I HAD long wished to be the bearer of life to some condemned cell. My wish was granted me. It was on a Tuesday that a poor sentenced criminal was to be hanged. How wonderful, to be in a position to carry tidings of life!
So, with his life in my hand, I stand before the victim in his cell. His eyes have no tears, but are red, and look as if, with dry, hot grief, they had burned down into their sockets.
“Can you read?”
“Yes,” was the reply.
But fearing to break the news too suddenly, I added, “Would you like your life?”
He responds, “Do not trifle with me.”
“But life is sweet?”
“I would rather you did not speak to me.”
“But would you not like your life?”
“I’m justly condemned.”
“But the Queen could give you your life. Can you read this?”
And now those hot eyes are on the paper. As he reads, putting my arms around his shoulders, I say, “There, my poor man; there is your life!” No sooner had I uttered the words than down he dropped, as it were, dead!
When a man, to whom a reprieve is announced, falls down as dead, may not a sinner rejoice who finds he is not to be lost, but that, on believing, he is saved — I say, may not he weep? Yea, cry for joy?
But now, revived, he asks, “Sir, who sent me this?”
“The Queen sent it.”
“Why did the Queen send it me?”
“It was mercy. It pleased her to do it.”
“What have I ever done to the Queen?”
“Nothing, but break her laws.”
“Could I see the Queen?
“Why?”
At this the tears are in his eyes. How refreshing!
What a tale they tell! A new life is coming!
Dear reader, you understand.
He repeats, “Could I see the Queen?”
“What for?”
“I don’t know; but if I may, I would place my life at her service.”
“Then you are not an Antinomian?”
“What is that?”
“One who says he is saved, but may live as he likes. Would you murder again?”
“Murder! Ah, no.”
Dear reader, to set us free from death, Christ died, on the ground of which God gives us life! To know this is to know God in grace.
It would have been beginning at the wrong end if I had said, “My poor man, you must love the Queen.” Was he not to be hung by her laws? There was room enough for misery, fear, but none for love.
Or suppose I had said, “You must reform.” Could reform stay the law’s demand? He had wept, had groaned under the sentence. But no account is taken of these. He must be hung by LAW, or saved by MERCY.
Now, according to justice, God must condemn, or in grace save the sinner. He chose the latter — not at the expense of law, but by a glorious vindication of law. In “Christ dying for the ungodly,” infinite worth has met and discharged eternal penalties. Reader, have you believed this? Have you eternal life?
“‘Rich in mercy,’ on my head
Oil of boundless joy He shed;
All my sins are put away,
All is tinned to brightest day;
To Thy ‘mercy,’ Lord, belongs,
Never-ceasing sweetest songs.”
ANON.