A FEW weeks since, in a town in the North of Ireland, lay a young man of twenty-three, dying of consumption, which became rapid in the end. Sometime before he had seemed to be impressed with the reality of eternal things at a meeting, but it passed off. Thereafter the writer, and other Christians, only knew him as one stoutly built up in his own system of religion, ―but Christ was not there.
We heard of sudden weakness, and we called, and found him much changed—both in body and spirit. He found that his religion was a foundation of sand, and it was, evident that he was granted “repentance toward God.” He deeply regretted his wasted life, and said, “I don’t like to sneak into heaven,”― “I hope I am not a hypocrite.” He felt it “mean” to take all from Christ, and receive Him, when all else had failed him.
We saw how the Lord was thus speaking to the living. He cared for no visitors but those who could speak of Christ. We judged it well rather to follow the workings of the Spirit of God, which for several days wrought in showing him his need, and his ruin, and his “backsliding” as he confessed to. But the Lord’s Day before he was taken, I felt led in prayer to thank the Lord that “there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth.” He suddenly grasped my hand, saying, “Oh, I never saw that so before―to think that there could be joy over a worm like me, there.”
I rose, assured that “faith in our Lord Jesus Christ” was dawning. Each day after he seemed to get more of the “light of life.” Wednesday evening after that Lord’s Day I felt free to speak entirely of God’s satisfaction in Christ’s work, and how He had “set forth Christ a propitiation through faith in his blood.” I quoted, “God is satisfied with Jesus; I am satisfied as well,” and pressed, “He that believeth on the Son hath, everlasting life.”
“I believe! I believe! I believe! I have everlasting life; I am resting on Christ, as I rest my head on this pillow,” was his utterance.
I expressed pleasure in hearing him speak about “a worm like me.” He added, “the vilest worm.”
That Wednesday night, and till nine o’clock next morning, he expressed at intervals his faith in Christ.
His Christian mother, during the night, began to read some poem to him which spoke of the beautiful place that heaven is. He said, “Don’t mind that, mother; read ‘Jesus, lover of my soul,’ and added, “I love—; she showed me the way.”
He became unconscious at nine o’clock, Thursday morning, and went to be with Christ at one o’clock.
The grace of God in saving him, the government of God in not, as he longed, leaving him to testify for long here, ―both struck us much. I had told him that perhaps he would only get the opportunity to “go home to thy friends, and tell them what great things God hath done for thee, and hath had mercy upon thee.” And so it was.
May you, dear reader, learn how needful it is to come to Christ in health, and be for Him here.
J. M. H.