Wigtown Martyrs

   On this day, in 1685, a testimony was given that would stand through centuries. Not by the edict of kings, bending the will of nations to cower under their high hand, but by the bending of the devout hearts of two humble women to the everlasting King of kings. These faithful daughters, one in her twilight years, the other in the flower of her youth, were given a document to sign, known as the Oath of Abjuration. This test was given to suspected upholders of the covenant and sympathizers of those who attempted to stay the persecution that was flooding Scotland. With all constancy, they refused, joining their souls with "the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held."

    Here is the womens' end related in The History of the Sufferings of the Church of Scotland by Robert Wodrow, who dubbed the bloody suppression of the Covenanter movement in the 1680′s “The Killing Time”:

The two women were brought from Wigton, with a numerous crowd of spectators to so extraordinary an execution. Major Windram with some soldiers guarded them to the place of execution. The old woman’s stake was a good way in beyond the other, and she was first despatched, in order to terrify the other to a compliance with such oaths and conditions as they required. But in vain, for she adhered to her principles with an unshaken steadfastness. When the water was overflowing her fellow-martyr, some about Margaret Wilson asked her, what she thought of the other now struggling with the pangs of death. She answered, what do I see but Christ (in one of his members) wrestling there. Think you that we are the sufferers? No, it is Christ in us, for he sends none a warfare upon their own charges. When Margaret Wilson was at the stake, she sang the 25th Psalm from verse 7th, downward a good way, and read the 8th chapter to the Romans with a great deal of cheerfulness, and then prayed. While at prayer, the water covered her: but before she was quite dead, they pulled her up, and held her out of the water till she was recovered, and able to speak; and then by major Windram’s orders, she was asked, if she would pray for the king. She answered, ‘She wished the salvation of all men, and the damnation of none.’ One deeply affected with the death of the other and her case, said, ‘Dear Margaret, say God save the king, say God save the king.’ She answered in the greatest steadiness and composure, ‘God save him, if he will, for it is his salvation I desire.’ Whereupon some of her relations near by, desirous to have her life spared, if possible, called out to major Windram, ‘Sir, she hath said it, she hath said it.’ Whereupon the major came near, and offered her the abjuration, charging her instantly to swear it, otherwise return to the water. Most deliberately she refused, and said, ‘ I will not, I am one of Christ’s children, let me go.’ Upon which she was thrust down again into the water, where she finished her course with joy.”



Martyrs stake monument, Wigtown Scotland



The Twa Margaret's

Auld Merrick views o’er Bladnoch burn

That weaves as silk tae Solway’s shore;

Thru fertile lands it twists an’ turns -

It’s flowin’ burden, aft and fore.

Meg Wilson frae Glenvernoch came,

The highest Covenant tae swear;

A virgin blesst in Jesus’ name:

Her will strong, like her flaxen hair.

And Meg McLaughlin’s aged years -

Knew love’s proud veneration;

She faced oppressors without fears,
Refused the Oath of Abjuration!

Come wind doon frae the highest bough;
O come surf frae waves o’ the sea:
Carry them up tae Heaven now;

And in peace, lay their souls tae be.

At Grierson’s hand their fate did fall -

Bound tightly on a lowtide stake:

Both bold an’ true tae their call -

As waves o’er them, did rise an’ break.

Ashes to ashes; dust to dust;

When Truth is Treason Freedom dies;

Immortal wings tae a’ things just:

We remember.... when the wind sighs.

Here westlin’ winds, o’er Wigtown blaw

Here spirits haunt the morning mist;

And when Maytime rains do fa’,

They are seen, where the shore is kisst.

Patrick Scott Hogg 

    I love the line "When truth is treason freedom dies." Freedom is not strong when it stands on it's own; it is tall and beautiful but without deep roots, the blustery storms of tyranny will blow it to the ground, where men, drunk with power, trample it underfoot. How do we protect our freedom? We protect the truth, even as these and other faithful martyrs have.

In case you are interested, The Abjuration Oath ran thus:

 I A,B. doe hereby abhorr, renunce and disoune, in presence of the Almighty God, the pretendit Declaratione of Warr lately affixed at severall paroch churches in so far as it declares a warr against his sacred Majestie and asserts that it is laufull to kill such as serve his Majestie in church, state, army or countrey, or such as act against the authors of the said pretended declarations now shewne to me. And I doe hereby utterly renunce and disoune the villanous authors thereof who did (as they call it) statut and ordaine the same, and what is therein mentioned, and I swear I shall never assist the authors of the said pretended declarations or ther emissaries or adherents in any poynts of punishing, killing and makeing of warr any manner of way as I shall answear to God.



Father, I know that all my life is portioned out for me;

The changes that are sure to come, I do not fear to see:

I ask Thee for a present mind, intent on pleasing Thee.

