To Be a Pilgrim: A Modern Christian Allegory Inspired by John Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress

TO BE A PILGRIM

A Modern Christian Allegory

Inspired by John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress

Jon J. Cardwell & John Bunyan

Copyright © Jon J. Cardwell 2016

All Rights Reserved

Cover Design by Jon J. Cardwell

Cover Image by Jordan McQueen

This publication contains The Holy Bible, English Standard Version ©, copyright ©2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. ESV Text Edition: 2011. The ESV text has been reproduced in cooperation with and by permission of Good News Publishers. Unauthorized reproduction of this publication is prohibited.

This publication also contains scriptures from The King James Version of the Holy Bible (1769). The King James Version of the Bible is in the public domain.

Who would true valour see,

Let him come hither;

One here will constant be,

Come wind, come weather.

There’s no discouragement

Shall make him once relent

His first avowed intent

To be a pilgrim.

Whoso beset him round

With dismal stories

Do but themselves confound;

His strength the more is.

No lion can him fright,

He’ll with a giant fight,

He will have a right

To be a pilgrim.

Hobgoblin nor foul fiend

Can daunt his spirit,

He knows he at the end

Shall life inherit.

Then fancies fly away,

He’ll fear not what men say,

He’ll labour night and day

To be a pilgrim.

Who Would True Valour See

from John Bunyan’s book,

The Pilgrim’s Progress, Part Two

by John Bunyan (1628-1688)

Table of Contents

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Like a Dream

Rag Man Out to Sea

The Preacher

Satan’s Spout

The World’s Wisdom

Knock, and It Will Be Opened

The Interpreter

The Cross of Christ

Perilous Peak

Beautiful Bastion

The Lord of the Hill

Apollyon

Faithful Along the Way

Talk, Talk, Talk

Vanity Fair

Hopeful Along the Way

Despair, Doubting and the Walking Dead

The Delicious Mountains

Ignorance, Flatterer and Atheist

Hopeful’s Testimony

Barker

Beulah Land

The Celestial City

Thanks & Concluding Hymns

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Of Messrs. Bunyan & Cardwell

Endnotes

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Like a Dream

I have also spoken by the prophets, and I have multiplied visions, and used similitudes, by the ministry of the prophets. —Hosea 12:10

...delivered under the similitude of a dream. —John Bunyan, The Pilgrim’s Progress

*       *       *

How farest thou, brother?

I tried to blink. I couldn’t focus. How farest thou? Who talks like that? His words, though gentle, entered my ears like an explosion and echoed with a reverberating aftershock. I tried to speak but could manage only to mumble single syllable sounds; yet, even that was difficult. Weak, I said.

Aye. Weak you’d be, truly. But the Lord was merciful and thine fever hath passed.

My eyes began to focus a little bit more but the room was dim. A gray solemnity was as thick in the place as the dank moisture of the room was to my taste. The man who spoke with me had a familiar lilt to his voice. He was English, but not metropolitan. It was not the sound of his voice that was familiar to me, but instead, it was a recognizable comfort radiating from his words. It was something altogether underlying— a power behind his words and the spirit which carried his words. It was the spiritual excellence which comes forth from the soul of one who had just been communing with the Lord and glorifying the Father in the Spirit.

Where... am...

Why, the Bedford jail, my brother. They brought thee in, they did; sick with fever. Thou didst quake like a maple leaf in an autumn wind.

Jail?

Aye. A preacher of Christ’s gospel truth thou art, yea or nay?

Yes. My voice still cracked and it sounded wretched on the inside of my ears, which I took to be tender because I must have been quite sick.

Why, then the fate of dissenters is both thine and mine. I couldn’t see him clearly, though he knelt near me in the little jail cell, which was what I understood this place to be. He spoke again. Good sir, may I offer thee some water?

I attempted to say ‘yes’ but only a squeak spilled forth from my lips.

