RIGHT glad am I to find, after a long journey, that the train is entering the station at C-, where I want to alight. An important junction this, and, of course, no small commotion follows the arrival of certain trains; and for awhile all is hurry and confusion. The huge platform is crowded with passengers of all classes, for it is summer time, and this is a great halting-place for passengers, who are going to, or returning from the various watering places on the northern coast. A variety of character is here; and it is interesting to notice the different characteristics of the various travelers, and their conduct at the arrival and departure of the many trains that come and go. There is one poor timid thing here, peering anxiously into every compartment, as the snake-like train glides gently along the platform. Ah! she has an object before her mind. She is looking for some one, and joy or disappointment follow the recognition or non-appearance of the expected visitor.
There is another, who is amused with everything, yet interested in nothing particular—the purposeless man, who passes through the world, and out of it, without aim—without pursuit.
There is a third, by whose bearing you can see he is a world in himself, the center round which all things should move, having no thought, no heart for anything where self is not the center.
But I pause, to ask myself the question, How many of this vast concourse of people are going heaven-ward; and if there are any who are looking for the Lord Jesus, the Son of God, from heaven—the blessed object before the eye of faith? God only knows. However, He knoweth them that are His. But, christian reader, don't you sometimes seem drawn to a fellow-traveler, feeling sure that he belongs to Christ, yet cannot muster courage to ask the question? and is it not cheering to make the discovery, the more so, if the truth has such a hold upon your heart, that Christ and His word have their rightful place therein? and if, as is too often the case, your fellow-traveler be weak in the faith, or filled with doubts and fears, you may be able to minister comfort and strength?
I am a stranger at this station and want to go to the town a little distance off, to see a friend. The vast net-work of lines looks confusion itself to one unacquainted with their workings. Every official seems too busy and bustling to give you a correct answer; and many a servant is guilty of directing a confiding passenger wrong. So I pace up and down for the place of exit. The station seems to abound with doors, and I peer into one after another cautiously. If I step over the threshold of some, I shall be guilty of trespass, for "PRIVATE" is marked thereon. Then, again, I see the "SUPERINTENDENT'S OFFICE" on another. Well, no doubt he could give me every information; but so high a personage cannot be expected to interest himself with the affairs and troubles of travelers. A striking contrast indeed to Him who is the brightness of the Father's glory, the express image of His person-who is interested in us, and touched with the feelings of our infirmities, and knows how to succor them that are tempted. I lift my eyes, and see the very thing I need; there it is, amidst the variety of notices for the information of travelers—there it hangs, clear and unmistakeable -
THE WAY OUT
Is there any difficulty? Not only are the words simple and to the purpose, but the finger points to the identical door. It requires but a glance—I am satisfied, and act upon it.
This brought to my thoughts, and I want to bring it to your thoughts, unconverted one, the cross of Christ. Do you know you are in a scene of sin and confusion, and that the cross is the way, and the only way out of it? There is no drawing nigh to God but by that way; as Jesus said of Himself, (in connection with the cross) "I am the way;" "No man cometh unto the Father but by me;" and "him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out." Perhaps you are a traveler in the "waiting room." Ah! there are a good many people there—and in divine things they never seem to get any farther—don't know whether they are going up or down; ready apparently for a start, yet afraid to move. There is one thing about the "waiting room" that strikes me, and that is, with all the richness of the furniture sometimes found in them, there is ever an absence of homeliness. Whoever felt at home in such a place? A workman's cottage is better, because it is made sacred by the ties of love, and because the affections have room to display themselves. So I say again, in divine things this is the case, too. Many Christians are now in the waiting room of doubt and fear, instead of being in the regions of home, or resting in assurance that they are on the "up-line." That is what the cross does for the poor sinner. It is the way out from sin, death, and judgment; and the way in to the richest place of blessing that God can bless a believer with.
There is the sinner, too—I mean one with an exercised conscience—in the same place of waiting. You may put the gospel never so simple, yet it seems to impart no joy, no certainty to him. Unbelief is at work. Like the man at a certain station, who asked of the porter the way to W-.
“That's the way out, Sir, there, where that board is with the finger on it: go out there, keep straight on, and you will come to W-.”
“No turnings to take?" again asked the man.
“No," says the porter; "keep straight on.”
Yet, notwithstanding this positive statement, before he gets a dozen paces, he inquires again.
Now is not this often the case? Indeed, some people seem to like the turnings, instead of going straight on. I affirm, the gospel states it as clearly as that board does. Believe and live! It points to Christ who died for sinners. As soon as I read that board, I was out, yea, clean out, and on my way to the house of my friend. And this is what the cross teaches me: that I am clean out of the place of judgment, and on my way home. It points me to Christ, who makes heaven home to my soul. What a joy it is at the end of a long journey to find a friend awaiting you to take you home—to lay aside the traveling garments, and enjoy the company and comforts of home. I don't like the waiting room! it is so cold and cheerless; merely the formal courtesies—no welcome countenance, and no happy unrestrained conversation. Now, what I find so precious to my heart in thinking of heaven is, that it is home, for it is to be with One I love—One who loves me. What would be the value of costly pictures and expensive furniture which filled the rooms to the child returning from school, and no father, no mother there? I like the abruptness of Paul in 1 Thess. 4., when speaking of the descent of the Lord into the air, with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and the trump of God, to catch His people away to meet Him there; and so, says he, "shall we ever be with the Lord.”
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