The simplest incident will sometimes awaken the deepest reflection and lead the thoughts into the most blessed paths of profitable meditation; especially if a name which has a ready answer in the heart is mentioned.
“You know,” said a christian lady to a girl whom she found one day ill in bed, “that Jesus died for us.” “Yes,” replied the feeble voice, “but I know something better than that, I know He died for me.” A chord was struck in the visitor’s heart which instantly vibrated to the touch of these telling words. They were friends in a moment and forever. The dear uniting name was precious to both. They were one in Christ Jesus. Conversation led them to speak of the time, the means of the girl’s conversion, and other circumstances familiar to the mind of the christian friend. It was a moment of real joy. Up till then the sick one was unknown as having received blessing through the preaching.
In musing on the triumphs of God’s grace—on a soul sealed for eternal blessedness— we feel constrained to refer to an anecdote which we have sometimes related when preaching the gospel, and which we know the Lord has blessed to many souls. But it surely deserves a wider circulation than the sphere of our personal service. From its beautiful simplicity, its reality, and from the many thoughts it suggests, it is worthy of a permanent place in “Things New and Old,” and to be carried on its pages into all parts of the world. For the circumstances of the case we are indebted to the trustworthy pen of Dr. Winslow, and so accept the narrative as well authenticated.
During the late disastrous war between the Northern and Southern States of America, a traveler, when visiting those scenes of desolation, entered what may be called a soldier’s cemetery—the place where the slain had been buried after the battle of Chickamauga. The visitor’s attention was arrested by a man planting flowers on one of its lonely and humble graves. He softly drew near, feeling that the scene was hallowed by such memorials of tender love.
“Is it a son that lies buried here?” kindly inquired the stranger. “ No,” was the reply. “A son-in-law?” “No.” “A brother?” “No.” “A relation?” “No,” was still the brief reply. “Whose memory, then, may I venture to ask, do you so sacredly cherish?” Pausing a moment to give vent to his emotion, he gave the following account of the young volunteer whose memory and remains were so dear to him.
“When the war broke out, I was drafted to go and join the army. No draft money was given me, and I was unable to procure a substitute, and made up my mind to go. Just as I was leaving home to report myself for duty at the conscript camp, a young man whom I had known called on me and offered to go in my stead. ‘You have a large family,’ he said, ‘which your wife cannot support when you are gone. I am a single man, I have no one depending upon me, I will go for you.’ He went. In the battle which was fought here, the dear generous young man fell dangerously wounded. He died in the hospital, and was buried here. Ever since his death it has been my desire to visit the place of his interment, and having saved sufficient money for the purpose, I arrived yesterday, and to-day found his grave.” Having concluded his touching story, he again bent over the grave, planted another flower, and, we doubt not, watered it with his tears.
The enquirer passed on, but his heart was too deeply affected with a sight, such as he had never seen before, and such as he is not likely ever to see again, to go far away. He returned to look once more on that sacred spot. But, oh! what now met his eyes! A sight that Heaven itself would look down well pleased to see. Not only was the volunteer’s grave now garlanded with flowers, but a rough board was placed at the end of the turf, on which were simply carved these few, but touching, weighty words—
“HE DIED FOR ME.”
Nothing more. Nothing could be added without marring its perfectness. We know not which to admire most—the grateful love, the refined taste, or the sublime sentiment, of this remarkable, poor man. It stands alone, we hesitate not to say, in its great idea, amongst all the epitaphs in the world. Surely he must have known Him who died. the sinners’ substitute; and the confession of faith, which has been long on record, “Who loved me, and gave himself for me.” There is only one great original. But, oh! what a lesson, what an example, what a rebuke, to me, to thee, my reader, to all mankind!
The volunteer died in generously taking his poor neighbor’s place and saving him from the consequences of joining the Southern army; but the blessed Lord Jesus Christ died to save us from the consequences of sin—eternal misery. Not merely from poverty and suffering in this life, but from the torments of hell forever; where the worm dies not, and the fire is not quenched. “If one died for all,” as the scriptures plainly teach—though all will not be saved, for all men have not faith (2 Cor. 5:1414For the love of Christ constraineth us; because we thus judge, that if one died for all, then were all dead: (2 Corinthians 5:14); 1 Tim. 2:5, 65For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus; 6Who gave himself a ransom for all, to be testified in due time. (1 Timothy 2:5‑6); 2 Thess. 3:22And that we may be delivered from unreasonable and wicked men: for all men have not faith. (2 Thessalonians 3:2))—who then can be guiltless if grateful honors are not shown to His name? We are not asked to garland His tomb, or to inscribe our faith on His cross; but we are asked to believe in His love, and in His dying in our stead. And faith will always make His love and His death as personal as Paul did; “who loved me, and gave himself for me.” Not merely, He died for us, or them, but “He died for me.”
