The Letter that Sparked Revival

Henry Scougal (1650-1678) — Modernized Edition

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In 1677, a young Scottish minister named Henry Scougal wrote a letter to a friend who was struggling to follow God.

He titled it “The Life of God in the Soul of Man,” although it was never meant to be a book, just a friendly letter.

In 1733, an earnest 18-year-old Oxford student was desperately trying to know God through fasting, discipline, prayer, study, and yet he found no rest. His friend, Charles Wesley, handed him Scougal’s letter.

“I never knew what true religion was,” he later wrote, “until God sent me that excellent treatise by the hands of my never-to-be-forgotten friend.”

That student’s name was George Whitefield, and his conversion helped ignite the First Great Awakening, a contagious revival that reshaped the Western world we know today. Alongside the Wesley brothers, he would ride, teach, and preach to thousands in fields and churches, calling people not to religion, but to new birth.

Henry Scougal died of tuberculosis at just 28 years old. He never saw how God would use his letter, nor imagined it would reach anyone beyond his friend. Yet, half a century later, his words would echo across countless hilltops and valleys, speaking directly to the heart.

Today, over 300 years later, I pray it does the same for you.

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My dear friend,

I would never turn down the chance to encourage someone close to me, especially one of my friends.

Your desire to know God perfectly aligns with my job as a pastor, so in writing this, I don’t feel like I’m stepping outside of my usual work.

In seeing how these two occupations overlap, and there’s no better way I could express how much I care about you than in writing this letter.

Even though you probably have better resources than what I can offer, and even if I don’t say anything new, I hope these words mean something to you because they come from someone who truly knows and loves you.

I pray that the Lord would direct my thoughts and words in a way that would minister to you, and perhaps in ways I could not plan.

I’ll begin by laying a strong foundation, starting with the basics:

What True Religion actually is.

Even if it may seem basic for someone like you, bear with me as this structure will help me express my thoughts clearly.

It’s heartbreaking how many people claim to be religious but completely miss the point.

Some think religion is just about having the right knowledge or belonging to the right denomination.

Others focus on doing “religious” things like going to church, saying prayers, being polite, or giving to the poor.

Still others think religion is intense emotion or spiritual highs. They cry during prayer, feel deeply moved, and believe they love God simply because they are stirred up by powerful words and music. They feel close to Jesus and assume they must be saved, mistaking an intense moment for true spiritual maturity.

But all these things, even when they seem spiritual, are often mistaken for the real thing.

At best, they’re just an outward shell of religion.

At worst, they can be a false cover for superiority and spiritual pride.

These “Christians” look to baptize their vices, justify their tempers and disdain for others as “Christian zeal”, or even excuse their hot-headed rebellion as “bold faith.”

And yet, those who have experienced true Christianity can see right through these cheap imitations, for they have experienced something far deeper and transformative.

Not just a change in knowledge, behaviors, or emotions, but the soul’s union with God.

The sharing of His nature, being reshaped into His image, having:

“The very image of God drawn upon the soul.”

Paul refers to it as having:

“Christ formed within us” (Galatians 4:19).

If I had to describe it in one phrase, I’d call it…

The Divine Life.

And this is what I want to explore: first by showing why it’s called a life, and second why it’s called divine.

First, we call it a life because it’s lasting and stable.

Real religion is not a burst of emotion or a spiritual high. It doesn’t fade when you get tired or lose interest. Many people have moments from time to time when they get convicted to “get right with God.” They start strong, full of good intentions, but quickly fade. The novelty and excitement die down, and they eventually give up. Like a branch without roots, they wither away.

This is not the case with the divine life. Sure, you may feel sluggish, struggle to resist sin, or even lack joy in spiritual matters. But even in those seasons, the life of God is not quite extinguished. It trudges forward despite all opposition to how you feel, and you refuse to abandon your precious Savior for the lusts of the world.

We also call it a life because it moves from the inside out.

It is not forced to do good by fear, guilt, or pressure, but rather by genuinely delighting in what is good.

A man changed by God doesn’t pray just because he should, he prays because he sees his brokenness and God’s infinite goodness.

He doesn't give because someone tells him to, but because God’s abundant generosity flows through him (Matthew 10:8).

He no longer relies on his own willpower to resist sin, but asks of the Lord to enable Him to grow genuinely disgusted with it.

This man keeps God’s Law not because it is commanded, but because he wants to.

Love becomes his chief aim, and in that love, he finds true freedom.

