Alone with God in a Prison Cell.

“THREE months with hard labor” was the sentence pronounced by the judge. A hardened criminal would not have minded that very much, but to the prisoner at the bar it was a terrible blow.
He was led away from the dock, and presently found himself dressed for the first time in prison garb, and in his cell alone. Then the full shame of his position dawned upon him; this was the result of his waywardness and sin, and what would the end of it be?
The thought of it brought him down to his knees, and he groaned aloud before God. Then and there he made his decision, and it was that from that time he would quit the service of Satan.
Now that was a good decision to make, but it did not give him the peace he sought. He discovered, as many have done before him, that resolutions with regard to the future cannot wipe out the sins of the past. There lay his black record. How could that be met? Could he in any way make amends for that?
“You ought to have prayed before you got in here,” sneered the warder, who saw him on his knees; “but perhaps better late than not at all.”
But the prisoner heeded neither jest nor scorn; his whole desire was to be right with God.
There were two books in his cell. One of them was a book of instruction as to how to live right, the other was a Bible. To the former the anxious soul turned. He read there deceptive words, for the writer knew not God’s way of salvation, and advised his readers to fast and pray in order to secure the pardon of God. Ah! thought that lonely reader, I have been praying without fasting, that is why I have not got the peace I seek. I will fast as well as pray. And fast he did. Much of his food was returned untasted, and while he continued to perform his allotted prison task he felt his hand getting weaker, his step less firm, until at length it seemed that he must sink to the ground through sheer exhaustion.
Then he reached his extremity; he had resolved and sorrowed, prayed and fasted, but he was still a stranger to peace. He knew of nothing else that he could do; nor did the book which he had read so carefully instruct him further. Then it was with a despairing cry that he took up the Bible. Ah! blessed book of God! if he had turned to its pages sooner, how much agony would he have been saved. It was not a familiar book to him, and he scarcely knew to what part to turn, but God had His eye on that penitent sinner, and the book fell open at 2 Samuel 12, and the first sentence that met his anxious gaze was, “The Lord also hath put away thy sin” (vs. 13). That was enough for him. The heavy burden rolled away, the clouds uplifted, and his astonished heart beat forth its gratitude to a pardoning God.
He had still to learn how God could do this, and yet be righteous; but for the moment it was sufficient for him that God had spoken such words, it mattered little to whom they had been spoken at first, they were there for him, and he embraced them in all their peace-giving power.
But he did not long remain in ignorance as to how God could pardon and yet remain the just God, for that long-neglected book became his cell companion, and therein he read of Calvary, of the precious blood, and of the resurrection of Jesus, whom Christians gladly own as Lord. He read of His exaltation and glory also, and that marvelous story of redeeming love which shall enthrall a full heaven eternally opened his eyes. All became as plain to him as the daylight which streamed through the grated window into his cell. His works were vain and fruitless; not by such puny efforts could guilt be blotted out. If sinners were to be justified, nothing short of the atoning work of Jesus had to be accomplished. Upon this his soul rested, and here he found a firm foundation. Yes, he discovered that God had freely justified him by His grace, through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus; that great as had been his sin, the grace of God was greater; and the precious blood of Jesus, which is the basis of all blessing, made him whiter in the sight of God than the new-fallen snow.
It is probable that you, my reader, have not had to stand at the bar of an earthly judge; you may have been decorous and upright, but in God’s sight you are a sinner, and the awful possibility of standing at God’s bar is straight before you. What think you of it? Of one thing I can assure you, if you got a sight of your past, as it appears in God’s sight, the agony of which you have read in this paper would be yours, nor would you rest until you knew without a doubt that Christ had forever washed away your many sins.
J. T. M.