11. SUNSET DAYS

SUNSET DAYS THE early months of 1927 brought to F. B. Meyer one of the happiest experiences of his long and varied life. This was the great gathering of his friends, from far and near, on the occasion of his eightieth birthday, at Christ Church, Westminster Bridge Road, on April 8, 1927, when the church was almost a bower of flowers, and a unique birthday cake, decorated with a model of the church steeple, was presented to Dr. Meyer, together with a portable wireless set. Hundreds of those who had had cause to thank God for His honored servant’s long ministry had contributed to a birthday gift---eighty pence, eighty three-pences, eighty six­pences, eighty shillings, etc.; and the total was £800, a cheque for which was presented to him from "those who love him". Speaking with emotion, Dr. Meyer said, in his speech of reply, that he would not think of accepting the money for himself, but he was glad that he had been given the disposal of it. There were the little children who were his special care, and many other societies in which he was interested, which would share in it. This attitude towards money, over which he had absolute personal control, furnished no surprise for anyone who knew F. B. Meyer. All his life long he had been doing the self-same thing-giving back to God and his fellows that which had been given to him. There are some lines of an old Methodist hymn which runs as follows: And oh, Thy servant, Lord, prepare A strict account to give, which could have no special point of application to F. B. Meyer. He rendered the account here---strictly and fully, as became a just and faithful steward.

During the tour across Canada---to which reference is made at the conclusion of the previous chapter­ Dr. Meyer gave from two to four addresses, daily, for a period of three months. In addition to these meetings, he prepared material for an entire book, kept abreast of his magazine work which was always considerable, wrote an average of a dozen letters a day, and traveled close to ten-thousand miles. And at eighty years of age!

Dr. W. C. Poole, Dr. Meyer’s successor at Christ Church, Lambeth, crossed the Atlantic with the veteran traveler on this trip, and, later, spent a month with him addressing conferences in Canada. The audiences seemed to be pleased in seeing a kind of modern Paul and Timothy on tour [writes Dr. Poole in the Christian World]. Dr. Meyer, although reticent and restrained in sharing his profoundest spiritual experiences, had the gracious art of opening windows and allowing intimate friends to get a glimpse of the deeps of his life; or a glowing phrase burning with the hidden splendor of some mighty moment would suggest the rapture of his mystic soul. In communicating the language of these mystic hours his face shone, and there came a tenderness into his tone which assured one that he had seen the King in His beauty and was reflecting some of the glory. But the great strain of this long and arduous tour made serious inroads upon Meyer’s physical reserves, and took more out of him than, at the time, he was aware. As a matter of plain fact, it was the burning spirit of the man that sustained him, and which kept him going, during the two years of life that were to be vouchsafed him. That spirit was as a living flame. But Meyer was sensitive about the matter of advancing weariness, and came as near to getting thoroughly irritated about it as he ever came to be about anything in the course of his long, equable life. Any suggestion of his being physically not just what he had been touched him, as we say, "on the raw".

Writing in the Sunday School Times, Mr. F. A. Robinson, of Toronto, who accompanied Dr. Meyer on this trip, says that even when, at last, he was well aware that his physical powers were failing, he almost resented help being offered.

Strangers would hurry to assist him when he came to steps or stairs [says Mr. Robinson], but he would invariably withdraw his arm from theirs and the slim figure would become a little more erect. His secretary wrote me that during his last sickness, and to the very end, he would insist on lifting the glass to his lips without aid. But, often, he would link his arm in that of a friend and lean heavily, but he did not wish any suggestion of helplessness to come from others. When we were alone, however, he was grateful for such little attentions as removing his shoes and the arranging of pillows. "Ah, that’s better", he would say as he felt for his Greek Testa­ment or one or other of the translations he always carried in his pocket. "I don’t know why people are so kind to me."

During 1928 Dr. Meyer kept fairly busy. Not so strenuously engaged, perhaps, as in some former years, but doing more than most ministers of any age, and "managing to keep himself from rusting", as he wrote a friend in December. He visited his beloved Keswick in July, and during the fall, addressed a number of gatherings, and preached continually. His last public utterance in Brighton---whence he had gone to preach and teach for more than forty years---was in October, when he gave the closing address at a convention brought together for the deepening of spiritual life, in the Dome. He spoke for an hour and a quarter, and notwithstanding storm, wind, and a drenching rain, over a thousand people gathered to hear the address, which definitely touched and influenced many hearts.

Just about this time, he was asked by the editor of a journal, which circulates the world over, what message he would like to send to his wide circle of friends?