He pushed himself up from the cold stone floor. It was only after he stood when I noticed other voices surrounding me. Whispers. Soft rumbles. The stench of urine and excrement mingled with mildew and body odor was amplified in my senses due to the delicate condition of my body caused by the fever and pneumonia that laid siege to my flesh.

The room was packed with men and I laid in the dark, dank corner of the jail cell, a corner I somehow knew to be the driest and warmest in the place. For some reason, I knew it. My benefactor saw to that.

I watched through puffy eyes as he poured some water from a pitcher into a small cup, picked up the cup and walked toward me where I was. He only took a few steps as the cell in ward was much smaller than I could judge in my sickened state. With one large hand he helped me to sit up as I was still very weak. As I sat on the edge of the dilapidated bedding of burlap and damp straw, my host pressed the rim of a crude clay cup to my lips. I could only manage a few small sips, each one feeling like a huge steel brick slipping down my throat. The odd sensation notwithstanding, the water did refresh me tremendously.

My gentle host took a step back and stood before me. My eyes were able to focus a bit better and I saw him— John Bunyan, the preacher of Bedford. Mr. Bunyan. His name fell from my still moist lips in a whisper but intelligible enough for him to hear me plainly.

Tis I, indeed, sir.

There are times when a man should be still and quiet his thoughts before others. Peter should have held his peace when he witnessed the Lord’s transfiguration on the mount. Likewise, I should have held my peace. Yet, as the struggle to keep the flesh at bay will continue until the Lord Jesus returns, or until He calls us home, zealous affectation may quite often rush forward where wise introspection would serve much better. This was one of those times when wisdom and reflection was needed but cast to the wind. I could only speak slowly, but speak I did. Mr. Bunyan... it is such a great.. great honor... and privilege... to meet you, sir.

I know thou meanest well, brother. Nevertheless, thou thinkest too highly of me. See thou do it not. Nay, think not of me more highly than thou ought to think; but think thou soberly, according as God hath dealt to every man the measure of faith.

Mr. Bunyan, I... I dreamt of you.

I, too, slept yester night; and as I slept, I dreamed a dream. Yea, I dreamed of Christ. Sit thou there, dear brother, and repose. I will tell thee my dream. Yet, before I saw Christ, I dreamed, and behold, I saw a man clothed with rags standing in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back.

The Telling of This Tale

Because my closest friends and associates in ministry know me as one who has read The Pilgrim’s Progress approximately twice per year since about 1986, and also as one who has been greatly ministered to by the written works of John Bunyan, the wife of a dear friend asked me to edit a new modern translation of The Pilgrim’s Progress so her homeschooled children could enjoy the famous allegory without having to learn Cromwellian English.

As one who loves the book, second only to the Bible itself, I was quite flattered yet adamant the endeavor to embark upon such a project was something to which I was so ill-qualified. I initially reasoned: (1) there were already so many other modern translations available; and (2), I didn’t believe I could ever write a modern edition to rival the power and impact of the original.

During Christmas and New Year 2013, I was sick for the week covering December 25th. I had a fever of 103-104 degrees F. I recovered well enough to preach at Sovereign Grace Baptist Church on December 29th. I had, however, developed such a bad case of pneumonia Sunday evening I required inoculations from the Veteran’s Administration Clinic on Monday, December 30th.

My loving wife, Lisa, said I was delirious during the days and nights with the high fever (I was later scolded by the nurse at the VA for not going to the Emergency Room when my fever was so high). I do remember one of my dreams when I was feverish, and in it, I was in the Bedford Jail with John Bunyan, the preacher of Bedford. We conversed in my dream and I seemed to remember I dreamt as if he were telling me the dream he dreamed; that is, he told me the story of The Pilgrim’s Progress. Certainly, it was merely my subconscious mind in the state of delirium, but afterwards, it prompted me to think about telling a story in order to create a retelling of Bunyan’s.

Objections to an Allegory

Certainly, a work like this will not be without its critics, cavilers and opposition. Mr. Bunyan knew that he would have them as well, and wrote his poetic defense prior to the first edition of The Pilgrim’s Progress, published in 1678. Some of the objections today may be addressed in typical Bunyan fashion right here:

Objection: Wouldn’t an allegory actually oppose the straight-forward proclamation of the gospel of Jesus Christ?

