THE cemetery situated on the outskirts of the chief town of Majorca—one of the Mediterranean islands was simply thronged with people.
It was the late afternoon of Sunday, November 2, called, according to the calendar of the Romish Church, “All Souls’ Day.” The vast majority of the crowds, who wended their way thither, carried candles of various lengths and sizes in their hands, so that, planting them on the graves of their departed loved ones, they might light them as the sun went down, and pray for the repose of their souls. By these means they hoped to help in the work of extricating their souls from the flames of purgatory, according to the superstition of the Romanists.
Not everyone of the thousands that thronged the cemetery was imbued with this superstition, however; some of us jostled our way along the crowded and dusty road leading in that direction, carrying tracts and copies of the gospels instead of candles, and turned our footsteps into a small enclosure walled off from the large Catholic cemetery and elevated slightly above it, where the few non-Romanist folk of that large town found their last resting-place.
In that quiet corner an odd assortment of people had been laid—two or three British sailors, drowned off the coasts; a few other foreigners, who in different capacities had lived in those parts; some local atheists, including a notorious freethinker, to whose memory a large column had been erected right in the very center of the plot; and over yonder a large grave, very plainly ornamented, but which attracted far more attention than all the rest put together. By that grave we took up our stand, and there for fully two hours was the Gospel preached by word of mouth, and distributed in printed form to many hundreds of Romanists who came to gaze with curiosity on that grave.
As darkness fell it was a weird scene. Dark figures flitted amongst the thousand lights that twinkled in the still evening air, and the murmur of innumerable voices fell upon the ear; the whole aptly illustrating the dark depths of superstition into which even nominal Christians may sink. On the other side of us rose the column, ill-kept and somewhat decayed, yet bearing quite legible inscriptions setting forth in fulsome and exaggerated language the excellent features in the character of the deceased skeptic. Here was a reminder of infidelity and rationalism in its pride and self-sufficiency. Between these two sights—one conjuring up visions of the horrors of a purgatory which only exists in a superstitious imagination, the other without any vision at all, save of a hopeless death leap into the dark unknown—stood the grave of which we have spoken. What accounted for its attractiveness?
It consisted of plain paving stones with an iron railing round on three sides; on the fourth side stood the headstone, firmly fixed by being partly let into the wall. On this was carved a brief inscription, without names or other details, stating that here had been laid the bodies of some Christians, who had lived and died in the faith of the Lord Jesus, and in the hope of His coming again. Above this, standing in a recess carved out of the stone, and covered with glass, stood a large print Testament open, so that its words of life might be read by those who cared.
A tombstone such as that in an English cemetery would excite no interest. It was far otherwise, however, in a land where the Bible is a sealed book, and the Gospel is practically unknown. In this country the open Bible is so common that its message and warnings are often, alas! ignored.
Reader, you will not eternally perish from ignorance of the Gospel, but because knowing it you have despised it. Why is it that you do not appreciate its value?
Are you fascinated by the twinkling lights of superstition? What good can you derive from them? Superstition may offer you an occasional gleam of truth, but so mixed with darkness that it will only fill your mind with vague hopes and fears, and propose vain ceremonies and dead works as the way of relief. It can give you no settled peace. Or do you prefer the unrelieved gloom of infidelity? You may try to shut out all thought of God in order that you may believe in the deity of man, but such ideas will afford you very cold comfort when you come to die. Death knocks the bottom out of infidelity, but that, alas! is neither the time nor the place for getting right with God.
At this moment, however, as you read these words, the light of the Gospel is shining for you, and the book of truth is open that you may read it. You will find within its pages words which will reveal you to yourself, until like Job you will cry, “Behold, I am vile; what shall I answer Thee? I will lay mine hand upon my mouth.” “I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.” (Job 40:4; 424Behold, I am vile; what shall I answer thee? I will lay mine hand upon my mouth. (Job 40:4): 6.)
You will find also words that reveal God Himself to you, and the Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ, together with the value of that redemption work which He accomplished upon Calvary for sinners, and receiving the Saviour in faith you will become a possessor of peace with God.
Oh! that we could tell you all that it means; the joy of it, the liberty of it. Oh! that we could persuade you to seek the Saviour now, at this instant, so that the wealth of God’s salvation may become your very own.
In conclusion, let me quote one or two plain texts of Scripture for your benefit.
And, above all, let me give you that golden verse, used in blessing to untold thousands: “God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:1616For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. (John 3:16).)
F. B. H.