I am very conscious of my unworthiness and failure [he replied]. I know not where I should stand if it were not for the blood of the Cross and the mediatorship of the Throne. My outlook for the next world is summed up in the words, "His servants shall serve Him". If I had a hundred lives, they should be at Christ’s disposal. In His service is perfect freedom, and I am satisfied that, for me, the best avenue of service was the ministry of His holy Gospel. In January 1928, Mrs. Meyer, her husband’s loyal and loving helpmeet for fifty-eight years, died at Bournemouth, and, Dr. Meyer conducted the funeral service at Boscombe Cemetery. He preceded the casket to the grave, and for the sentence which reads: "Our sister here departed," substituted the words: "Our dear wife, mother, and friend here departed." Finally he stood bareheaded at the graveside, and said, "Farewell, dear one, to the body, but not to the soul." He had been announced to preach at the Wesleyan Central Hall, Bromley, Kent, two days later, but it was hardly expected that he would be able to keep the engagement. But it was one of his chief characteristics never---unless humanly impossible---to disappoint a congregation. So on the Sunday morning he was at Bromley, with the light of Heaven on his face, and spoke with unusual vigor and power on the words, "yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil", but never once referred to his own recent sorrow and bereavement! The last public ministry discharged by F. B. Meyer was on Sunday, February 10, a little more than six weeks prior to his death. On that day he preached, morning and evening, in Wesley Chapel, City Road, London. Those having a penchant for analogy may (quite reasonably) discover some exercise for their inclination in the fact of this aged and devoted veteran, making his last public appearance and preaching his last sermon, standing within a few yards of the spot where the dust of John Wesley awaits the quickening of resurrection. Wesley and Meyer had much in com­mon; certainly, since the death of the founder of Methodism, the Christian Church had known no such inveterate, unwearying itinerant as F. B. Meyer. Both men were great "Gospellers", with Meyer, perhaps, having the wider vision of the Gospel’s social implica­tions and interpretation; both fought a good fight, both kept the faith, both labored until past fourscore. The weather in February was terribly bad---none worse had been seen in London for years---and Dr. Meyer had been unwell for more than a week with a heavy bronchial cold. But he got through the day wonderfully, and preached with all his usual unction and power. His theme, at the morning service, was the Shepherd Psalm---the tens of thousands, through­out the world, he had helped by that message!---and in the evening he preached from these words: "But there the glorious Lord will be unto us a place of broad rivers and streams; wherein shall go no galley with oars, neither shall gallant ships pass thereby . . . And the inhabitants shall not say, I am sick; the people that dwell therein shall be forgiven their iniquity"--- Isa 33:21, Isa 33:24. A truly striking and beautiful text! And who shall say but that, in selecting it, this honored, long-journeying pilgrim did not feel himself to have reached the Land of Beulah, from whence he caught a glimpse of that ravishing and delectable Country; in which there is neither curse, nor night, nor sickness, nor any more sea; only the river, the tree, the throne, and the Lamb. On the following Tuesday, Miss Hames, Dr. Meyer’s secretary, took the aged minister to St. Peter’s Nursing Home, Streatham, where he remained for a month, and visibly improved in health. But it was now quite evident that the plans he had made for still another visit to America would have to be abandoned. The heart weakness that followed the bronchial attack compelled him, for the first time in his life, probably, to allow a doctor’s orders to interfere with his own projects or concerns. The arrangements for his going to America in the April of this year were accordingly cancelled.

Contrary to the advice of his physicians, however, Dr. Meyer persisted in journeying from London to Bascombe by ambulance, March 15, and there entered a nursing home. In the course of the following two or three days he appeared to be on the mend, and began to look forward to being present at a meeting of the Bournemouth Conference Centre, scheduled to be held on Good Friday, March 29, and to taking part in the service. On Saturday, March 23, however, came a startling change for the worse, and before the Sabbath closed, Dr. Meyer knew that, for him, the day was far spent. Like one of his own beloved English twilights, the evening had been long, tranquil, and bathed in a mellow afterglow. But now the shades of night were falling fast. On Sunday, Rev. H. S. Gamman, of the Regions Beyond Missionary Union, called to see him, and found him rapidly approaching his appointed end.

You will tell the others that I am going home, a little sooner than I thought [Dr. Meyer remarked]. Then tell them not to talk about the servant but the Savior, and about His work. I am a sinner [he continued], but I have served. But we have no right to talk about ourselves, and about the wrong we have done, and call ourselves all sorts of names. That has all been dealt with at Calvary; and it is ours to live this side of Calvary, and this side of Pentecost. Every demand on our side has been met on Christ’s side by a perfect supply.

Although growing constantly weaker, he was able, during Sunday and Monday, to dictate an article for the Press and about thirty letters of farewell. One of these, sent to Pastor D. J. Findlay, of Glasgow, read as follows: My Dear Findlay and Wife,--- To my surprise, I have just been told that my days and hours are numbered. It may be that, before this reaches you, I shall have gone to the Palace. Don’t trouble to write. We shall meet in the morning. With much love.

Yours affectionately,

F. B. Meyer

Throughout Tuesday the travel-worn pilgrim spoke continually of the final turn of the road, and of the joy he felt at having almost completed the lengthened journey. Glancing down at his open Bible, one who visited him on this day saw that it was open at the place where these words met the eye: "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints."

During Wednesday his strength continued to ebb; yet he ceased not to assure those about him that his coming to an end filled him with lively satisfaction and great joy. In the course of the day he asked to have something read to him. "Read me something from the Bible," he said; "something brave and triumphant."

Thursday, March 28th, was for F. B. Meyer the day which, having dawned, will know no end. During the morning, the watchers at his bedside interpreted his half-articulate words as being a request for a cele­bration of the sacrament of Holy Communion, and Rev. Trevor H. Lingley, Vicar of Christ Church, Westbourne, a man to whom Dr. Meyer was greatly attached, was sent for. While the office of the holy sacrament was being observed, the dying veteran raised his hand in token of his understanding what was in progress, and that all was well. Shortly afterwards he lapsed into unconsciousness, and, within the hour, put on immortality and passed tranquilly to where, beyond these voices, there is peace.