I would not have the restless will that hurries to and fro,

Seeking for some great thing to do, or secret thing to know;

I would be treated as a child and guided where I go.

I ask Thee for the daily strength, to none that ask denied,

A mind to blend with outward life, while keeping at Thy side,

Content to fill a little space, if Thou be glorified.

In service which Thy will appoints there are no bonds for me;

My secret heart is taught the truth that makes Thy children free;

A life of self-renouncing love is one of liberty.

Anna L. Waring

In the Depths of the Earth

   The old mill house was situated beneath the mossy rocks of a ridge that guarded the stream as it frolicked and laughed it's way through the valley. Water seeped out of the hillside, and dripped continuously down until the earth consumed it again. Hidden by the trees, a yawning entrance to a cave waited expectantly for an adventurous soul to explore it's depths. The grass was lush, ferns abounded, and moss reached with feathery fingers to encircle the trees. If a person had a healthy helping of curiosity they might follow the ruined aqueduct that ran alongside the creek; or, drawn on by the enriching beauty of the shy flowers at their feet, or the song of the water, they would find the origins of this happy little burn. Yet, not the beginnings, for those remain a mystery to me still. There stands an opening to a great cavern, the pool just inside pouring its cool waters into the swimming hole below. Sunlight, no matter how bright, can only penetrate so far. This is where the healthy helping of curiosity must be a hearty one if any were to discover to the full the mysteries that dwell in caves. Lofty corridors and constricting passages led and misled. Stalactites drip, dripped onto the expectant stalagmites, ever growing in silent agreement to a closer union. The bats were furry, and the spiders were large. I cannot inform you of the texture of the spiders, as we didn't pet them. Hidden chambers were guarded by impossible entrances; some perched above sheer waterfalls, others behind narrow, misshapen doorways. Four hours of exploration brought us to a room with terraced pools and a mountain of slippery and shifting rock that glowed as though with moonlight. It was a frightening climb as we were tired, wet and one misstep could have killed. Worn out, broken ropes taunted, as if they could tell of some unfortunate guest's past demise. The light strengthened into daylight and we broke out into the cold sunshine and wind of the world we knew. 

 The impossible "doorway" that I got stuck in.

The hidden entrance

(And what we looked like afterwards. My jeans used to be blue.)

Forget Not Hospitality

"Through the ministry of hospitality, we share our most prized possessions. We share our family, home, finances, food, privacy, and time. Indeed, we share our very lives. So, hospitality is always costly.Through the ministry of hospitality, we provide friendship, acceptance, fellowship, refreshment, comfort, and love in one of the richest and deepest ways possible for humans to understand. Unless we open the doors of our homes to one another, the reality of the local church as a close-knit family of loving brothers and sisters is only a theory."


~ Alexander Strauch, The Hospitality Commands



   Hospitality is an expressly tangible way to show the brotherly love that is paramount in the Christian life. It is a gift to others, a ministry of mercy to the lonely and the lost, and a mainstay that supports the work of the Lord. Furthermore, after the loving service care and raising of ones own children in the ways of the Lord, I can think of no other ministry of greater importance or more fitting for a woman to embrace as her own calling. It not only augments any efforts to reach out to others, but it in turn supplements the training of children, and can bolster and extend the work and effect of the husband's ministry. A virtue of such importance needs to be developed and continually refined.

Heavenly work

Thought it be fraught with frustrations and insurmountable limitations here in this decaying society and sin ridden world, Work is glorious. It was the purpose of God for mankind to work, and done according to His statutes, God promised to bless it, and to give His abundance thereby.  “Therefore you shall do my statutes and keep my rules and perform them, and then you will dwell in the land securely.  The land will yield its fruit, and you will eat your fill and dwell in it securely," Lev. 25:18-19.
Over and again I've heard statements and even promises about what heaven will be like, and rarely do they include any work. More often I hear "We'll get to rest as much as we want," "People will just be sitting on clouds, playing harps," "We won't have to do any thing hard" and the like. Our time there (if I can use that turn of phrase about eternity) will not be for our own use, but for the unending glory of God. Just as our works here are to give Him praise, as well as our mouths, and the meditations of our hearts, we will be created afresh to use the gifts He gives without being hampered by sin and selfish ambition; and it will please Him.
Speaking of heaven with no more death, sorrow, crying, or pain Rushdoony wrote:

What work means in those circumstances is beyond our imagination. We can only dimly guess at it. It will be the unfettered application by man of his dominion under God to creation. It will be the unfrustrated and untainted energy of man applied to creation. It will be man's joyful expression of himself, of the form of the image of God within him, in  terms of his own particular calling and nature. Thus, the new creation, contrary to popular myths, will have very few harpists more than it has now; it will have many of us finding our truest calling in a new world.

R.J.Rusdoony; Revolt Against Maturity, p. 303 Thoburn Press 1977