Just as our bodies crave food without needing to reflect on why, so the renewed soul is drawn to righteousness without needing to be pushed. Its food is:

“to do the will of Him who sent Me." (John 4:34)

Just like the Apostle John states:

“No one who has been born of God practices sin, because His seed remains in him; and he cannot sin continually, because he has been born of God.” (1 John 3:9)

Still, in the early stages, this life can be meager.

Sometimes a person may only obey because of fear, pressure, or because of the influence of others. But if he is honest, longing to grow, and consistent in doing what he can (no matter how small), these are the first heartbeats of divine life, and God will cherish and nurture that life into maturity. (Luke 16:10)

But if a man obeys out of fear, family pressure, or a simply a desire for heaven without longing to be like one who sustains it, he may seem religious, but is not truly alive.

He is like a puppet, performing for the crowd. His religion is cold, hollow, and forced, like the obedience of a wife married against her will, serving a husband who she does not love out of vague notions of virtue or honor.

The chief command of this religion is:

“What is the least I can do to scrape by?”

On the other hand, the man who has given himself entirely to God doesn’t think in terms of limits.

He never thinks that he can do enough for his Savior, and is always looking for more ways to love Christ.

It should now be clear why true religion is called a life. It is a real, lasting, inward desire as opposed to constrained, external obedience.

So why then is it called divine?

Because it comes from God, being planted by the Holy Spirit. (Romans 5:5)

It is a resemblance of God’s true character, the image of the Almighty shining in the soul of man, a real participation of his nature, a beam of the eternal Light, a drop of that infinite ocean of goodness; and those who abide with it may be said to have

“God dwelling in their souls, and Christ formed within them.”

Before we dive deeper into this divine life, let’s clearly define what it isn’t: the natural or “animal” life.

This is the life that is primarily ruled by our strongest desires, our built-in cravings for comfort, pleasure, recognition, or safety. The foundation of this life is built upon our senses, as opposed to faith, and upon things being pleasant or troublesome to us.

These natural desires aren’t wrong in themselves, as God gave them to us for our own survival and welfare. But unlike mere beasts, we weren’t created just to survive.

We were designed to be guided by more excellent laws, and if we allow our animal desires to rule us, they choke out our higher and noble calling:

Love for God and others made in His Image. (Mark 12:30-31)

So you see then, that our natural desires are meant to be ruled, rather than ruling us themself.

The difference between someone who belongs to God and someone who doesn’t is this: in the godly, the divine life rules; and in the ungodly, the natural life.

The tricky part is that one’s natural desires can look different depending on their background, personality, or education.

Some desire to be dainty and light, often acting extravagant or downright ridiculous.

Others are very serious and severe, and the sheer weight of their personality causes others to view them with a great deal of reverence.

Others can be grouchy and easily angered, and are somehow never pleased with themselves, nor stand the possibility that someone else might be.

Still others prioritize niceness and generosity, finding purpose in community or a surplus of friends. Their deepest desire is to like and be liked by all, at the cost of their own identity or convictions.

And finally, still others may hold to a rigid notion of a “moral life” due to their cultural upbringing or the fear of consequences.

In short, there’s no end to the different ways people choose to live their lives, depending on their intelligence and how they choose to use it.

Those who delight in the common vices such as drunkenness, lust, lying, and oppression reach for the low-hanging fruit of self-centered living.

They live purely by instinct, with no trace of the divine life (or basic reasoning).

But when one combines self-love with reason, when intellect and cleverness join forces with our natural desires, things start to get tricky.

Men learn to reject the obvious and crude forms of sin. Self-love leads them to prioritize self-restraint, and they begin to take on a strange imitation of religion.

They choose not to deceive or cheat others, not because they are made in the Image of God, but because it's the smartest way to be liked and climb the social ladder.

They may abstain from excessive drinking and casual sex, not because of the wishes of their Creator, but because they fear that they may damage their health, finances, and ultimately their reputation.

Those who are quite good at this “religion” climb even higher, taking on activities nearly identical to the Divine Life.

They may begin to study theology and spiritual things because, after all, aren’t divine truths just as interesting to a curious mind as any other topic?

They may become militant for the beliefs they've adopted, diligently working to win others to join their denomination or validate their religious choices as the “right one.”

They may love listening to or even writing sermons about faith and spiritual life, for poetry and fine art is always enjoyable, and such preachers often gain the benefit of being seen as “holy.”

