AII children have a biological father. If that father fulfills all the responsibil­ities which come with being a biological father, then those children are clothed and fed and taught a number of things to help them get along in the world. All children (sheep) attending church should have a spiritual shepherd. If that shep­herd fulfills all the responsibili­ties which come with being a spiritual shepherd, then those sheep attending church will be clothed and fed and taught a number of things which will help them to both live in this world and prepare for the world to come. Sad to say, good spiritual shepherds are scarce.

Recently I read the book William Grimshaw of Haworth by Faith Cook. Although William Grimshaw lived and died more than 200 years ago, his love of shepherding gripped me in such a manner that I felt in some small measure that he was also my "father through the Gospel" — that he was a pastor who deeply cared for and fed his flock — and that by reading about his life I was growing in faith.

So who was this William Grimshaw? Born in England on September 14, 1708, first child of Henry and Ann Grimshaw, he was baptized in the Brindle parish church — the church of England. Brindle was a rela­tively small village — so small it did not have a school — and therefore small William, when reaching an age of understand­ing, had to walk six miles to school each day. The "absen­tee" pastor in the village hired a succession of curates to serve the area. The consequences were shoddy and sparse church services. William's religious education was meager. His par­ents were not vocal about their beliefs and not very concerned about his soul. So what will a child learn? Indeed, William picked up very little knowledge and truth. Yet when he came of an age, he did decide that the church would be a rather inter­esting vocation. God always has steps for His children — His sheep — even if those sheep are ignored by the local shepherds. And God had stored the pas­sionate calling which would grip Grimshaw in later years, a few steps further, down the road. It was, as it were, fer­menting into perfection.

For two years young William studied hard. He was a deter­mined young man and not given much to wasting time. However, during his third year he fell in with some bad com­panions and the tar he had touched stuck to his life. He began idling away his time, drinking and using rough lan­guage. There was no root to pull him back to faith begun in childhood because nothing had been begun there. He drifted through his remaining school years, graduating by the skin of his teeth. The only thing he remained steadfast in was his desire to become a minister. He saw no discrepancy between this desire and his lifestyle. It was a job, he reasoned with himself, and would provide a living.

Upon graduation, William Grimshaw became the pastor of a church in Littleborough. He was not prepared for the job but this was not unusual. The majority of pastors who were occupying pulpits all over England were ill-equipped, lacking in both zeal and knowl­edge. The Church of England was in a dismal state owing to the fact that many Puritans had been forced to leave the coun­try because of their refusal to comply with the terms of the Act of Uniformity — an Act which required approval to everything contained in the 1662 Prayer Book. If heresies were widespread in Grimshaw's day, it was mainly because Truth was not preached — was hardly known anymore. So, as a poorly  equipped cleric, Grimshaw began life in Littleborough. But not for long. God was not done with him. Listening to the complaints of a colleague, he traded congrega­tions and became pastor at a place called Todmorden. It was to be the beginning of his rebirth.

Todmorden, some eight miles from Halifax, was set in the midst of a steep and hilly countryside. Rough and inhospitable, the people there were as rugged as the hills themselves. Executions were carried out for even the most trivial offenses. A local custom had it that the accused — if he were adroit enough — might remove his head from the block between the signal for the axe to fall and the moment it land­ed. If he could then race down the hill (with the executioner in pursuit) and leap into the river, he would be exonerated from his crime.¹  Witch-craft prolifer­ated, and superstition was rife. And it was into such an area that William Grimshaw, the feeble cleric, settled.

On the whole, Grimshaw felt rather carefree. Although he did prepare homilies to read to people who attended church once on Sunday, and although he became adept at reading from the prayer book, he was really not very concerned about the souls committed to his care. He hunted and fished to his heart's content during the weekdays and spent his evening hours with the wealthier mem­bers of his parish playing cards, drinking and swearing. He did curb himself enough to never climb the pulpit while he was drunk and neither did he swear in the company of the more serious members of his congre­gation. This, he felt, was quite an achievement.