Answer: First, as Mr. Bunyan’s chief justification was the scriptures themselves, Hosea 12:10 and its use of the word ‘similitude’ being the primary truth, we should recognize that God’s normal and ordinary means for advancing the gospel was through the agency of redeemed men; and preaching, itself, from the pulpit is rather allegorical, is it not? The preacher takes God’s truths and explains them by use of corresponding scriptures, as well as word pictures and illustrations in order to convey them to his hearers.

Second, the dark sayings of Christ in parable, produce the same effect as an allegory. They are not to illuminate or make clear. Their purpose is to get those whom God has called, or is calling, alone with Christ so He can expound the meaning to His disciples (Mark 4:33-34).

Third, although the allegory may have an effect upon unbelievers, the novel, like the Bible, is written primarily to believers. Therefore, those who have been saved by grace through faith may be provoked to pursue more deeply the things of Christ.

My Prayer

I pray, dear reader, this allegory encourages you to soldier on, to grow in grace, to be strengthened in faith, and to rejoice in all the blessings of Christ Jesus, our Lord.

Rag Man Out to Sea

So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple. —Luke 14:33

...I saw a man, clothed with rags standing in a certain place... —John Bunyan, The Pilgrim’s Progress

*       *       *

The open sea is like a wasteland. It’s wilder and more wily than any wilderness on dry ground. Fearful in its mystery. Treacherous in its dangers.

Moreover, the ship’s crew, as motley and mutinous as any muster of men sailing the seven seas, went about their mundane, daily duties without gain or goal except to make it to the next minute of existence.

The ship, held together by welds and steel rivets, pitched and rolled upon the waves as aimlessly as the compliment of sailors assigned to its hull number. Left standard rudder was her only course. Turning circles upon the briny blue was her only mission. Her course could not be altered except by orders from High Command; and even then, an auxiliary crew and a pilot must be flown in to execute the orders, else the ship would continue on the same circular track, maintaining the same heading, cruising at the same speed.

A lone sailor leaned against the gunwale on the port side of the ship, near the fo’c’sle. A horrifying cry of terror rose from his throat. It was not merely the bellows of one yelling from the strength of the diaphragm. No. He was not exercising proper muscle control in his abdomen so he could be heard many miles away. His dirge came from the depths of his heart and the pit of his soul. It was the wail of agony, of anguish, of bitter turmoil.

When his wailing diminished, he looked out at the ocean before him. The sea foam, created in the wake of the ship’s propeller, twinkled strangely with dots of light; illuminated as he had never seen it before. From a portal inside, the sea always seemed dark and foreboding. But now, it exhibited a life, an awakening, the likes of which he had never seen; and although there was vitality in the sea foam and churned surface water, its sight only served to amplify his soul’s wretched condition— for the light that came forth from the Word of God revealed the darkness within his being. It was a darkness greater than the blackness of night or any application of pitch. As great as the darkness was, however, it did not subdue the light or cast shadows with variableness by turning from this view or that perspective. The darkness was evident because of the light. The book in his hand, the Bible, was open and his hands trembled beneath it.

Dry land was far from his view. Just over the horizon? Perhaps. Then again, maybe not.

When, by God’s grace, the Lord shines His light through His beloved Word, those things most familiar to us, most comfortable to us, and those things most liable to draw us away from God’s light, must be cast behind us in God’s providence so that the blessing of His grace may shine upon His lost sheep.

The man was dressed in rags. His uniform was slovenly wrinkled and disheveled. If his work aboard ship was in any way reflective of this clothing, his shipmates would have shunned him as a dirt bag or the rag man. As it turned out, he was competent in his worldly routine.