They may venture even to attempt fasting, not only because of its well-known health benefits, but for the praise and approval of those who are truly religious.

They may even feel emotionally moved in religious settings. The crescendo of emotional music, the vivid descriptions of crowns, thrones, rivers of delight, all of this may stir their imagination and cause them to long for paradise, neglecting the Creator and source of these spiritual blessings.

They may even come to believe that God has freely given them such blessings, yet trivialize His commands to surrender their life to Him (Matthew 16:25).

And finally, they may even declare that they love God, but yet strangely refuse to be conformed to His image, much less convicted by His Spirit.

So in summary, there is no activity that the “natural life” and its desires, especially when coupled with cleverness and reasoning, can’t corrupt for personal gain.

And while these activities aren’t necessarily bad in themselves, it’s crucial that we understand that the root desire behind them is what determines their fruit.

So don’t be fooled. Natural life may wear the mask of religion, and we must be vigilant to never to base our sense of worth on our achievements, nor to confuse our selfish ambition with the true Divine Life.

Speaking of which, let us now return to the real thing: the sweet and precious Divine Life.

That secret,

“hidden life with Christ in God” (Colossians 3:3).

It does not appear impressive to the world, and the natural person will most definitely find it foolish and boring.

As the animal life beats for a narrow and confined love for self and pleasure, so the divine life throbs for a universal and unbounded affection for God and others, often at its own expense.

The root of this life is faith, and its branches are a love for God, love for others, purity, and humility.

As a wise man once said, though these words may seem simple or overused, they carry a depth so profound that neither human nor angelic tongue could speak anything more weighty or excellent.

Faith in the divine life functions the same as our physical senses do in the natural realm, granting us a taste and vision of divine truth.

It often has a strange tendency to focus on the declaration of God’s mercy and reconciliation toward sinners through a Mediator. This is the hinge upon which all divine truth turns, otherwise known as faith in Christ Jesus.

Love for God is a joyful and heartfelt admiration of the divine nature, leading us to surrender ourselves entirely to Him, looking above all else to please and fellowship with Him.

At first our love for God may start with thankfulness for what God has done for us, but as we grow in our knowledge of Him it increasingly rests simply in the beauty of who He is.

A man full of this love will naturally overflow into love for others, seeing as each person is made by God and bears something of His image. This love will actively seek justice and fulfill every duty owed to his neighbor.

For if one truly loves another he will care deeply for their well-being and, far from causing harm, will feel their suffering as if it were his own.

When I mention purity, I am describing a disciplined detachment from bodily cravings and lower desires.

It is a fruit that causes a person to reject and abstain from sinful pleasures, even those which, while not sinful in themselves, weaken our appetite for the higher, spiritual matters.

This purity also implies a courage to endure any hardship that comes from doing right, no matter how bitter or cynical they may feel. So under this virtue we find not only chastity and temperance, but also true Christian courage and noble endurance.

Humility is a deep awareness of our own brokenness, and a hearty and affectionate acknowledgment that everything we have comes from God. This leads you to a profound submission to the will of God, and a strange numbness to the glory of the world and applause of men.

These are the highest virtues that any human or angel can attain, the very foundation of heaven being laid within the soul. And the one who possesses them doesn’t need to look into the secret decrees of God or search the heavens to discover what has been decided about their eternal future. They can find a reflection of God’s thoughts toward them written in their own heart.

Their own love for God is itself a sign of God’s love for them. The joy and peace they experience from aligning their soul with God’s nature and will is a clear and certain promise that their happiness will one day be complete and everlasting.

It’s no wonder someone once said,

“I would rather see the evidence of God’s nature imprinted on my soul than have a vision from heaven or an angel sent to tell me that my name is written in the book of life.”

No matter how much we try to explain it, the deep mystery of a renewed nature and the divine life within us can never be fully captured in words. Human language simply falls short.

These things can only be truly understood by those whose hearts have been awakened, those who have been set ablaze by the Spirit and have developed a taste for spiritual things. As Scripture says,

“But it is a spirit that is in mankind, and the breath of the Almighty gives them understanding” (Job 32:8).

True religion is better seen through actions rather than speech, because actions are living and unveil the heart from which they proceed.

So if we want to truly grasp the depth of these virtues, we should look at the lives of those who embody them, and who better than the perfect example of Christ himself.

The central purpose of His life was to show us, by example, what He calls us to be. He was the very image of the perfect standards He taught. If true goodness ever walked visibly among us, it was in Him, and when His presence brought beauty and light to this broken world.

