A Gospel Address delivered at the Victoria Hall, Exeter, by Heyman Wreford,
Part 2.
The Power of the Demons Broken.
THE demons bowed to His authority, for in the very midst of the people whom Jesus taught, in the synagogue itself, a man possessed with the devil cries out, and as we listen we hear —
5. THE VOICE OF THE DEMON, saying: “Let us alone; what have we to do with thee, thou Jesus of Nazareth? Art thou come to destroy us? I know thee who thou art, the holy One of God.” He owns the authority of the Son of God. The presence of the light reveals the darkness. The devil cannot rest in the presence of Jesus. He cried out, “Let us alone; what have we to do with thee, thou Jesus of Nazareth? I know thee who thou art, the holy One of God.”
A Man with an Unclean Spirit.
There he was in the presence of the Holy One of God, a man with an unclean spirit. In His presence before whom the heavens are unclean. Like the leper, he was unclean from head to foot. His whole being was permeated with the foulness of the devil that possessed him. Mentally and physically he was the slave of the destroyer. He saw with the devil’s eyes, he heard with the devil’s ears, he thought with the devil’s thoughts. The overwhelming mastery of sin claimed his heart, his strength, his very life. Bound to the demon’s chariot wheels he was tortured and oppressed by a captivity that for the time was absolute.
Look at him, with the restlessness of hell in his rolling eyes, and the sorrows of the damned; haggard with the strife of demons within him; friendless, abject, devil-driven; an object at once of pity and of fear. His heart is beating out the dirge of his lost soul. He is like a dismantled wreck tossed to and fro on the billows of utter and unappeased unrest. “There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked.” “The wicked are like the troubled sea.” He had no peace, he could not rest. The devil within him whipped his tortured soul with the rods of hell, and the gad-flies of, awful remorse must have stung him to the madness of despair. Look at him, sinner, this evening, and then look at yourself. Can you trace any resemblance? There is, and by the help of God I will show you in what way you are like this man.
What! you say, a resemblance between me and that wretched being? Yes, a distinct resemblance. If you are unsaved you are as much in Satan’s hands as he was. As a sinner you are in the sight of God corrupt from head to foot, loathsome as the leper that dwelt alone and cried: “Unclean, unclean.” You have an unclean spirit, and one day you must have to do with the Holy One of God. The unclean spirit within you makes you sin in thought and word and deed. You have never known rest yet, for you have not known Christ. The devil is your master, and you wear the livery of sin. Would to God that tonight you could realize the awfulness of “being led captive by the devil at his will.” He leads you afar from God, down amid the charnel-houses of your dead life, strewn with the withered leaves of sinful, useless hours. Tell me honestly, Have you ever known what rest is? No, never, never. You are a “SINNER IN YOUR SINS.” One who is “without hope and without God.” Yes, one who will spend eternity in hell, unless the Lord delivers you. I can see the shadow of your doom resting upon you now. Unclean before Him, “who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity.” Think of it this moment, and tremble lest you die in your sins, then a great ransom cannot deliver you.
In the Grasp of the Devil.
NOTE. — The incident I am now about to narrate has appeared in a separate form as a tract, but I feel it right to let it appear again where it was first printed — (Editor).
About twenty-seven years ago I saw a poor woman possessed by the devil; and I will narrate my experience to you now. It seems incredible, but it is quite true.
Mrs. E― lived in one of the back streets of our city, close to where we had our Sunday School. Her children used to be sent to that school, and she herself came once or twice to our evening meetings. She was but twenty-four, yet an open and avowed skeptic. There was no God and no devil she would say, and laugh when Christ and His love were spoken of. I used to see her standing by her open door as I passed and re-passed to the meetings. Little I thought how soon she would pass into eternity.
She of whom I speak was taken ill, very ill, but she got better went about her work too soon, caught a cold, had a relapse, and the hand of death was on her.
I received a message one afternoon to come at once and see Mrs. E―, who was dying. I was out when the message came, but went to call on her about five o’clock. Entering the street where she lived I noticed an unwonted stir. People were talking together in groups with pale and earnest faces. As I passed on I was startled to hear shriek upon shriek in a frenzied human voice. They came from the house of Mrs. E― from the room where she was lying — yes, from her dying lips. I stopped for a moment to speak to a man standing in the doorway of the next house and said: “S―, what is it?”
“Oh,” he replied with trembling lips, “it isn’t her body, it is her poor soul. All the day she has been like this, her cries are fearful.” And again as he spoke the shrieks were heard.
I said “I will go and see her.”
Slowly I mounted the stairs of the house to the room whence those awful cries had come.
As I went up, I heard moans and groans and cries, but entered. At the first hurried glance around I saw a form on a bed by the window, and three or four women standing round.
As I approached nearer, never, to my dying day, shall I forget the sight I saw.
Stretched out before me a human body, the chest heaving, the heart palpitating wildly, the cheeks hollow and flushed fearfully, the dark hair tangled and confused about the head and brow; but, oh! the eyes! What awful light was that which shone so luridly there? Those rolling orbs in such indescribable unrest! As I gazed I cried out in uncontrollable emotion.
