“She that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth.” 1 Timothy 5:6
Some years ago, I had been preaching Christ as God’s remedy for man’s ruined condition, to the hardy population of a beautiful mining town in the mountain regions of Northern California. One afternoon I noticed in the meeting hall a young woman whose sin-marked face, weary look and careless demeanor could not fail to attract attention.
Stepping over to her at the close, I asked, “What about your soul? Have you ever thought of preparing for eternity?”
“My soul? I ain’t got none,” was the flippant reply, accompanied by a foolish laugh. Further conversation seemed to make no impression, for, after solemnly warning her of coming judgment, she exclaimed, “You ain’t going to scare me into religion. Wouldn’t I look nice joining you folks? I’m in for a good time.”
“But when you’ve had your day, when your so-called good time is over forever, when death, judgment, and eternity have to be faced, when God has to be met, what then?”
“Oh, well, of course, I don’t intend to live like this right along. I’ll get religion when I grow old. I ain’t got time for it now.”
“Yes; so the devil has deceived thousands, but you may never live to grow old. You may not have time to prepare for eternity, though you must find time to die.”
Another laugh greeted this warning, and she was gone. It seemed almost impossible that so young a person could be so hardened. I was told she had abandoned herself to a grossly wicked life, though little more than a child, and was an outcast from respectable society. Alas, how sin degrades, hardens, and blinds its poor victims!
Some weeks after the above conversation, an undertaker came to the house where I was staying; he said that he had a funeral to conduct that was a source of much embarrassment to him. The person to be buried was a young woman of so notorious a character that he could scarcely persuade anyone to act as pallbearers. Mentioning her name, he asked if we knew any who might do her this last service. We promptly offered ourselves. That would do. Some former companions of her folly had already promised to be the others.
It was the girl I had so recently spoken to, cut down in a moment — “suddenly destroyed, and that without remedy.” Two days earlier, after a public holiday spent in a revolting manner, she was borne home drunk and put into a bed, from which she never arose. In a few hours she had passed into eternity, having died in great agony from the baneful effects of her long debauch. The wine-cup and its accompaniments had claimed another victim.
Awful was the sight of her pale, swollen face. A minister had been called in, but what could he say? What comfort could he give? Of deathbed repentance even he could not speak. No hope could he hold out that she might after all be saved. She had been asked by her mother if she wanted some one to come in to pray with her. “No,” she said, “no one.”
“Couldn’t she remember a prayer, then, to say herself — the Lord’s prayer, or any other?”
“No, I can’t,” and instead of prayer there were oaths and groans of anguish.
“She had lived her life,” the minister said, “I shall not speak of it, for it cannot be altered now. You have yours to live yet. I speak then to you,” and he faithfully urged them to flee to Christ alone for refuge.
As I helped to lower the coffin into the grave, my heart was sad indeed. As I turned away, I heard some one exclaim, under his breath, “Just think of it, only seventeen years old, and gone to — !” The last word was lost in the noise about me, or perhaps never uttered.