The dying girl had, as it were, raised her board; gladly would she have placed it in the window, or fastened it on the housetop, that she might tell all who passed by, “Jesus died for me;” but better far, these precious words were written on the imperishable tablets of her heart, and the offerings of her love were not a few flowers that bloom only for a day, but in songs of praise forever. The simple yet strong faith that delights in these words, is sweet to the heart and brings us near to Himself. “Jesus died for me.” He.... me; He.... me. There is no truth more plain in scripture, and none more assuring or comforting to the heart. The cross is the fullest expression of His love, and the foundation of all our blessing. Though now in glory the Lord puts nothing between our hearts and Himself and neither does faith.
“Ascended now, in glory bright,
Life-giving Head thou art;
Nor life, nor death, nor depth, nor height,
Thy saints and thee can part.
Then teach us, Lord, to know and own
The wond’rous mystery;
That thou in heaven with us art one,
And we are one with thee.
And soon shall come that glorious day,
When, seated on thy throne,
Thou shalt to wondering worlds display
That thou with us art one.”
But alas, alas, are there not many for whom Jesus died, who cherish no gratitude for His love, no memorial of His death? yet He died willingly, voluntarily, that they might be saved from endless woe. What can the Lord Himself think, what can Heaven think, what can all enlightened minds think, of such unaccountable ingratitude? How unmitigated must the remorse of the ungrateful be in the hopeless depths of hell forever! Not one alleviating circumstance; not one drop of water to cool the burning tongue. The darkest, the deepest, the most ignominious place in the regions of the lost must be their portion forever.
Some little time ago a young man was introduced to a preacher after having listened to his discourse; and on being asked if he was a believer in Christ, he replied, in rather an off-hand way, “Of course I am, I have always believed in Him, we have no one else to believe in, He died on the cross for us.” Without contradicting him, the preacher said, “May I ask how old you are?”
“I am seventeen,” he said. “ Well now, my dear young man, will you answer me another question? If you believe that Jesus died on the cross to save you from the pains of hell, have you ever really, when alone, knelt down and thanked Him for it?” “No,” was his honest reply. “Then you must be a stranger to Him: He will at last say, to all such, I never knew you; depart from me, ye workers of iniquity. Sleep not, young man, for your soul’s sake, for Jesus’ sake, for heaven’s sake, for hell’s sake, sleep not until you have considered your ways and turned to the Lord. Only think, you have reached the age of seventeen and never thanked the Lord Jesus for all He has done that you might be pardoned and saved forever.” But are there not many, who are more than seventeen, and who are chargeable with the same neglect of the Lord Jesus? Will not the gratitude of the Southerner, his flowers, his tears, his board, his inscription, rise in judgment against all such, cover them with everlasting shame, and aggravate their everlasting condemnation?
Let the love of Jesus then, my dear reader, who died for the chief of sinners—and more thou canst not be—move thy heart to grateful love and admiration of that blessed One. He died for thee—more cannot be said. If this great fact move not thy heart, what will? He finished the work of man’s redemption on the cross; He now rests on the throne in glory, waiting for thee. He will hear thy prayers, see thy tears, rejoice in thy faith, and listen to thy praise and thanksgiving; unlike the young volunteer who heard not the sighs, saw not the tears of him for whom he died. He knew not that flowers bloomed on his lonely grave, or that his neighborly love was now made known in artless eloquence to the universe.
And wilt thou, my dear reader, allow a devotion of heart around that silent grave, to excel thine to a risen Savior, who bids thee come to Him and dwell with Him forever? God forbid! Awake, awake, from thy long sleep of sin; arise, arise, to the consciousness that Jesus died that thou mightest live—live forever. Let thy gratitude be proportionate to the greatness of the sacrifice, thy faith proportionate to the dignity of Him who died, thy zeal to the deliverance accomplished and the salvation secured. “Could I grave these blessed words, He died for me,” said one in great ecstasy one evening, “on every tree that grows, on every leaf that quivers, on the face of all rocks; and could I herald them forth on the wings of the wind, I would tell the vast universe of God that Jesus died for me—that I live through His death, and shall reign with Him in glory forever.” This was faith, love, gratitude, and zeal for the Lord’s glory. Go thou, my dear friend, learn of Jesus and do likewise.