“Those are not the eyes of a human being; they are the eyes of a fiend!” My whole body seemed conscious of an awful presence, and my soul rose up in arms as against a deadly enemy.
I bent over her and said: “Mrs. E―, did you ever hear of Jesus Christ?”
No more could I say, for she gave a shriek as from the burning pit of hell, which seemed to pierce my heart. The awful gleam of those satanic eyes seemed to hurl defiance at the sacred name, and on me for uttering it.
Again I bent over, for I had started back appalled, and said: “Yes, Mrs. E―, of Jesus Christ who came into the world to save sinners?”
Again and again she gave that awful cry, the only answer; a cry of unutterable agony, with some tone in it as of a frightened hare in the hand of its captors—a wild, despairing cry, that gave one the idea of limitless human woe that could not be appeased.
And now the eyes seemed shining with fire and with an inexplicable something that made me tremble.
I took up my hat with shaking hands, and said as I turned away: “I could not stay here tonight for anything.”
Looking back as I stood in the doorway I noticed that wherever I went I was followed by those burning eyes. I passed appalled outside the room and into the street, promising to call again later on.
Some more particulars I heard from those outside depicting her awful condition. They told me that she had begged her husband to close the door and not to leave the room as the devil was there to take her. This was before I saw her, for she could not speak then—her mouth was like the coal, and her tongue seemed burnt like a cinder.
Yes, this was Mrs. E―, who had said that there was no God or devil, lying upstairs in the grasp of the demon, struggling with the little life she had left against the power that was dragging her down to torment. Who could deliver her? Only One I knew: and as I walked home that quiet evening hour, my thoughts went back to other days, and I seemed to hear echoing down the aisles of time the words: “In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, come out of her.”
“Yes, Lord,” I said, as I looked upwards, “this is the power wanted now; and oh, for the faith to use it.” I prayed earnestly for guidance and felt happier.
It was Tuesday afternoon, and we had a meeting at the room in the evening. Calling to see her again between seven and eight, I found she was just the same. The doctor had seen her and spoken to her, so had her husband, but she had taken no notice. No, her shrieks were for the name of Jesus now.
I went to the meeting, called a clear brother, and talked briefly to him about her case; then we prayed together to the Lord for guidance. Between nine and ten we went up in her room. I shuddered again as I saw those eyes fixed with such, a malignant hate, it seemed, upon me. The whole soul seemed in arms, and as if its portals Were barricaded by an invading power that kept unceasing watch and ward out of those sentinel eyes.
But now I felt, too, within me, as I never felt before, the truth and power of these words “Greater is he that is in you than he that is in the world.” “If God be for us, who against us?” This was the place, and now the time, to battle for the Lord. “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world.” “Let us pray,”
As I uttered the words, a deep hush fell on all in the room, but as the prayer was continued, appealing to the Lord for help, we felt the presence of the strife. Around us invisible combatants seemed to be contending for this passing soul. Sobs came from every bosom, tears from every eye. Still faith kept her stand on the heights of prayer, and as the supplications increased in power it seemed to us as though slowly and surely the enemy was being dislodged. The prayer closed, and one look at the eyes told me that still the demon held the gateways of the soul.
Our dear brother bent over and began to speak. This I felt to be the supreme moment in the strife—that now the time had come for the name above every name “to be magnified.”
I said: “That is not what she wants; speak the name of Jesus to her.” Stooping lower he said: “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, JESUS, JESUS!” until the room resounded with the sound of that precious name. It rose above the sobs that came from all the rest. It seemed to flood my soul with ecstasy. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, JESUS,” he continued, when he Was arrested by a cry from one of the watching women.
“Oh, look, look!” she cried, “what a blessed change! Her face is like the face of a child.”
I looked, and it was even so. The eyes, so lately the outposts of the demon, were now calm and peaceful; the bosom ceased to heave fearfully, and the heart to throb wildly. The devil was gone out of the woman, and the wondering friends around her bed spoke with awe of what they had seen.
“Did you see it?” they exclaimed. “It was in a moment.”
Yes, it was done. Praise and glory to His name!
On that battlefield what thankful hearts gave praise to Him! She slept calmly and peacefully now as we left the room. It was midnight as we passed along the street, and came to the city wall. There we stayed awhile and gazed over the sleeping city, and talked of the city that bath the foundations, whose builder and maker is God. Then with bare heads and thankful hearts, we prayed to God to bless the dying sinner we had left. My dear brother then left me for his home, and I went back to watch the end.
She lay still peacefully breathing. She had not spoken, nor could she speak. The eyes were restful, and her face had a peaceful smile upon it, as of one who had suffered! much but who was tranquil now. I stood and watched her as the hours went on, praying to God on her behalf, and between three and four o’clock in the morning, as I gazed upon her face, she breathed her last.
You ask me, Was she saved? I cannot tell: the day will declare. I cherish the hope even as I speak, and God’s grace seems to encourage me, that she was snatched “as a brand from the burning.” Let me ask now; Are you saved? If not, a fearful hell awaits you; a just and everlasting judgment on your sins. “Flee from the wrath to come.”
(To be concluded)