Perhaps Grimshaw received a small notion that not all was well with him when he was asked by a young couple in his congregation to help them through their sorrow. They had lost a five week old infant daughter. The mother was wrenched with grief and held onto the dead child as if it were living. Grimshaw felt compas­sion but could find no words to console either the mother or the father of the dead child. His worldly, "Put away all gloomy thoughts and go into merry company and divert yourseves, and all will soon be right,"²  did not do them any good. They wept as before and came back to Grimshaw.

With their continued sorrow, a measure of both worry and light was infused into Grimshaw. He began to strive to please God; he began to warn his parishioners to live godly lives; he began to visit those in his charge; and he began to be aware that he was a sinful man. Like Luther, he strove mightily for his salvation and found he could not obtain it for himself. It was another step pulling him towards God.

And seven years, the number of years that Jacob worked for Rachel, passed. He married and the novelty of marriage pushed salvation to the back­ground for a while. His wife's death, however, left him with two small children and an ever increasing loneliness for assur­ance of faith. Settling his chil­dren with their grandparents, he was tormented by despair and doubt. His health began to fail and his thoughts were ever filled with gloom. By provi­dence he came across, and read, a book by John Owen on justification by faith. Light began to filter through his darkened mind. His more or less legalistic preaching began to change. He became more joyful in the presentation of the Gospel because, as he later said himself, "O what light and comfort did I now enjoy in my own soul, and what a taste of the pardoning love of God."

In 1742, Grimshaw moved nine miles north-east of Todmorden to Haworth. Bleak and barren, its inhabitants were as rugged as those of Todmorden had been. The church was old and in a state of despair and one of the first things Grimshaw did was to replace the old pulpit. Around the sounding board above the pulpit he had two verses of Scripture carved: "I am deter­mined to know nothing among you save Jesus Christ and Him crucified", and "For me to live is Christ and to die is gain." and so began a new phase in Grimshaw's life. God ordained him shepherd.

Grimshaw's preaching, although he continued to warn people of the dangers of sin, now had the added light of jus­tification by faith. People received his sermons with great depth of emotion and many wept and turned to God. He preached in the vernacular so that people might understand exactly what was leant, Pressing home the duty of everyone to give God thanks for the blessings of food and drink, he would say pointedly:

Some of you are worse than the very swine; for the pigs will grunt over their victuals, but you say nothing.³  Knowing that every soul in his charge was precious, he felt that every­one should hear the preaching of eternal life. If someone did not attend services, Grimshaw might announce that a service would be held at the home of the reluctant parishioner dur­ing the coming week. "I know I am not welcome," he would say, "but I will speak to every­one under my care concerning his soul. If you will not come and hear, you shall hear me at home: and if you perish, you will perish (and in broad Yorkshire dialect) wi't' sound o't gospel i' yer lugs!⁴

Concern for his young people made Grimshaw uneasy. Although he frequently enjoyed a game of football with them during the week, he was adamant that they come to ser­vices on Sunday. When his words did not avail, he began to walk the moors himself in search of delinquents. One Sunday evening, dressed incog­nito, Grimshaw came upon a large group of young people who were about to dance and form into a ring. Undetected, he joined the circle, but the fel­low next to him recognized his legs and whispered around then circle that Grimshaw was there. Everyone fled in panic — every­one that is, but the two whose hands Grimshaw was holding tightly. He spoke to them at length about their folly and then let them go.⁵

An accounting of Grim-shaw's daily routine at this time reads as follows: "His usual hour of rising was about five; and the melody of his heart rose with him. His first (song of praise) was constantly that excellent doxology: 

Praise God from whom all blessings flow, Praise Him, all creatures here below, Praise Him abo e ye hea enly host, Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. 

He would then join in prayer with his family, those who visited and those who would come. But pre­viously he read the psalms and lessons appointed for the day. After this morning sacrifice he would take an affectionate leave of them, like one who might see them no more, using this kind benediction: "May God bless you, in your souls and in your bodies, and in all you put your hands to do this day! Whether you live or whether you die, may the Lord grant that you may live to Him and for Him and with Him for ever!" This custom he also observed at night when he took leave of them for rest.⁶

