’TWAS at the gray dawn of morning, after a very stormy crossing over the North Sea that we passed within the breakwater, which, at the Hook of Holland, on the Dutch coast, runs nearly a mile out to sea. On the end of the breakwater stands the lighthouse, true friend of the mariner, throwing out to sea its welcome beams, by which many a vessel has been safely piloted into calm waters. We, too, were glad to gain the harbor, for it brought to an end our stormy passage.
As I stood on deck I could see the remains of the wrecked Berlin, a few yards away from the lighthouse. A short time since the Berlin had crossed from Harwich to the Hook of Holland, on one of the most stormy nights on record. She had run in the teeth of that terrible gale all night, and was just about to enter the harbor. The poor terrified passengers, battened below, hailed the news with deep joy. A few more throbs of her pistons, a few more turns of her propellers, and all the dangers of that terrible night would be over. Safe in the harbor; storms would be past. But, alas, ’twas not so. Though she came so near to the harbor, it was never entered. She was almost saved, but lost. Mighty seas caught her, broadside on, as she entered, and drove her from the deep water channel, on to the shallow beach by the side of the breakwater, where I saw her, just under the kindly rays of the lighthouse. Once there, the furious sea soon battered her to pieces, and buried in its angry bosom some 140 precious lives.
As I stood and looked upon that sight, it preached a very powerful sermon to me. It portrayed to my mind another welcome light, shining out into the gross darkness of this world, pointing out the way of salvation. It told me of life’s stormy voyage, upon which millions of mariners had embarked with their all. It told me of a harbor of rest, where men are eternally safe from dangers. But it also told me of the solemn possibility of being very near the light, near the harbor, near salvation, and yet becoming a total wreck outside; of the possibility of being almost persuaded to be a Christian, and yet forever lost.
Maybe I am addressing my remarks to some young reader, who has for years listened to the story of the Saviour’s love. You have, probably, Christian parents who yearn over your soul. You have been prayed for, preached to, and pleaded with. The heavenly beams have cast their light upon your heart, and showed you, you are a sinner. You have sometimes trembled. Perhaps the Spirit of God has awakened desires in your heart to be saved. You have almost reached the harbor. Almost clear of the peril which ever attaches itself to a sinful life. Almost. ALMOST! Oh, friend, I beseech you in the name of Christ, beware, lest you perish at Almost Point; lest the words uttered by the weeping prophet Jeremiah break in upon your soul, “The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are (I am) not saved.”
NOT SAVED! Is this a “far-fetched” picture? No, indeed. You are voyaging across the sea of life to eternity. As surely as every throb of the engines brought that boat to security or destruction, so surely is every throb of your heart hurrying you on to eternal weal or woe. You are carrying in your frail bark a full cargo of sins. You have a history to account for. You have God to meet. ’Tis inevitable. Yes, your very eyes shall see the Lord, but shall you see Him as your Saviour or your Judge? What will you say to Him about your past? You may say, I do not see any danger. But it is there. You may not feel your need. But felt or unfelt, it is there. Perhaps, with indifference you say, there is plenty of time to heed the warning voice, and flee by the light of the gospel to Christ. Maybe. But who is to tell you the exact date when the words shall fall upon your hapless ears, “This night shall thy soul be required of thee,” so that you may hastily get ready? (Luke 12:2020But God said unto him, Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee: then whose shall those things be, which thou hast provided? (Luke 12:20)). Death, that merciless messenger, may even at this moment be by your side, to remove you from the world that fascinates your heart. Oh, I entreat you, my friend, don’t play with your soul. It is all too serious.
Perhaps your plea is, God is merciful, and if I turn to Him at the eleventh hour, He will receive me. Yes, it may be so. That poor dying thief proved it. Within a hair’s breadth of hell he turned to Jesus, and Jesus saved him, and took him to paradise. But did it ever strike you, that on the other side hung a man within a hair’s breadth of heaven, but who, unrepentant, went straight to hell. There are “eleventh hours” of salvation; but, solemn to relate, there are also “eleventh hours” followed by damnation.
Shall you, my friend, so conversant with the Bible, and God’s way of salvation, allow yourself to fritter away your precious moments, trifling with your soul, and God’s salvation? “He that being oft reproved, and hardeneth his neck, shall be suddenly destroyed, and that without remedy.”
Considering the seriousness of the matter, and the value of that soul of yours, as it lies in the balance, I beg you turn now to the Saviour. Bow your knee to Him, and own Him as your Lord. Tell out, in His gracious ear, your sinful past. Repent, as He commands you to. There is salvation at this moment for you. He died to save you. He died to open for you a clear passage to the Father’s home of love. His welcome hand is stretched out to save you. If even now you feel you are perishing, He says, “Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out.” Do, I entreat you, decide for Christ at once. The matter lays in your hands to settle. All that infinite love and power could do, has been done for your everlasting blessing. God gave His Son for you. Jesus gave His life for you. The Holy Spirit has come to being salvation to you. All the Persons in the Trinity are interested in you.
O, unsaved reader, close in with the precious gift of salvation. Perishing you are, and that in your sin. “But, God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall 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)). If in simple faith you rest your soul on Him Who died for you, you shall be saved. God says so. “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.”
May it not be your sad lot to be wrecked on the breakers of unbelief, and to cry through a Christless eternity, “Not saved, NOT SAVED.” May it rather be yours to join with that blood-bought throng, who even now, through grace, can sing―
“We have an anchor which keeps the soul,
Steadfast and sure while the billows roll,
Fastened to the Rock which cannot move,
Grounded firm and deep in the Saviour’s love.”
J. H. L.