IT was blowing a gale, and the fierce north wind drove the white waves thundering against the old sea-wall, drenching the pier-head and roaring out a warning of coming winter storms. The strength of the sea was sufficient to induce the lifeboat to go out for an hour’s practice, and waves and boas together drew hundreds of spectators to the pier. While all eyes were intent upon the lifeboat with her crew pulling out of the harbor, two or three ladies and a little girl crossed to the side of the pier facing the sea. The child bent over to look into the snowy, surging waters several feet beneath her, and to watch them rushing and hurling themselves against the sea-wall. The sight rendered her dazed and giddy; she had not force enough to turn away from the fascinating destruction; she was drawn towards it; and in a moment fell headlong into the depth: beneath.
Those who stood by cried, “A child has fallen into the sea,” and as they ran for help; the clear voice of the watcher in the lighthouse upon the pierhead rang out, “child overboard, child overboard!” and in an instant men rushed to the rescue, lifelines were thrown out, and a big, brave fellow dashed amongst the waves.
Head under the white sea, and only held up by the air within her clothes, the poor child was flung about by the billows, and again and again dragged beneath them Her rescuer, too, was thrown violently, no against the pier, now under the water. But he was as cool-headed as strong-armed, and stuck to his work of salvation. Now, see his hand has almost grasped the drowning child and the hundreds lining the pier hold their breath, but a great sea towers along, and breakings upon him, sweeps the child out of his clutch; his head and the clothes of the child are hidden from view, both buried beneath the surf. Will he succeed? Is the child saved or lost?
It was when under the waves, diving after the child, that those strong hands seized her and, this done, the right hand which grasped her arm never let go its hold, As he grip the lifeline with one hand, and holds the child firmly to his bosom with the other arm, he rises from that burial beneath the waves. Swiftly he is drawn to the pier, down the rugged stone face of which, the seamen have clambered to lend a hand, and, amid the shouts of the joyful spectators, the saviour and the saved are brought ashore.
The child was insensible, and incapable of thanksgiving, but gratitude filled the hearts of those who saw the rescue, and the more so when they learned that the man with the drowning child before him thought not of his own home, or wife, or little ones, but without one instant’s hesitation risked his life to save hers. Neither did he wish for praise or thanks, as, shaking the worst of the water off him, he walked quietly home.
What a picture is this scene of our great Saviour and of our great salvation. Jesus, to save us, left His home above, its joys, its glories, and came just where we were. He saw us in our utterly helpless state. Fascinated by the enticing attractions of sin, we had fallen into hopeless ruin. No efforts of our own could save us. Nay, like the child stunned by the fall, we were sinking into eternal death without so much as being aware of the awful doom which awaited us—utterly unconcerned as to our present lost condition, utterly dead to the fear of the second death; and then it was, He died for us.
And how did the man save the child? By going down into the very water where she was; by diving into the deep wherein she had sunk, and where, had she remained a few moments longer, she must have perished. He went under the waters to bring her up out of them. And thus it was—yes, much more so— with our Saviour. He went down into death to bring us up out of death. He died to save us from death. He passed under the waves of divine wrath—all God’s billows went over Him—to deliver us from their terror.
It was when under the water that the sailor saved the child. Had he not dived beneath the waves, and laid hold of her when beneath the waves, she had perished. Ah! reader, do you believe the truth illustrated by this incident about yourself? Do you know what a state yours is as a sinner? Do you indeed believe that you are already dead in trespasses and sins? Do you believe that nothing short of the death of Christ could deliver you from the state in which you are? Surely if, by grace, you do believe the depths of your lost state, you will not hesitate to believe the deeper depths of His great love in dying for us.
And note yet again how that the sailor brought the poor little one up out of her watery grave to the firm earth and the place of safety. His work was not finished till the child was absolutely safe. Can you not see in this an illustration of the Lord Jesus bringing up those whom His blood has cleansed, whom His death has delivered, into His own resurrection liberty? It was like a resurrection for that child, It was one in figure, for everyone thought she was lost. But ours is one in reality. We have the life which God gives us, when we believe, from Him who has risen from among the dead. We are not only indebted to Him for the new life we have in Him, but He Himself is our life. And He gives us His own resurrection-standing before God, one which the waters of death can never, never assail.
Here our illustration fails, for the brave sailor walked home alone, and left the child to the care of others. But the Lord Jesus, our Saviour, will bring all who believe to His own home in glory, and never will He leave, never will He forsake, one whom HE has saved from eternal death. It is not only that He brings the lost sinner into the place of safety, not simply that He gives the dead one a new life, but He will carry each and all who believe in Him in His bosom to the very mansions of His Father’s home.
Reader, you are lost, are you saved?
H. F. W.