As he had been apathetic towards others in his early years, so now Grimshaw was moved in every fiber of his being for the salvation of his parishioners. He sometimes used unorthodox methods to unmask hypocrisy. "A man and his wife had made extravagant claims to holiness of life, but Grimshaw was not at all con­vinced. Rumours had reached his ears that the couple in ques­tion were both tight-fisted and unmerciful towards the needy. So borrowing a shabby weaver's jacket and cap, he dressed as a poor beggar in need of a roof over his head for the night. Appearing at the door of his parishioner house, he asked piteously for a night's lodgings. Not deterred by the man's refusals, the beggar pleaded his destitution and need — but the man remained unmoved and adamant. At that point Grimshaw removed his disguise, and revealed his true identity. It is not hard to imag he received a lecture on cov­etousness and hardhearted­ness, as would have shaken the nerves of old Charon (the devil) himself."⁷

 At the end of 1747, Elizabeth, Grimshaw's second wife and stepmother to his two children, died of a fever. It was a difficult time for him. The children went back to the grandparents and he was once again alone at hearth and board. But this time despair did not set in and he grew closer to his Lord, devot­ing himself to working hard in the vineyard of his Master.

Until 1830 church attendance (in England) was still compul­sory by law and taverns open during church hours were so illegally. It was a common prac­tice to have church wardens in church — men who checked up on those who were not in atten­dance. An anecdote told of Grimshaw regarding this prac­tice runs as follows:

During the church ser ice Grimshaw sent two of his churchwardens to check up on parishioners idling their time away in the public houses. A long time elapsed and they had not reappeared; the psalms was o er and the people were wait­ing. Grimshaw himself then left the lectern and walked out of the church as the people speculated about what might ha e hap­pened. At last there came the sound of hea y footsteps approaching, and a rustling in the porch. In came the church­wardens... mo ing with reluc­tant step and downcast looks .... Imme-diately behind them came Grimshaw who boomed in a oice sufficient to re erberate through the remotest corners of the church: 'For shame! For shame! What think you! The churchwardens who went out to detect others and pre ent them from sinning, I ha e found in the inn drinking a pint of ale! For shame!' These last words were uttered at inter als as he mounted the steps to his pulpit.⁸

Methodism was making inroads at this time. The deterioration of the Church of England, the complete travesty of many pas­tors, contributed to the system­atic pro-gress made by circuit preachers intent on bringing the Gospel to all the villages and towns of the country. Extensive in outreach, it revived the souls of many who were thirsting for what they had not been receiving for many and many years. Grimshaw approved of and worked with both the Wesleys and George White-field. There was warm affinity between all these men and God greatly blessed their preaching and labours. In Grimshaw's Haworth, services often held thousands of people, many assembling outside the church in the graveyard. Eventually the church was enlarged and the first to preach in it was Whitefield. To accom­modate the large number of people who had to listen out­side, Grimshaw had a scaffold­ing pulpit erected — a pulpit which was erected between two windows of the south side of the church from which the preacher could address the crowds outside as well as those inside.

Whitefield's sermon began with the text, "It is appointed unto men to die and after this the judgment." It is recorded that after Whitefield announced the text, "a wild ter­rifying shriek issued from the center of the congregation. A momentary alarm and confu­sion ensued. Mr. Whitefield waited to ascertain the cause, and besought the people to remain still. Mr. Grimshaw hur­ried to the spot, and in a few minutes was seen pressing through the crowd towards the place where Mr. Whitefield stood. "Brother Whitefield," he said, "you stand amongst the dead and the dying — an immor­tal soul has been called into eternity — the destroying angel is passing over this congrega­tion — cry aloud and spare not!" The awful occurrence was speedily announced to the peo­ple. After a lapse of a few moments, Mr. Whitefield again announced his text. Again a loud and piercing shriek pro­ceeded... A thrill of horror seemed to spread itself over the multitude when it was under­stood that a second person had fallen victim to the king of ter­rors. When the consternation had somewhat subsided, Mr. Whitefield gave indications of his intention of proceeding with the service... All was hushed ­not a sound was to be heard ­and a stillness like the awful stillness of death spread itself over the assembly, as he pro­ceeded in a strain of tremen­dous eloquence to warn the Christian sinner to flee from the wrath to come."⁹

Because Grimshaw ventured beyond the borders of his own parish, to preach to those in areas beyond his own congre­gation, there was much opposi­tion to him by other ministers within the Church of England. He, as well as the Wesley broth­ers, Whitefield, and others, were often jeered, kicked and maltreated as they travelled.