He looked down upon his own clothing. He had always thought his clothes were nice— presentable— befitting a first class petty officer and a sailor qualified on all watch stations. Yet, with the book in his hand, he saw his garments for what they were: soiled, filthy, abominable. His clothing hung from his body as if they dripped with oozing dung, while at the same time, the ragged filth that was his clothing seemed to cling to his skin, making the man a vile and most loathsome wretch under heaven and upon earth. Any time he attempted to iron his clothes, his garments only ended up with more wrinkles and they smelled like hot sewage on a humid day.

The weight upon his back, four sets of steel, twin SCUBA cylinders, pressed down on his shoulders while the straps cut into his flesh. Each time the man read from his Bible, either his garments grew filthier or his pack grew heavier.

He read the verse from Psalm 38:4, For my iniquities have gone over my head; like a heavy burden, they are too heavy for me. The miserable man looked up from the Bible and sobbed again. He wept with tears of utmost grief. He shook his head. What shall I do?

Why did the book suddenly have such an effect upon him? He had no idea. He had read parts of it before. He understood that Adam was the first man and created by God according to its first pages. There was clarity in the words of the Bible, certainly. Perspicuity was the word he heard once in church. It was plain from a simple reading that the Bible speaks of a flood in the days of Noah and that Jesus was born in a manger because there was no room in the inn. He had even read of the cross upon which Jesus hung and heard many times the words He spoke while dying, but he was never affected by the reading of the Bible as he been had this day. What happened?

His inner being was total chaos. He turned a few pages from the Psalms and his eyes were drawn to Isaiah 64:6. He read, We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a polluted garment. We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away. The man looked down again at his clothing. They were indeed filthy rags. They were cankered, moth-eaten and corrupt. His own unrighteousness was visible. His sin, his iniquities, his uncleanness, and his corruptions were apparent.

Didn’t he believe there was a God? He most certainly did. A workman, an acquaintance, had spoken to him one day. The workman said, Did you know we didn’t come from monkeys?

Of course we didn’t, was the man’s reply. I’ve been to the zoo and have seen monkeys and monkeys don’t do the stupid things humans do. The man in rags remembered that he beamed with self-righteousness the following Sunday for such a confession concerning God. In fact, he remembered, he sat right up front in the foremost pew to display his courage in spouting such a truth as not having evolved from primates. Reflecting upon this past episode, the man melted with shame. He remained on deck with the Bible held in his trembling hands.

Vexed and troubled with seemingly no possible escape, he turned in the direction of the ship’s galley, stepped through a hatch and left the weather decks. Every pace was filled with woe. He knew he could not stay out on the weather decks; but even to enter the galley of the ship was filled with fret and dread. He wiped away his tears with a filthy rag.

When he arrived on the mess decks, he clutched the Bible tightly in his left hand and reached out with his right. The man took a deep breath. He could not let his shipmates see him in such a state of distress. He composed himself and sat down at a table.

Dinner was served and his shipmates were eating. All he needed to do was grab a tray and walk through the chow line. Yet, he wasn’t hungry. He just sat.

My friend... His lip quivered. His hands trembled.

What is it, Boats? His shipmate’s brow furled with concern.

I’m doomed.

Everyone at the table stopped eating and turned to look at him.

I’m lost. This great weight pressed upon me has ruined me. Not only that, our ship will be burned with fire from heaven. Its destruction will completely consume us and destroy us all, and as of yet, I haven’t found any way for us to escape.

His entire division, the group of sailors to which he worked with and was assigned, was dumbfounded. They certainly didn’t believe what he said was true. They thought he might be sick, or even insane. As night approached, they hoped sleep might help in putting his mind at ease. A few of the crew members escorted him through the ship and into the berthing compartment where he could get some rest.

The night, however, did not ease his grief.

The Preacher

For ‘everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.’ How then will they call on him in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching? And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!’ —Romans 10:13-15

Wherefore dost thou cry?—John Bunyan, The Pilgrim’s Progress

*       *       *

Morning had broken and reveille was piped over the 1MC ship’s public address system.

How’s it going today, Boats? his shipmates asked him.

Worse than last night.

