George Gillespie: “Give light, O Lord!”
George Gillespie was a Scottish theologian and pastor born in 1613 in Kirkaldy (pronounced “kirk-AW-dee”), Scotland. He was not widely published, but his legacy is remarkable.
In 1643, the English Parliament called “divines” (theologians and pastors) from all over to participate in an Assembly and draw up what we now call the Westminster Confession of Faith. King Charles I was king, and he believed in the Divine Right of the Monarch, meaning that he would be the head of the Church. But in 1638, Scottish Covenanters signed the “National Covenant.” In it, they insist that Jesus Christ was the only true king and head of his body, the Church, and they renounced the “Papist” influences of Rome, whose Pope they deemed an anti-Christ.
The Scottish theologians who participated in the Assembly were nearly all Covenanters, and Presbyterian — a new form of church governance that stood in direct contrast to a church structure that is ruled by a civil monarch (such as the Church of England, both then and now). Instead of locating the power structure in one representative at the top (such as the papacy in Roman Catholicism), Presbyterians share the authority by electing Elders from every local church to participate in regional sessions called Presbyteries, and those Presbyteries are gathered into one larger session called the General Assembly.
Of those Scottish theologians present at the Assembly, George Gillespie was the youngest — he was only 30 years old. One day at the Assembly, a man named Selden gave a long and powerful speech in favor of the Divine Right of the Monarch and the English form of church governance. No one could seem to answer him adequately. Selden was a lawyer, and made powerful arguments. However, an older Scottish divine named Samuel Rutherford had noticed young George furiously scribbling notes during the entirety of Selden’s speech.
In the silence that followed the lawyer’s intricate arguments, Rutherford leaned over and said, “Rise, George, man, and defend the Church which Christ hath purchased with His own blood.”
Gillespie stood up, glanced down one more time at the notes he had been writing, and proceeded to launch into a stunning two-hour speech/sermon on the Kingship of Jesus and how the church bows to no other king, and recognizes no other divine authority but that which he appoints.
Selden is rumored to have whispered to his associate, “That young man has swept away the learning and labour of ten years of my life.”
Gillespie’s speech was so powerful and God-exalting that his friends went to take his notebook and preserve it. But when they looked at the page on which he had been scribbling, they only found three words in Latin, written over-and-over: Da lucem, Domine; “Give light, O Lord.”
Gillespie’s legacy is not a political one, nor one of erudite tomes full of theological nuance. He demonstrated — a young man, in the midst of every theological giant in the land — utter and complete reliance on the Lord to defend his glory and authority through the mouth of his servant.
I would have every pulpit in every church inscribed with those three words: “Da lucem, Domine.”
If the Lord gives not light, then all will be darkness. But “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5)