The deep, sincere love that constantly burned in Jesus’ heart for His Heavenly Father was seen in His complete surrender to God’s will. It was, as his very words, his

“meat to do the will, and finish the work of him that sent him.”

From His earliest years to final days, this was His aim. He never shrunk back or avoided the difficulty of His Father’s purpose. In fact, He found such joy and satisfaction in doing God's work that even physical exhaustion and hunger were overshadowed by spiritual fulfillment. When He was weary from travel and sat by Jacob’s well, asking the Samaritan woman for a drink, the success of that conversation and the way it drew hearts toward God brought Him such delight that it seemed to revive His body as well, neglecting his thirst and later declining the food His disciples had gone to buy.

And just as He was tireless in doing God’s will, He was just as willing to suffer it. Jesus bore the most intense pain, sorrow, and abandonment ever experienced by a human, and yet without a single complaint or bitter word.

And he didn’t just suffer through it with cold indifference or stoicism, but rather choose to feel pain deeply. His agony in Gethsemane: sweating blood, overwhelmed with sorrow and dread, abundantly made that clear. And through all of this, He continued to embrace even the harshest parts with willing trust.

When He prayed to the Father “If it’s possible” or as another Gospel puts it “If You are willing,”

“let this cup pass from me.”

Yet, with gentle surrender, He added,

“However, not my will but your will must be done”

The weight of His suffering is also revealed in John 12:27, where He says,

“Now my soul is troubled”

He pauses, almost as if uncertain.

“And what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour”?

But immediately, He corrects Himself, almost as if remembering His mission:

“No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour.”

And with full resolve, He finishes:

“Father, glorify your name”

We must not see this as hesitation or weakness in Jesus. He fully knew what He would endure, and He faced it with unwavering resolve.

These moments reveal the unimaginable burden He was about to bear. The suffering was so intense, so against human nature, that He could not help but feel the approaching weight of it with dread.

And yet, when he considered the will of God, and the glory that it would bring the Father, He was not only content, but willing to suffer it.

Another clear expression of Jesus’ love for the Father was the joy He found in prayer.

He often withdrew from the crowds and the noise of the world to spend time alone in deep communion with God, sometimes even through the entire night. He did this all with the highest devotion and delight, even though He had no sins to confess and very few worldly concerns to bring before God, things which, sadly, are often the only reason we pray at all.

In truth, His entire life was like one continuous prayer. A steady, constant fellowship with His Father.

Even if the offering wasn’t always on the altar, the fire was never extinguished. He was never hindered by spiritual laziness or indifference, those sluggish feelings we so often have to fight through just to begin praying. His heart was always eager and ready, burning with a love for His Father.

Secondly, we must speak of Jesus’ love and compassion for all men, but to fully describe it would be to retell every moment of His life. Nearly everything He said or did was intended for someone else’s good.

His miracles weren’t just displays of divine power. They were acts of kindness that helped and healed those in need, while inspiring faith and awe in those who witnessed them.

And His love wasn’t limited to family or close friends. It wasn’t consumed only by the special bond He shared with His beloved disciple. Instead, He counted as friends all who obeyed His commands (John 15:14), and He called anyone who did the will of His Father His brother, sister, and mother.

No one with an honest heart was ever turned away by Him. He never denied a request that was for a person’s true good. What was once said of a Roman emperor, that he was “the darling of mankind” for his kindness, was even more true of Jesus.

No one left His presence disappointed or burdened, except for the rich young man (Mark 10) who was grieved to hear that the kingdom of heaven stood at such a high cost, that he could not save his soul and his money together.

And surely, it saddened Christ as well. To see that a price was in his hand to get wisdom, yet he had no heart for it.

Scripture says that when Jesus looked at him, He loved him (Mark 10:21). The man’s sincerity had already stirred affection in Christ’s heart. But would Jesus rewrite the path to eternal life just for him, carving a new way to heaven so that a covetous heart could be happy? Of course not.

Love, no matter how sincere, must be truthful, and Christ’s love never came at the expense of truth.

And what can be said of His meekness!

He who faced the backstabbing and false love of Judas with nothing more than a gentle question:

“Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?” (Luke 22:48)

What greater proof could we find of His passionate and limitless love than that He willingly gave up His life even for the fiercest of enemies?

As He suffered, he mixed His prayers with blood, asking the Father not to hold their sin against them, and instead to let His death become the very means of eternal life for those who caused it.

