NAME, well-known and held in honor amongst German Christians, is that of Michael Sailer. The son of a poor Bavarian shoemaker, he had risen, by dint of diligent study and indomitable perseverance, to be a professor at the University of Dillingen.
Here, for ten years, his theological classes and lectures attracted pupils from all parts of the country, and even from foreign lands. He had become one of the most shining stars in the world of Roman Catholic ecclesiastical learning. His pure and simple life and lovable character, combined with his lucid, scholarly, yet unconventional teaching, gained for him the hearts, as well as the ears, of an ever-increasing number of students.
But rumors began to filter through to the ears of the Jesuits that matters at Dillengen required looking into. It was declared that "Christ and Divine love are spoken of more than the canons, and, indeed, without much regard to canons." Students were returning to their homes from the University affirming their belief in the Bible rather than in the dogmas of philosophy.
Terrible news this for the Jesuits, and, with the astuteness of trained detectives, they traced the stream to its source, and declared Sailer and his fellow professor, Feneberg, to be the chief contaminators of the young minds at Dillengen.
“Mystics! Jansenists!! Protestants!!!" cried these zealous Jesuit heresy-hunters, and with scant ceremony Sailer and his friends were hounded from their posts.
Strange to relate, that, while Sailer's teaching had been a ray of light in the dark to many a bewildered traveler, he himself was not at peace. He had never really been converted. Intellectually ahead of his compeers, he had yet to sit at the feet of Christ as a little child, and to learn of Him the way of life.
About this time tidings reached him of a remarkable movement in the little village of Wiggensbach. A young priest, Martin Boos, had been led to Christ by the words of a dying woman, and was preaching the glad tidings of salvation through His Name alone, without works, or penance, or the usual routine of religious observances.
The peasants were flocking in multitudes to hear him, and hundreds were being livingly converted to God.
Sailer was greatly perturbed. What new thing was this? he asked. His bold mind, untrammeled by the age-worn prejudices that hampered others, had out-distanced many along the road to light and knowledge, but never yet had he been brought into contact with a direct work of God, leading repentant sinners to the feet of Christ and saving them by His grace.
His old friend, Feneberg, had also heard of the strange, new preaching at Wiggensbach, and it had set him longing.
Filled with wonder the two ex-professors determined to take counsel of each other. At Feneberg's invitation, Sailer came to him on a visit.
After much debate they resolved to send for Boos, and hear from his own lips the gospel that he preached. Two curates, also interested, were invited, and a meeting was arranged for Christmastide, 1796.
Boos accepted the invitation and came, accompanied by some of the newly-converted peasants, who were to speak of their personal experience.
It was a strange Christmas party: five Romish ecclesiastics met to talk about an evangelical revival, begun through the preaching of one of themselves and a few poor peasants into whose hearts the grace of God had shone.
When Sailer entered the room a peasant woman, struck by his appearance, whispered to Boos: "That man has much that is child-like, but he is still a Scribe and a Pharisee, and must be born again of the Spirit." Boos, who had understood that Sailer was a Christian of long standing, assured her that she must be mistaken.
But the good woman was right. As the evening wore on she felt that she must give utterance to her conviction.
“Sir," she said, turning to Sailer, "you are like Cornelius. You have done and suffered much for the truth, but you have not yet received Christ.”
An awkward pause [followed; no one knew what to say.
Sailer himself remained silent. Then Boos began, and with clearness and power explained the truth of the gospel. If ever Christ was uplifted as the sinner's only hope it was before that strange Christmas gathering in the quaint old country vicarage.
At length Sailer withdrew. Early the next morning he left the house before the inmates were astir. The new thoughts that were taking root in his very soul had made solitude, for the time, a necessity to him.
When the guests found that he had gone, they blamed themselves for an excess of zeal. The woman that had addressed him so personally wept. But one of the peasants reported that very early that morning he had met the professor on the road, and had repeated to him a line from the gospel of John: "As many as received Him to them gave He power to become the sons of God.”
“Good, good," Sailer had replied, but had ridden away with a troubled face.
Shortly afterward a messenger came to the door with a note from Sailer himself.
“Dearest brethren!" he said, "God has given me an unspeakably quiet mind. I do not doubt that He has come to me.”
“Blessed be God!" exclaimed Feneberg, who had all the time been praying, "Lord, if thou wilt come to us, come first of all to him!”
Before the Christmas party broke up, Feneberg, too, found "joy and peace in believing.”
Thus two learned Romish ecclesiastics passed from death unto life. Their enlightened minds had for long given a modified assent to the doctrines of the gospel. But it was Christ that their souls needed. Not until they sought Him and claimed Him as their personal Savior could they rejoice in the assurance of their salvation.
A century has passed since Sailer and Feneberg found peace in Christ. Since their day, education has advanced with rapid strides. Knowledge, once the monopoly of a favored few, is now within the reach of millions. In other ways, changes too numerous to mention have taken place. But one thing remains as true to-day as ever it was, and that is, that no culture, no knowledge, no superiority of character will set a sinner's soul right with God. Romanist and Protestant, scholar and peasant, from the monarch in his royal purple to the pauper in his workhouse corduroy, this truth applies to them all.
It applies to you, reader. Personal contact of the soul with the living, risen Christ is the need of the hour. In having to do with Him thus one is brought into the benefits of His atoning death. What He won for sinners through the shedding of His blood at Calvary is available for all.
The sole condition upon which you may obtain it is that you come to Him for it.
Reading a bill of fare will not satisfy a hungry man, nor will a clear understanding of the doctrines of grace suffice for the salvation of your soul. In each case there must be appropriation.
Be wise, reader, and apply in person to the Savior without delay. Do not rest till you are assured that Christ is yours and that you are His. H. P. B.