SOME time ago I was talking to a very shrewd, hard-headed farmer in the north of Ireland. Our conversation turned upon God’s way of saving sinners, and, amongst other Scriptures which I quoted to show the perfect freeness of God’s grace, was that in the tenth chapter of Romans, “For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved” (vs. 13). It was indeed a shock to hear him answer, “That is the sort of gospel I like. I mean to call on God when I am on my deathbed, and I have His own word for it that I shall be saved.”
The case of this farmer is by no means a solitary one, as those who speak to people about salvation can testify. Man insults God, and rejects His present offer of mercy, and gives as his reason for doing so the very freeness of the gospel. Could anything reveal more clearly the utter badness of the heart of man? But because man thus abuses God’s grace, are we, therefore, to deny it, or tone it down? Far be the thought! On the contrary, we need to declare all the more clearly and earnestly “God’s easy, artless, unencumbered plan” for saving the ungodly; but along with this declaration there should also be that of the awful consequences of neglecting this “great salvation.” Those are solemn words in the first chapter of Proverbs, “Because I have called, and ye refused; I have stretched out My hand, and no man regarded; but ye have set at naught all My counsel, and would none of My reproof; I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh... Then shall they call upon Me, but I will not answer; they shall seek Me early, but shall not find Me” (vers. 24-28).
The following solemn incident, narrated by a minister of the gospel, may speak more loudly than any mere arguments to the conscience of some procrastinator: ―
“I went, some years ago, to visit one of my own hearers, who was so far gone that his physician pronounced him to be beyond recovery. On offering my hand he shook his venerable head, covered with the silvery hairs of age, and said, with a tremulous voice, ‘It is too late now, sir.’ I endeavored to shake his confidence in the impossibility of his salvation, by arguments drawn from the design of our Lord’s mission and death, and from His power and willingness to save the chief of sinners. He listened with profound attention to all I said, but to every argument he replied, ‘It is too late now, sir; I have loved my money, and neglected my soul. Yes, sir, it is too late now.’ I varied my method of appeal, and multiplied my arguments of encouragement, but the monotonous reply came with still stronger force of utterance, ‘It is too late now, sir.’ I proposed praying with him. He objected, saying, ‘It is too late now, sir.’ After a kind and lengthened remonstrance, he consented. We knelt together at the throne of grace, and when we arose, he said, with a look and with an accent I shall never forget, ‘It is too late now, sir.’
“With this horrifying sentence vibrating in my ear, I descended from his bedroom and walked away, sighing as I walked, occasionally turning as I passed onwards to look on the dwelling in which still lived a sinner, who could only utter one sentence, and that one sentence proclaiming his fixed belief that it was too late for him to hope for his salvation. He survived this heart-rending interview only a few hours, and then expired—
Without one cheerful beam of hope,
Or spark of glimmering day.’”
Dear reader, if you have, up to the present, been one of the numerous class of persons who believe that they can be saved just when they like, let the above true, and by no means rare incident, induce you to flee at once to Christ, who is waiting to receive you. Think of the dreadful alternative.
“Say, O sinner, who dwellest at rest and secure,
And fearest no evils to come,
Can thy spirit its wafflings of sorrow endure,
Or bear the impenitent’s doom?”
D. W.