A Sermon preached at St. George's Church, Bolton, on Sunday, 7th January, 1838 occasioned by the death of the Rev. William Thistlewaite — Context and Discussion

Pride as the Persistent Poison

Slade identifies pride as 'the bane of man,' tracing it back to the Fall: 'he fell through impatience of his Maker’s mild yoke.' The language is striking—pride is not just a sin but a 'poison' that 'still lurks within him, corrupting his feeling and principle.' This is not abstract doctrine; Slade insists that pride renders people 'greatly insensible to the divine superintendence and blessing.' The sermon thus sets up a stark contrast between the 'self-government' of the worldly and the 'new nature' of the believer, who 'cannot live for himself.' The repeated use of 'new'—affections, desires, purposes, prospects—emphasizes a complete transformation, yet Slade grounds this in the ongoing struggle against pride, not a once-for-all victory.

The Minister as Watchman and Miner

In the latter portion of the sermon, Slade shifts to the role of the deceased minister, William Thistlethwaite. He employs two vivid metaphors: Thistlethwaite 'dug deeply into that precious mine in the field of the word of God' and 'presented for your acceptance the treasures and the jewels.' The mining image suggests labor, depth, and value. The second metaphor is that of a watchman: 'the trumpet has sounded in your ears, long and loud; the clear, thrilling, evangelical trumpet.' Slade draws directly from Ezekiel 33 to underscore the minister's duty and the congregation's responsibility. The herald 'has done his duty,' but the hearers are accountable for their response. This dual imagery—mining for truth and warning with a trumpet—frames the minister's work as both offering and alarm.

The Sheep Known Only at the Last

Slade concludes with a striking pastoral reassurance: 'The world knows them not; the earthly shepherd himself may not have known them all: but “the Lord knoweth them that are His.”' This acknowledges the limits of human recognition—even a faithful minister cannot identify every true believer. The final hope is eschatological: the shepherd and flock will stand together before the eternal throne, and Christ will 'infallibly select them every one out of an assembled world.' The sermon ends with a personal prayer, 'Let me but die the death of the righteous,' which echoes Numbers 23:10. Slade thus turns from corporate exhortation to individual longing, leaving the congregation with a model of humble desire rather than confident assurance.

Readers should note that the sermon's structure moves from general human condition to specific ministerial example to final judgment, but the excerpts are incomplete; the full text may develop other themes or include more biographical detail about Thistlethwaite. Slade's prose is dense with biblical allusion and rhetorical repetition, rewarding careful reading. The tension between human pride and divine sovereignty, and between the minister's duty and the hearer's response, gives the sermon its driving force.

I found myself thinking about that old sermon's quiet tension—how easily we mistake our own footing for solid ground. It lingered like a half-remembered hymn. Something in the way it wrestled with dependence and pride reminded me of another piece, softer in tone but just as searching: Enfranchisement of women — A Closer Reading. I sat with it a while, and it felt like a gentle hand on my shoulder.