He wanted to explain himself, however, his shipmates didn’t want to hear anything about the ship’s destruction and the doom of the crew. They thought he was crazy and decided to drive the insanity from him by insulting him and treating him with contempt. Sometimes they mocked him. Sometimes they scolded him. Still, at other times, they neglected him.

Because of this, he spent a great deal of time alone to pray for them as he pitied them. He wept over his miserable condition. 

When he wasn’t praying, he walked alone on the weather decks and read the Bible while the sea breeze kissed his face. Sometimes on deck, he stopped and prayed. He did this quite often.

At one point, while walking on the weather deck, he was in such great distress of mind and anguish of soul, he shouted, God, I’ve tried everything I can think of to find salvation and can’t. What shall I do to be saved?

The rag man looked around him. He pounded his chest. He hit his forehead with the heel of his palm. He gazed astern of the ship. He gazed toward the bow. He stared at the foretop. Sometimes it looked as if he were ready to run somewhere; yet, he stood still because he had no idea where he could go. He was trapped.

Finally, Evan Gelist Herald approached him and asked, Why are you crying?

Mr. Herald was an evangelist, a preacher of the Word, a messenger who proclaimed Christ’s gospel truth. His uniform was plain, but radiant. He was not wise by any stretch of the word; nor was he noble; neither was he mighty, strong or muscle bound. He was a simple man; in fact, appearing even foolish to many. Nevertheless, it was God’s decree that the wise of this world were to be confounded by his simplicity of life in Christ and the seeming foolishness of his message. Mr. Herald’s eyes danced with light because of an unspeakable joy within him for what he had seen, and more importantly for whom He knew. He also possessed a calm demeanor, because he enjoyed a peace which surpassed understanding. Yet, in his movements, there was a commitment in every action because of a love which exceeded mere earthly knowledge; a love of God, and love for Christ, and a love for Christ’s gospel. The love of Christ held him back from other things so the preaching of the gospel could come forth. It was his priority, and therefore, his preaching wielded great power. "I must preach the gospel, he often confided to dear shipmates saved by God’s grace. It’s necessary, and I don’t say this lightly or in boastful arrogance. Yes, truly, woe is me if I don’t preach the gospel!"

The rag man answered and held up his Bible, This book tells me I’m condemned to die; and afterwards, I’ll be judged.

Whenever the rag man or the preacher spoke of something important from the scriptures, a cartoon thought bubble popped up over the head of Mr. Herald. The rag man didn’t see it at all; neither could any mere man walking upon the planet see these little clouds. They only appeared to three Chiefs of Staff at High Command, the Father, the Son, and the Chief Spirit. In fact, the Chief Spirit was the Commodore who placed the bubble clouds there in the first place, and did so for all those whom High Command had saved by grace.

When the rag man said he was condemned to die and be judged afterward, the thought bubble that came up from Mr. Herald’s head had the words Hebrews 9:27 written in it. Mr. Herald agreed. No doubt you’ve read it and made sense of how serious it is?

The rag man nodded as he turned the pages to the New Testament and found Hebrews 9:27.

Mr. Herald recited the verse as the rag man read silently along, And just as it is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment.

The rag man trembled as he heard the words read by the preacher. A tear in his eye. He looked at Herald and said, Sir, I don’t want to die; and yet I know I don’t have it in me to stand in judgment before a holy God.

Thought clouds popped up from Mr. Herald’s head; first, Job 10:21-22, and afterward, Ezekiel 22:14. Since this world is so evil, why don’t you just end it all? he asked.

This huge burden on my back will drag my soul deeper than the grave and, because of the guilt, shame, and sins within the pack I carry, I’ll fall straight into the pit of hell.

The preacher listened patiently and nodded. He crooked his head at the pack on the rag man’s back.

The rag man continued. Sir, if I’m not fit to go to prison, I’m sure I’m unable to stand before a righteous Judge. I weep because I deserve God’s wrath and because of other thoughts like this.

Then why don’t you do something about it?

"I don’t know what