A Jew was sauntering down a street in the Metropolis on a Sunday evening, and noticing a light streaming through a half-open door, without thinking, he put in his head and glanced around:
As he did so, the preacher—for it was a mission hall—cried aloud: "The wages of sin is death.”
He drew back his head quickly. He had had enough—ay, more than he bargained for—in that one imprudent movement, and he would stay no longer.
He hurried away. His saunter was over for that evening at least. How did it come to pass that he should have forgotten his usual caution? But in that single moment he heard what was to prove the turning point in his life.
One of our great poets says:
"There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.”
And he breathed a deeper truth than he was aware. He had referred to earthly and temporal advantage, yet is his saying verily true in thy soul's history, reader, and in mine. There comes a time when decision, one way or the other, has to be made.
Then the tide of God's special individual dealing with me has risen to its flood, and if I do not launch the vessel of my life out into the free, boundless ocean of the love of Christ, and sail away to the haven of rest, I shall be left forever stranded on the shores of hopeless despair.
Little thought this Jew what issues, for time and eternity, would result from this event. "The wages of sin is death." He felt that was true, and true of him—his sin would be punished with death.
The following evening found him walking towards the street in which the hall stood. He did not want to go, and yet he could not keep away.
He would not go in, but just look at the place. Of course it would never do for him to show himself there. Then, had he not had enough—indeed, too much—last night? Ah, that was it. And his conscience smote him. How he would like to have the uncomfortable burden which was pressing on him removed. Perhaps the place would not be open tonight; and, if it were, would the same preacher be there, he wondered. But, then, he was an Israelite, and these were Christians who believed in that Impostor, so there could be nothing in common between them.
Soliloquizing thus, he found himself before he was aware of it, at the self-same door again.
Yes, there was a meeting this night also, for the gas was lit inside, and the door stood temptingly ajar. He would peep in. What were they doing? There was no preaching; they were on their knees: and a strange awe filled him, adding to the weight of his soul.
Did he feel that they were praying for such as he, who had heard a word in season the night before? If so, he felt aright.
He wished he might go in, yet dared not. Oh! he felt so miserable. What would make him happy? What did he want? He knew what he would do he would wait outside until the meeting was over, and the people had gone, then he would try to speak to the preacher alone.
It seemed a long time to him as he waited, till the meeting was concluded; then the congregation were so loath to separate; and, as they passed him, spoke of "Such a happy meeting!" which but deepened the darkness already on his soul.
He now went nervously inside, and asked of a gentleman if he could speak to the preacher of last evening. He was told he was not there.
"I should like to have seen him," he said, "for something I heard him say last night has made me very miserable. My sin is so great. I want something; yet I don't know what.”
"Why," replied the gentleman, "It's very plain. You want Jesus.”
The Jew started back, and exclaimed passionately, his face expressing the most intense abhorrence.
"I want him! No! Indeed I don't.
Had you known I was an Israelite, you could not have offered me a greater insult. I have been always taught to look upon Him as an impostor.”
"Will you listen while I read you a verse out of the New Testament? You may be rejecting what you neither heard nor judged for yourself.”
The man inclined his head, but averted his face, as if listening under protest.
The gentleman read: "As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness—." His hearer started.
"Does that Book speak of Moses? Never! Why Moses was our great prophet who gave us the law!”
"Come and read it for yourself, then.”
He read: "As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up; that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have eternal life." (John 3:14, 15.)
He shrugged his shoulders incredulously as he read the latter part.
"Stay," said his friend, "before you come to a rash conclusion, consider what these words say. You have often read in the book of Numbers how Moses erected the serpent of brass on the pole in the center of the camp when the people were bitten by fiery serpents?”
The Jew nodded assent.
"Well, your condition just now, and theirs then, agree in this important particular—something wanted. In their case, naught availed but the serpent of brass, because it was God's only remedy; and in yours nothing will satisfy but Jesus, for He is Jehovah's appointed Savior.”
"Oh!" said the Jew, clasping his hands in evident agony of soul, "I can't think that; I can't believe in Him.”
"Stay, now," said his friend. "You believe in the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob?”
"Yes, of course I do.”
"Then, will you kneel down here with me, and I will ask Him to reveal to you if Jesus is not the very One you want?”
The Jew consented, and they knelt down. After praying for some time, his friend asked him: "Have you any light yet?”
"No, none.”
He prayed again more earnestly, and while he was praying, the Jew suddenly exclaimed joyfully: "I see it! I see it!" And leaping to his feet, he danced about the room for very gladness.
"What do you see?" "Oh, I see it! I see it!”
"Well, calm yourself. Come and sit down here, and tell me what you see.”
At length he was persuaded. With difficulty restraining his emotion, he said: "While you were praying, the whole scene in the wilderness presented itself to my mind. I saw the stricken Israelites stretched, writhing in agony, in every stage of dying-helpless, and undone. I saw Moses take the serpent of brass and set it on a pole, where the people could look on it. Then as I looked, the pole changed into a cross, and the serpent into One like unto the Son of Man. I saw and I believed.”
And the poor fellow wept tears of joy. Ah! the gloom was dissipated, the burden gone. He had found that what he wanted was Jesus, and Jesus only.
Reader, you have known, and do know, this want, which naught you have tried has ever truly satisfied. You, too, want Jesus, and He, too, wants you.