire library of my writings is dedicated, regardless of nationality, race, sect, denomination or color, shall<br />
certainly enjoy the supereminent experience which is the crowning glory of New Testament saintship. That<br />
experience is the real Pentecostal experience, which means a heart cleansed by the precious blood through<br />
simple receptive and appropriate faith (Acts 15:9), and copiously filled with the Holy Ghost (Acts 2:3). While<br />
we have every reason to fear that the rank and file of nominal Christendom are actually below the salvation line,<br />
under condemnation and exposed to wrath and Hell, horrible dictu, “horrible to tell,” there is no doubt but at<br />
least nine-tenths of the real citizens of God's kingdom on the earth are far back in the Old Testament<br />
dispensation, under legal bondage, and consequently almost utterly powerless as soul-savers, whereas it is the<br />
glorious privilege of all of God's children in the wonderful Pentecostal experience actually to be done with self,<br />
saved, sanctified, filled with the Holy Ghost and both efficiently and joyfully co-operating with Jesus in their<br />
intercessory prayers for this lost world, and successfully used by the Holy Ghost in the conviction of enemies,<br />
conversion of penitents, sanctification of believers and the conservation and edification of this “glorious Church<br />
without spot or wrinkle, washed in the blood of the Lamb.”<br />
This is really the normal attitude of New Testament saintship. Of course all of the Holiness people, without a<br />
single exception, hold up the standard to that identical supernal altitude, which means radically sanctified and<br />
copiously filled with the Holy Ghost. <strong>Rest</strong> assured that means an everlasting victory over the world, the flesh<br />
and the devil, experienced in the heart where Christ is enthroned and verified in the life in which He reigns<br />
without a rival.<br />
When I was a little boy General Jackson was elected to the Presidency of the United States. He purchased from<br />
the French Government the territory bounded on the east by the Tennessee River, south by the State of<br />
Tennessee, north by the Ohio River, and west by the Mississippi River, and added it to Kentucky. It was a<br />
howling wilderness hitherto inhabited by wild beasts and savages. Of course the United States people at once<br />
poured into it. At that time the Methodist Church had no missionary society. Good Old Bishop Soule, as he rode<br />
around on his horse through the bluegrass region of Kentucky, which was then well populated, gathered up<br />
money in all of his meetings to establish missions in that country, known as “Jackson's Purchase.” We had no<br />
way to send them the money as we do now, and consequently he had to carry it in his pocket. While riding along<br />
on is horse alone, through a great den forest, suddenly a burly robber walked out of the thicket, took his horse by<br />
the bridle, looked him in the face and said, “Give up your money or you are a dead man in a minute.” The<br />
venerable saint, looking the robber straight in the face and putting his hand on the money in his pocket, said, “I<br />
have got money, I do not deny it, but it is God's money and you cannot get it.” He had not a solitary weapon, not<br />
so much as a pocket-knife. As he continued to look the robber in the face, he turned pale as a corpse, let go the<br />
bridle and disappeared in the forest. The man of God went on his way rejoicing and delivered the money to the<br />
missionaries. The solution of this was the simple fact that God was in the old bishop. Therefore utterly unarmed<br />
he was more than a match for the big robber with his implements of death.<br />
The last time I ever saw Bishop Kavanaugh, we rode together on the train about fifty miles, spending the time in<br />
profitable conversation about the things of God. He much interested me telling about the pioneer preachers of<br />
Kentucky, among whom was a very angelic little man by the name of John Sinclair. He said that at one place on<br />
his pioneer circuit in the wild woods the people had built a rough, unhewn log meeting-house, whereas<br />
everywhere else he preached in their cabins or beneath the trees. One Sunday morning while preaching, some<br />
ruffians behaved so very rudely as to constrain him to rebuke them severely, upon which they all retired from<br />
the house. After the old Methodist style, he wound up with a class-meeting, in which they all told their<br />
experiences, and the Lord poured on them from Heaven a wonderful Pentecost, giving them a glorious shouting<br />
time.<br />
Then mounting his horse he proceeded on his journey through the dense forest, pursuing a blind bridlepath.