IT is but a few years ago that there lived in one of the towns of Northern Germany a young man who had been brought up in the Roman Catholic religion. He believed, however, neither in that nor in any other, but had long cast off all thoughts of God, and lived in sin so open and so terrible that he was remarkable amongst the ungodly and the depraved as one who outdid them all. How wonderful are the ways of God! Like him who slew the giant with his own sword, so God made use of the exceeding sinfulness of this young man to awaken in him the first desire after salvation. He became alarmed at his own wickedness. “I am worse than any other,” he thought. “If it is true that the wicked go to hell, and only the good to heaven, it is plain where I am going. If ever a man is lost eternally, I must be that man!” Night and day did this thought haunt the wretched sinner, his peace was gone, and he found no pleasure even in sin. “If only,” he thought, “it were possible to be saved!” What could he do? He had been told of penances and prayers, of convents where monks spent their days in works that might at last atone for sin, and he felt that no labor would be too great, no torture too severe, if only he might have the faint hope of pardon at last. He resolved to become a monk, but he wished first to know in what convent in the whole world the rule was the strictest and the penances the most terrible. If it were at the other end of the earth he would go to it, and then he would spend the rest of his days in penance and in prayer. He was told in answer to his inquiries that the convent under the strictest rule was a monastery of La Trappe, distant about 1500 miles from his home. He could not afford to pay the expenses of his journey, and he therefore resolved to walk the whole way, begging as he went. This alone would be the beginning of a penance, and might gain him one step towards heaven.
It was a long, weary journey, each day beneath a hotter sun and through strange lands. He felt scarcely alive by the time that he came in sight of the old building where he hoped to gain rest for his soul; for his body it mattered not. Having rung at the gate, he waited till it was slowly opened by an aged monk, so feeble and infirm that he seemed scarcely able to walk.
“What is it you want?” asked the old man.
“I want to be saved,” replied the German. “I thought that here I might find salvation.” The old monk invited him to come in, and led him into a room where they were alone together. “Tell me now what you mean,” said the old man.
“I am a lost sinner,” began the German. “I have lived a life more wicked than I can tell you. It seems to me impossible that I can be saved, but all that can be done I am ready to do. I will submit to every penance, I will complain of nothing, if only I may be received into the order. The harder the work, the worse the torture, the better will it be for me. You have only to tell me what to do, and whatever it may be I will do it.”
I would ask you who read this story, Have you known what it is thus to feel yourself a lost sinner? To know that you are in the road at the end of which there is but one place, and that place the eternal lake of fire? To feel that all toil, all suffering, all torture here, would be but an exchange too welcome could you but gain by it the faintest hope of escaping from everlasting despair? If you are still without Christ, you are, whether you know it or not, in this dark road, with its one terrible end; and should God in His great mercy have awakened you, so that you know the danger and the hopelessness of your position, you will be in a state to welcome as a voice from God the wonderful words which were spoken in answer to the trembling sinner—spoken by the old monk of La Trappe. “If you tell me to do the most fearful pence, I am ready to do it,” the German had said, and the old monk replied, “If you are ready to do what I tell you, you will go straight home again; for the whole work has been done for you before you came, and there is nothing left for you to do. Another has been here and has done the work instead, and it is finished.”
“It is finished!”
“Yes, it is finished. Do you not know that God sent down His own Son to be the Saviour of the world? Did He not come? Did He not finish the work the Father gave Him to do? Did He not say on the Cross ‘It is finished?’ What was finished? He had under-taken to bear the full punishment of sin, and He had borne it, and God was satisfied with the work done by His Son. And do you know this—Where is Jesus now?”
“He is in heaven.”
“He is in heaven. But why is He there? Why is Jesus in the glory? Because He has finished the work. He would not be there otherwise. He would still be here, for He undertook to do it all, and He would not go back to His Father till all was done. I look up, and I see Jesus in heaven, and I say, ‘He is there because He has done it all, and there is nothing left to do. He is there because God is satisfied with His work.’ And, oh, dear friend, why should you and I try to do that work which the Son of God alone could do, and which He has done? If God had left it for us to do, we could never do it; were we to perform all the penances that ever have been or could be performed, they would be utterly useless to us. And as it is, they are more than useless, they are fearful sins in the sight of God. In doing them, instead of gaining anything, you would be but adding the crowning sin to your evil life. It would be as much as to say, Christ has not done enough. It would be to cast contempt upon the blessed, perfect work of the Son of God, and to dare to attempt to add to that which He has said is finished. Yes, in here Christ is insulted, and God is made a liar; and were it not that I am so old that I can scarcely walk to the gate, my escape should testify against the place. I would not remain here another day. As it is, I must wait till the Lord comes to fetch me; but you can go, and I beseech you to go, thanking God that His Son has done all for you, and that the punishment of your sins is forever past. And remember always that Christ is in heaven.”
What astonishing tidings for the poor weary sinner! Did he believe them? He did, and after a short time of rest, during which he learned more of the blessed gospel from the lips of the old monk, he returned to his own land, there to make known amongst sinners, lost as he had been, the news of that love and grace of which he had first heard in the monastery of La Trappe. There he was employed in this blessed work but a short while since, and probably is still there. May the voice from La Trappe reach the heart of some weary sinner here, and may the “good news of the glory of Christ” bring peace and joy to many who, instead of walking 1500 miles to hear it, have the gracious message brought to them! It is sent to you from the glory where Christ is, the message of the Father’s love made known in the person of His Son. May it be to you a light beyond the brightness of the sun, and in looking around on the world which charmed you, and the things which were bright to you before, may you say, “I could not see them for the glory of that light!”
F. B.