Book Review: Bitesize Biography: Samuel Rutherford

Samuel Rutherford (Bitesize Biographies series) by Richard M. Hannula
EP Books (2014); 140 pp.
Cross Focused Reviews Blog Tour 

When my husband and I were newbie Presbyterians, we became acquainted with a haunting adaptation of the hymn “The Sands of Time Are Sinking” and soon learned that its lyrics consisted of strung-together quotations from the letters of Samuel Rutherford. We did a little research on this seventeenth century Scottish pastor and came to love his passionate and pastoral style of writing. (Note the title of my blog, and the quote along the side!) We were also surprised to find that Rutherford wasn’t exactly a household name, even among lifelong Presbyterians.

This little book by PCA elder Richard Hannula tries to remedy that, and it does so admirably. Like the other books in the Bitesize Biographies series, it pretty much offers just that: a major figure from history in easy, accessible morsels. At the same time, though, it’s not insubstantial: the reader gets an excellent survey of Rutherford’s life from his rural ministry in Anwoth, to his exile for opposing episcopacy, to his contributions in the Westminster Assembly, and places all of it within the wider religious and political controversies of the day.

It’s not just Rutherford’s name that’s little known, however. There are stories from his era that many Christians will only tend to hear if they have a penchant for history—such as the stories of pastors who were maimed, exiled, and martyred for writing and preaching in favor of Presbyterian polity and practice; and the great love for the celebration of the Lord’s Supper that both Rutherford and ordinary congregants wrote much about. These are not just “history,” but big pieces of a heritage that should still be formative today.

One of the best ways that Richard Hannula draws readers into that heritage is by packing the book with quotes from Rutherford, in hopes that they will be enticed to read the letters and sermons for themselves. He does this seamlessly and without distracting from the flow of the narrative. He also provides a list of Rutherford’s writings at the end of the book, as well as suggestions for those who are interested in doing more in-depth and scholarly reading about the man and his times.

In closing, here are a few of my favorites of those quotes. I hope that getting to know Samuel Rutherford will bless you as it has blessed my family.

“Grace tried is better than grace, and it is more than grace. It is glory in its infancy. Who knows the truth of grace without a trial? And how soon would faith freeze without a cross!”

 “Know therefore that this is a race of God’s choosing and not of our own; and the ill roads, the deep waters, the sharp showers and the bitter violent winds that are in our face, are of God’s disposing. We will not get a better road than our Lord allows us. He has called us to suffering, and not a stone is in our way by chance.”

 “Believe Christ’s love more than your own feelings. Your Rock does not ebb and flow, though your sea does.”

The publisher provided me with a review copy of this book, and I was under no obligation to give a favorable review.

A January Story, Part I

I don't handle Januaries terrifically well. The transition from weeks of exclusive home and family time to full-time school, with all its attendant stresses, fills me with anxiety and dread more often than not. I start wondering why I ever thought an academic career was a good idea. Even though I've weathered January transitions many times before, I feel convinced that this time, it will prove to have been a terrible mistake.

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Last night as I struggled to fall asleep, I remembered a particularly awful January transition in the past. It was January 2, 2004. I was 20, and I had just arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland, for a five-month study abroad program.

Through most of the long British Airways flight, I was fairly calm, even cautiously excited. Studying in Scotland was the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, and I was finally going! Even the terrible inner-ear pressure during the descent into Edinburgh didn't ruin my pleasure at seeing the gray, snow-covered hills and realizing I was probably the first of my family to lay eyes on this land in many generations.

By the time I'd gathered my luggage and joined the rest of my study abroad cohort, however, I started to feel self-conscious and worried. I realized something: they all knew each other. Well, not everyone. (As I was later to discover, there was one other solo traveler, a fellow reticent Sarah, who would be responsible for some of my happiest adventures in Scotland.) But the vast majority of kids had traveled in contingents from their home universities, so they had friends with them. They chatted buoyantly on the coach that took us from the airport to the hotel where our orientation would be held. Meanwhile, I was the only Hollins woman, the only theology nerd as far as I knew, and the only one hailing from a tiny Southern college with fewer than 1,000 students.

Suddenly, it really began to hit me that I was at least 3,500 miles from home. I didn't know a soul on this island.* And I was going to be stuck here for almost half a year.

 I started crying. It seemed to be the only way I could grapple with the crushing isolation and uncertainty I felt. Silently, and as inconspicuously as I knew how, I cried through the better part of the next 24 hours: I cried while the group of New England coeds sitting near me in the hotel lobby talked about Edinburgh pubs and how awesome it was that we could legally drink here. I cried while the study abroad staff gave us all the basic settling-in details, such as how to matriculate, where to get photo IDs taken (what suddenly sounded like insurmountable tasks), and how we must never call Scottish people "Brits." (Did people really not know this?!) I cried when I noticed that my hotel roommate looked vaguely like my best friend, from a certain angle. I even teared up when a friendly Scottish man spilled part of his cereal onto my tray at breakfast the next morning and fell all over himself apologizing.

I probably couldn't have put into words why I felt so overwhelmingly emotional. It's not as if I had never traveled independently before, or even that it was the first time I had traveled overseas. But I had never been both overseas and totally alone. Unlike my father, who at my age had circled the globe a couple of times and survived war zones, I'd never gone for more than a couple of months without seeing my family. I felt terribly out of my element, I was far too shy to engage in more than a few phrases with anyone around me, and there was an entire ocean between me and everything I loved.

Do you know how exhausting it is to cry like a leaky faucet for hours upon hours -- all the while laboring to conceal your disgrace from everyone around you? It's demoralizing in a big way. And, I suspect, probably nowhere near as successful as I hoped. By that time, though, I was too sad to care.

I found respite that night when we were finally dismissed to our hotel rooms; at least now I had a pillow to soak up my seemingly endless supply. And I had a little silence in which to think. I realized there was no way I could stay in Scotland. It was simply too much, too hard. Apparently I wasn't cut out for a trip of this magnitude by myself. While it would be embarrassing to admit defeat and re-enroll at Hollins for the semester, I could think of nothing that sounded more appealing. At the earliest non-awkward opportunity, I would talk to the study abroad staff and explain that I needed to book a flight home as soon as possible.

~ ~

No, the story doesn't end here. And yes, it ends on a MUCH more hopeful note, as you probably already know! But you'll have to wait for Part II to read the rest. :-)

*Had I known that my future husband would be landing at Heathrow less than a week later, to spend the next three months 300 miles away from me at Oxford, would it have comforted me at all? I wasn't to know that for another few years. :-)