them —- but I am very, very doubtful of it. Keep in mind that Seventh-day Adventism is not just a few “ big shots,” but is composed of hundreds of churches and individual members. Even if these leaders were to repudiate some of their heresies, how about the local churches and their membership who have been “ brain-washed” for three generations with such teachings as that of annihilation of the wicked? Will they accept if from stem to circumference of the denomination because these leaders say it is not
so any more? What about the proselytes on the mission field who have been led astray from the truth to take up these heresies? It is our purpose to present to T he K ing ’ s B usiness readers the “ visions” of Mrs. E. G. White in this series of articles. Outside of Seventh-day Adventist circles, the counsels and visions of Mrs. White are practically unknown. I find them quite at variance with the Word of God. I think the Christian public should read enough of these writings to know what kind of religious leader Mrs. White really was. I am quite sure that in the course of the last 25 years I have read all of her books. Friends have supplied me with some ancient editions. Eternity editors claim that “No one can fairly challenge her [Mrs. White’s] writings on the basis of their conformity to the basic principles of the gospel” (Oct., pp. 38, 39). I challenge them on that very basis! We shall see as we with her are “ taken off in vision” and behold what her “ accompanying angel” showed her. These are her expressions used again and again in her descriptions of her visions. Her publications have formed the Adventist framework for over 100 years! We will include in our remaining space what we can of one of Mrs. White’s visions as a sample of what you may expect in articles to come. This vision is recorded in an aged copy of A Word to the Little Flock, the first Adventist publication. This is the unexpurgated version. As it now appears in “Early Writings,” some passages are omitted, particularly those having to do with the mark of the beast, shutting the door to heaven, etc. It is an astounding thing that the Adventists who believe these visions came from God would dare to edit them! I shall repro duce the greater part of this vision. Here it is )— dated April 7, 1847, at Topsham, Maine: “ . . . I saw an angel swiftly flying to me. He quickly carried me from the earth to the Holy City. In the city I saw a temple, which I entered. I passed through a door before I came to the first vail. This vail was raised and I passed into the Holy Place. Here I saw the altar of incense, the candlestick with the seven lamps, and the table on which was the shewbread, etc. After viewing the glory of the Holy, Jesus raised the vail, and I passed into the Holy of Holies. In the Holiest I saw an ark; on the top and sides of it was purest gold. On each end of the ark was a lovely Cherub, with their wings spread out over it. Their faces were turned towards each other, and they looked downwards. Between the angels was a golden censor. Above the ark, where the angels stood, was an exceeding bright glory that appeared like a throne where God dwelt. Jesus stood by the ark. And as the saints’ prayers came up to Jesus, the incense in the censor would smoke, and He offered up the prayers of the saints with the smoke of the incense to his Father. In the ark, was the golden pot of manna, Aaron’s rod that budded, and tables of stone folded together like a book. Jesus opened them, and I saw the ten commandments written on them with the finger of God. On one table was four, and on the other six. The four on the
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Christ hath forever hallowed a garden: Never, oh never, we walk there alone; Fold, little leaves, and lie still, tiny blossoms, Hushed with the wonder two gardens have known. There is a sacred beauty in the way That moonlight steals along a garden wall, Breathing a holy silence. Words convey So little of the meaning of it all. There is a reverend gesture among trees That bow beneath the wind, where gardens keep The unforgotten hour o f reveries; There is remembrance here that will not sleep. And there is more than dew upon the rose, When back to heaven’s breast the night has flown. Yea, more than dew — my hungry spirit knows There are the tears of one who prayed alone, Who drank the cup in dark Gethsemane That never garden might be dark for me. And if the midnight hour such halo lends Unto the garden’s holy quietude, What shall we say o f daybreak, when it sends Dawn’s first fine splendor bursting through the wood! Is this not more than beauty of the sun, That leans to rouse the slumber of the fern, That touches drowsy petals one by one, That bids each slender leaf-blade lift and turn? Is this not more than daybreak ? Ah, I know That it is more: and never shall I see A waking garden stir, and stretch, and grow, But I shall think of one who died for me, And rose again, triumphant, to ascend, Who spake, "Lo, I am with thee to the end.” Christ hath forever hallowed a garden: Never, oh never, we walk there alone; Fold, little leaves, and lie still, tiny blossoms, Hushed with the wonder two gardens have known.
—•H elen F razee -B ower from her new book, Garment of Praise
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