ANNIE was little more than seven years old when the Lord touched her heart and made her anxious about the salvation of her soul. She was at the annual treat of the Sunday school; all were very lively and in high spirits, as is usual on such occasions. We knew nothing of what was passing in little Annie’s mind. After tea was over, and the noise of hundreds of little voices speaking to each other was silenced, a hymn was sung. And this, we have often observed, the children enter into as heartily as their own play, when rightly directed. They were then solemnly addressed on the great subject of salvation, and as to whether they had really in their hearts believed in Jesus. The Lord in great mercy gave His blessing. Some were much affected and weeping; and as children are extremely sympathetic, the infection spread, and many all over the place were in tears. But although much of that feeling was nothing more than sympathy, there was also much that was of divine grace, as the fruits afterwards proved; but at present we only speak of one.
In the course of the evening, Annie’s elder sister came to me and said that she could not pacify her little sister, she was crying as though her heart would break. I found that she had been much affected when we were singing the well-known lines,
“I can believe, I do believe,
That Jesus died for me;
That on the cross He shed His blood,
From every sin to set me free.”
Her distress was very real; she was exercised about her sins, young as she was.
“I cannot sing,” she said, “that Jesus died for me, and that He has washed away my sins.”
After explaining to her the way of pardon through faith in His precious blood, and looking to the Lord for His blessing, I left her, apparently little relieved: there were many others to talk with. But, probably in half an hour, the sister came with the good news that little Annie was now happy. On my return to her I found the tears wiped away, and a happy smile on her countenance. She could now look to Jesus as the One who loved her and died for her, and believed that her sins were all forgiven. The work of grace appeared so genuine in that child’s soul, that after saying a few words about it, I said, We will sing the hymn again, that she may sing the chorus with us before parting.
Just as I stood up to read the hymn, a woman, well up in years, crossed the open space, and said to me, with deep feeling,
“I could not sing it either when it was sung before, but I too can sing it now.”
I could only say, Praise the Lord! I asked the woman no questions. Her expression, her age, her tears, her voluntary confession, were enough for the moment. I accepted this as God’s work—as the gracious creditor forgiving the “two debtors,” according to His own Word,
“And when they had nothing to pay He frankly forgave them both.”
The hymn was sung—it was a joyous evening to many; but what was our joy compared with the joy in the presence of the angels of God. No unbelief there, no cold suspicion to draw a dark cloud over the happy scene. The key-note of joy is taken from the Father’s heart, and choir after choir catching the flying joy, roll round the rapturous hosannas, till the vast regions of glory are filled with one mighty outburst of praise to God.
If we suppose the child to be seven, and the woman to be seventy, we have a perfect example of the Lord’s own words of purest grace,
“And Jesus answering said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee. And he saith, Master, say on. There was a certain creditor which had two debtors: the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell Me therefore which of them will love him most?”
Such is the matchless grace of the Lord Jesus to all who own Him as the Saviour. When grace is the ground of the Lord’s dealings with us, it is no greater stretch of mercy to forgive the sinner of seventy than the child of seven. And mark, dear reader, the word which the Holy Spirit here uses,
“He frankly forgave them both.” Not grudgingly, or unwillingly, or hesitatingly; but “frankly,” readily, immediately, yes, joyfully. Carefully examine that scene of surpassing interest in the house of Simon; like the precious fifteenth of Luke, its bloom never fades.
May the Lord lead you, my dear reader, to fall down at those blessed feet in the bowings and meltings of worship to esteem it your highest privilege, your greatest honor to bathe them with your tears, and to fill the place of His presence with the sweet fragrance of your adoring love; and, O! to hear Him say,
“Thy sins are forgiven; thy faith hath saved thee: go in peace.”
The Lord grant that this may be the happy portion of my reader now, henceforth, even for evermore.
ML 11/12/1933