I HEARD of a gentleman in the County Kerry whom I had known well as a most clever and agreeable, but apparently godless, man―addressing meetings on religious subjects. More than this, a cousin of my own had become by this means impressed, and was addressing meetings of a similar nature. All this sounded very strange; for both of them, when I had lived amongst them, had been completely men of the world; and we had passed our time together in riding, boating, and the like pursuits. A vague curiosity came over me to know what all this was about, with a strange, unaccountable feeling, half of interest, half of dread, lest in time I too should become in like manner influenced. I was most comfortable and happy as I was, and did not like to be disturbed, for I felt that that kind of thing must cut at the root of all my then joys and interests. And yet I felt, too, that they had got something that I had not, and I’d like to know something more about it.
I was not long doomed to disappointment. My cousin wrote, proposing a visit. I met him at the crossroads in my dogcart, and as we drove along I could not help thinking to myself, Why does not he, who is so religious, speak on religious subjects, and not on ordinary topics as of old and so uncomfortable I became on this score that at last I said, “Why don’t you tell me something about the Revival?” “Ah!” he said, drawing a long breath, “Have you got everlasting life?”
“No,” I said; “no, I wish I had, and then I’d have no more of this routine of prayers that so wearies me.” For a moment he paused, and then said, quite solemnly, “Prayer to me now is a joy, and not a routine, for I am saved.” “Oh,” I said, “surely that’s presumption to say you are saved now; perhaps you may be when you die, but surely you are wrong to say you are saved now.” “No,” he said; “God says, ‘He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life,’ I do believe on the Son, and therefore I believe what God says, that I have everlasting life, and thus I know that I am saved.” Well, by this time we had reached the house, and, between preparations for dinner, etc., much of our conversation passed off my mind, but I know my impression was, that in saying he was saved he was thinking a great deal too much of himself!
After dinner, he asked whether I would have any objection to get a few people together in the carpenter’s shop (a large suitable room), for he would like to give them an address. “Oh,” I said, “by all means, if you think it would do them any good.” The appointed evening came, and as we drove in he kept telling me, “There’ll be great blessing tonight.” “Well,” I said, “we’ll see.” Many came together, and he sang a hymn, and then prayed extempore, and afterward spoke, giving, as far as I remember, a slight sketch of Bible history, and then impressed upon us his favorite text, “He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life.” The meeting ended, and I asked, “Where was the blessing?” “Wait till tomorrow night,” was the reply. Tomorrow came. In the morning we had rashly put a pair of half-trained horses into the carriage, and for more than a mile they ran away with us, with fearful rapidity; and when they stopped from sheer exhaustion, I know the impression on my mind was that God had sent this to stop me on my headlong course to hell; for I then began to feel I was unsaved.
The evening came. A young man spoke first, who had had deep religious convictions for some time before, and he said one word that went to my very heart: “Many of you, I doubt not, are religious―respectable ― moral; but perhaps, as I was once, you are not ready to meet your God.” Oh, I said to myself, that’s just my case, and I thought, those words must have reached every soul in the room, as surely as they did mine. That night I asked no more, Where was the blessing? I felt it had come, and come to me. But for some days I was restless and uneasy. I could not go to a flower-show that I had intended to, for I felt the solemn question of my soul’s salvation was unsettled. I tried to read my Bible, but could not understand it. I tried to pray, but utterly broke down. I had no rest, for I did not know God’s Christ. My conviction of the necessity of knowing I was saved, deepened, and one night I resolved to pray till my mind was at ease. I prayed a long time, again and again―aye, and with tears, too. I went to bed exhausted, and in the morning woke at ease and happy, I knew not well why. And yet I thought there must be a reason, and then I remembered the oft-repeated text, “He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life” (John 3:86). I believe on the Son, and therefore I have everlasting life, for God had said so.
Oh! the joy of that happy, happy day. I knew God had had mercy on me, a poor, vile sinner. Was there ever any one so bad as I? I knew He loved me. I knew that Jesus loved me, that He died for me, and that His blood cleanseth from all sin. Oh! I was so thankful; but then next day I was unhappy again, and the next, and the next, for I didn’t feel I was saved. But at last there came a dear kind letter by the post, to say, “If you look for feelings you are like the Jew that looked for a sign and never got one. Surely, the simple evidence of the written word is enough for you: ‘He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life.’” And now, once more I was at rest.
“Oh!” I said, “he that believeth hath; believe, and I have eternal life.” How can I doubt now? God has said it―the blessed God that sent His Son to die for me. Why should I doubt His word? I do believe it; I rejoice in the fact that everlasting life is mine.
Years have rolled away since then, and I have never ceased to know, and through His changeless mercy never shall, that Christ has saved my soul from hell, and given me an inalienable title to spend eternity with Him in glory. Is it yours? D. T. G.