He had been from his youth a fisherman. Perhaps it was the result of his spending so much time all alone in his fishing boat that he had acquired the habit of thinking much and of saying very little. In fact, I believe he felt very much more in his element when, out in the shallow sea water, he was attending to his crab and lobster pots, than he did when he found himself on shore, and in conversation with landsmen. No doubt this had something to do with his reticence before strangers.
Had he felt so disposed, he could have told an interesting story of his own sometimes perilous and daring adventures. I remember his telling me just one such story; how he contrived one very dark night to steer his little boat in the right course for many miles, his only guide being three stars, none others being then visible, but by keeping his earnest gaze fixed upon them, he contrived to keep his bearings, and finally reached the desired haven in safety.
There came a time in his experience, however, when all his acquired skill as a mariner proved altogether unavailing, for he was being sorely tempest-tossed, not now on the sea, but in his inmost soul.
He had gone to visit some relatives, and had gone to church with one of them. Suddenly during the service the dear old fisherman burst out crying; and after the service was over, and he had reached again the house of his relatives, he continued to be strangely downcast and melancholy. I happened to call at the house very early in the afternoon of the same day, and was told of his strange behavior, but had not long to wait for a full explanation from his own lips.
He said-that during service that morning he happened to look round, when he saw some children, who appeared to him to be praying devoutly. “When I saw them," he said, “I thought to myself, There! those little children can all of them pray better than me, for I am a great big sinner that cannot pray at all." Another flood of tears prevented any further explanation just then.
My heart went out in fullest sympathy with the poor old man: how could his distress of soul be relieved?
He was loving and affectionate, and domestic joys and mutual relationships have their due place, yet instead of being cheered by any of these, he sat as one alone amongst his loved relatives, because the sweetness of natural affection failed to relieve his burdened spirit.
It is said that music hath charms. Had I proposed that we should have instrumental music and singing, we should have but sung songs to a heavy heart. Indeed what are the most enchanting of earth's melodies, or the grandest combination of orchestral harmonies, to the ear that is listening with earnest desire to hear the loving voice of Jesus, saying, "Son, thy sins be forgiven thee "?
I asked him if he would come for a walk with me, and he very readily accepted my invitation.
Directly we were outside the house, we stood in a locality famed as the scene of actual warfare in years gone by. But I referred not to this, for a thrilling story of daring exploits, if told, would not have brought peace to his troubled heart.
A short walk in one direction would have brought us into fair scenes of natural and artificial beauty, or if taken in another would have ushered us into the center of the business part of the town. But what are lovely sights, or those scenes abounding with indications of the skill and restless activities of man, to the soul that is anxiously desirous of catching sight of the sinner's Savior?
God be praised for His mercy! There was one theme upon which I could and did dwell. We had no sooner started from the house than I began to tell that old, old story that never wearies in the telling, of Jesus, and His love for us poor sinners. I explained to this "great big sinner that couldn't pray at all," that Another had died upon the cross as his and my substitute, That if it were a question of individual merit, not one of the very best of us could ever dare to stand in the presence of God: for we, one and all, had sinned, and come short of the glory of God, Who was of too pure eyes to behold iniquity; but that Jesus had made atonement for sins with His own blood, which alone avails to cleanse from all sins. I referred to Israel in Egypt, eating the Passover in perfect security, because the blood of the paschal lamb had been sprinkled on their lintels and door posts. The Israelites were sinners indeed, but the Lord saw the blood, and passed over them, and suffered not the destroyer to enter their houses. And we are all alike sinners, but the sinner who trusts in Jesus, being a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ, is safe for ever, completely sheltered by the Blood of Jesus.
I showed him that it was not our tears of repentance, nor our prayers, but the Blood that has atoned for the soul, and bade him cast himself unreservedly into the outstretched arms of the Savior.
As I bore witness before him of "Jesus Christ and Him crucified," I led the way across the bridge over the river, towards my own dear father's grave, which he had expressed a wish to see. I proceeded to tell the glad tidings of good things in his hearing, and he appeared to drink all in as one long athirst. Receiving the word with joy his tears were dried, and his sorrow of heart gone. The testimony of "Jesus only," satisfied this poor old fisherman's longing soul.
As we neared the cemetery, he said, "It is just what your father used to tell me." But when we had reached the grave, each silently communed with his own heart, as we together stood before it.
Years have passed since then, but even now my heart thrills with joy at having been permitted to water the seed which my honored father (without my knowing anything of this until I heard it from the fisherman's own lips) had already through grace sown in that desolate heart. Faith looks on ward to the moment when I shall meet my father once again in the Lord's own presence, and there I look to meet the old fisherman also; when both father and son will experience a common joy in that day wherein he that sowed and he that reaped shall rejoice together.
Are you as ready as he to receive the same glad tidings of salvation through Christ alone, dear sorrowing one? How long will you hesitate to cast yourself down as a lost and undone sinner at the feet of Jesus?
Be warned by the experience of a young man, who could boast of a good education and many worldly advantages. Cut down suddenly and brought face to face with death and the dread realities of eternity, his landlady bade him pray. "I cannot pray," was his sorrowful response. Thus a careless life ended with a melancholy death. “If the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?”
A. J.