The third branch of the divine life is purity, which as I said, is a life that turns away from worldly comforts to endure the troubles as we meet within the score of our duty.

Surely, if ever any person was wholly numb to the pleasures of worldly life, it was the blessed Lord Jesus. He rarely partook of them even when they crossed His path, and never stepped out of his road to seek them.

Though He affirmed the goodness of marriage and honored a wedding with His presence, He Himself chose the path of celibacy, never knowing the intimacy of married life.

Though He once turned water into wine for others to enjoy, He yet refused to perform even a simple miracle to satisfy His own hunger in the wilderness.

What grace and selflessness is this, freely allowing others to enjoy good things as He denied Himself, and caring not only for their urgent needs but also for their smaller, everyday wants.

We often read of Jesus sighing, groaning, and weeping, but never that he laughed, and only once of Him rejoicing in spirit.

His life was marked by the prophets of old, that he would be:

“A man of sorrows, acquainted with grief”

And these hardships were never forced upon Him, but were willingly chosen. No one in history ever had more opportunity to pursue worldly success.

The same Christ who filled His disciples’ nets with fish and drew money from a fish’s mouth to pay tax could easily have made Himself the richest man alive.

He could have fed and led a vast army without any need for wealth and overthrown emperors like Caesar.

But to show just how little value He placed on earthly wealth and comfort, He chose a life of poverty. So poor, in fact, that He said:

“Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests" but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head." (Matthew 8:20)

He did not visit the royal courts of princes or the company of the powerful, but, being known as the son of a carpenter, surrounded Himself with fishermen and the poor, living a life that matched the simplicity and humility of his vocation.

He didn’t spend time in royal courts or seek the company of the powerful. Though known only as the son of a carpenter, Jesus chose fishermen and other poor, ordinary people as His companions, and lived a life that reflected the simplicity and humility of that station.

And so, without even meaning to, I’m led to speak of His humility, the final branch of the divine life, where He stands as the supreme example to us all, that we may

“Learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart.” (Matthew 11:29)

I could focus here on the ultimate act of humility, the very fact that the eternal God took on human flesh as the Son, but I will rather focus on the quiet, humble way Christ lived while He was among us.

He had none of the flaws or sins that rightly humble even the best of people, yet He was so deeply aware of the infinite greatness of God that, in His humanity, He saw Himself as nothing.

The radiant virtues that radiated from His soul, He did not claim as His own. He saw them as gifts from the Father, and with the deepest humility, refused to take credit for them.

Even when addressed as “Good Teacher,” not recognizing His divine nature, Jesus replied,

“Why do you call Me good? No one is good but God alone.” (Mark 10:18)

It is as if he was saying:

“If you’re calling me good only as a man, that kind of goodness isn’t worthy to be named or taken notice of. It is God alone who is originally and essentially good.”

He never used His miraculous power to show off or draw attention to Himself.

He refused to give the Jews the kind of sign they demanded from heaven, some spectacular display to prove Himself.

He didn’t follow the advice of His countrymen and family, who wanted Him to perform public miracles to build His reputation.

When compassion moved Him to heal or help the miserable, He often instructed them to keep quiet.

And when those acts needed to be made known, for the Glory of God and the mission He came to fulfill, He never took credit for them. Instead He always pointed back to His Father, saying:

“I can do nothing by Myself.” (John 5:30)

I cannot begin to list all of His instances of humility towards men: His slipping away when people tried to make Him king, His submission to His mother and Joseph during His early years, His endurance of every insult, mockery, and cruelty hurled at Him by venomous enemies without retaliation.

The history of his holy life, recorded by those who walked with him, is full of moments like these, and the careful study of it is the best way to get a right understanding of humility, along with all the other parts of divine life which I have touched on.

But now, so that this letter doesn’t become too long or burdensome, let me pause here and offer a prayer for someone who has begun to leave behind false ideas of Christianity and is starting to understand what it truly is.

Parts II & III will be continued in the following weeks.

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Henry Scougal (1650–1678) was a Scottish theologian, minister, and professor of divinity at King’s College, University of Aberdeen. Fluent in Latin, Hebrew, and several Asian languages, he was known for his love, intellect and piety. Scougal died of tuberculosis at the age of 28, leaving behind a brief but powerful legacy of a life devoted to Christ and His Kingdom.

Zurbarán, Francisco de. Allegory of Charity. Circa 1655, Museo del Prado, Madrid.

Can’t wait till next week? Read the rest of the original letter here.