This but strengthened Grimshaw in his resolve to preach Christ boldly and he encouraged others to do like‑wise. Writing to a young minis­ter, he advised: "...preach twen­ty time a week. If you can preach oftener, do. Preaching is health, food and physic to me...there is very great need of preaching now, for iniquity aboundeth, the love of many grows cold and God's judg­ments are out on the earth. Tommy let us preach four times a day or thirty times a week, whichever you please or can better bear."¹⁰ On a typical day, he himself might preach four times. Faith Cook records a typical day:

Starting out from his home about 4 o'clock in the morning, Grimshaw walked across to Keighley, a distance of four miles — clearly without the assis­tance of his horse on this partic­ular Sunday. Arri ing in time to preach at an early morning serice at 5 o'clock, he afterwards walked home to Haworth and preached at the morning and early afternoon ser ices in his own church. After the second ser ice in Haworth he set off across the moors to isit a sick parishioner who li ed three miles away. Hurrying back once more he found he had insuffi­cient time to cross the Ri er Worth by the bridge, but he knew a short cut where he might ford the ri er — a place known as The Great Stride ­where there were stepping stones. But to his dismay, when he arri ed he disco ered the ri er in full spate, with swirling waters co ering the stones. No option remained but to wade through, and so he arri ed for his final ser ice that day in dripping wet clothes. Nothing daunted, he conducted it just as he was, and at last arriv ed home, ha - ing walked 15 miles and preached four times.¹¹.

Selfless and compassion­. ate, Grimshaw was in the habit of giving away everything he had until he himself had not a crust of bread in the house. Sometimes, reduced to penury, he would be obliged to borrow a little money from a wealthy parishioner. He was also in the habit of gathering the shoes and boots which those who were better off would discard. After he had this footwear repaired, he would give them away to those in need. He likewise gave away his own clothes, much to the chagrin of his housekeeper, and was left with nothing to change into when he became wet (as he did the one Sunday he crossed the River Worth). Neither did he collect any money due him, saying, "I will not deserve your curses when I am dead, for what I have received for my poor labours among you; I want no more of you than your souls for my God, and a bare maintenance for myself."¹²

Much beloved by his congre­gation for his compassion and zealous work, Grimshaw remained a humble man. If his house was full of visitors, he would not think it beneath his dignity to sleep in the hayloft himself. One early morning riser found the pastor busy cleaning his muddy boots. The wells-spring to Grimshaw's pro­lific love and zest were spelled out by him for his fellow Christians. "Praying Christ-ians are growing Christians. For they are not blessed for pray­ing, yet I find they are blessed in praying."¹³

Very likely because of his rather demanding daily sched­ule, his health began to deterio­rate when he was only in his early fifties. Increasing pain in his limbs and stomach, as well as debilitating headaches, caused him much discomfort. At the age of 54, he caught typhus from one of his parish­ioners. Lying ill in bed, he seemed to know that he would not recover. He gave orders that a sermon on Philippians 1:21, ("For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain"), should be preached at his funeral and that his coffin should bear the words of that text on its lid — so that he could declare, not just in this living, but also in his dying that Christ was the mainspring of his being, both for time and eternity.¹⁴

William Grimshaw died in 1763, not yet 55 years old. He had been a child, a preacher, a father, and a shepherd. Instrumental in revival, he was blessed by the Lord in leading many to Him. He was eager to help all. "I love Christians, true Christians of all parties. I do love them; I will love them; and none shall make me do otherwise," he said. It is a motto which we should take to heart today; a message which can only lead to the spir­itual revival and growth of the Reformed Church of this time.

Faith Cook's book, William Grimshaw of Haworth (Banner of Truth Trust, 1997, Edinburgh), is well worth read­ing. Enriching and detailed regarding 18th century England, it brings to light many parallels between today's church situation and problems and that of then. Not difficult to read, it is literature promoting holy living and deserves a place in church libraries as well as home shelves.

Let us all take to heart the poem penned by William Grimshaw some 250 years ago.

Christ is my Meat; Christ is my Drink;
My Christ, on Whom I call;
Christ is my Prophet,
Priest and King,
My Christ is all in all.