(A Parable)
As I passed through the little village in early spring I saw before me a beautiful house. The farmer had just brought into the yard his load of lime; his horses were well fed, and all about the place spoke of plenty of this world's goods. He went in and sat down to his dinner, and as I came near I saw a man who stood knocking at the door. There was a friendly look on his face that made me say as I passed on: "The master's at home; they will not keep you waiting long."
Before long I was again on that road; and as soon as I came in sight of the beautiful house, I saw the same man standing knocking. At this I wondered; and as I came near I saw that he stood as one who had knocked long, and as he knocked he listened. Said I: "The farmer is busy making up his books, or counting his money, or eating and drinking. Knock louder, sir, and he will hear you. But," said I, "you have great patience, sir; for you have been knocking a long time. If I were you I would leave him tonight and come back tomorrow."
‘He is in danger, and I must warn him," replied he; and he knocked louder than ever.
Some time afterwards I went that way again, and there stood the man—knocking, knocking, knocking. "Well, sir," said I, "Your perseverance is the most remarkable I ever saw. How long do you mean to stay?"
"Till I can make him hear," was his answer, and he knocked again.
Said I: "He wants for no good thing. He has a fine farm, and flocks, and herds, and barns."
"Yes," he replied, "for the Lord is good even to the unthankful and the evil." Then he knocked again, and I went on my way, wondering at the goodness and patience of this man.
Again I was in those parts. It was very cold weather. There was an east wind blowing and a sleety rain fell. It was getting dark, too; and the pleasantest place as you all know, at such a time is the home fireside. As I came by the farmhouse I saw the light shining through the windows and the smoke of a good fire coming out of the chimney. But there was still the man outside—knocking, knocking. And as I looked at him I saw that his hands and feet had been wounded, and his face was that of one marred with sorrow. My heart was very sad for him, and I said, "Sir, you had better not stand any longer at that hard man's door. Let me advise you to go across the way to the home of the poor widow. She has many children, and she works hard for her daily bread; but she will make you most welcome."
"I know her well," he said. "Her door is ever open to me, for the Lord is the judge of the widow and the father of the fatherless. But she and her children are in bed."
"Then go," I urged, "to the blacksmith's yonder. I see the cheery blaze of his smithy; he works early and late. His wife is a kind-hearted woman. They will treat you like a prince."
He answered solemnly: "I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance."
At that moment the door opened and the farmer came out, cursing and swearing. With a cudgel in his hand he smote the man and then angrily shut the door in his face.
This excited a fierce anger in me. I was full of indignation that anyone should treat a stranger in that fashion. I was ready to burst into the house and strike him in his turn. But the patient stranger laid his hand upon my arm and said: "Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth."
"Sir," I exclaimed, "your patience and your long-suffering are wonderful! They are beyond my comprehension."
"The Lord is long-suffering, full of compassion, slow to anger, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance." And again he knocked as he answered me.
It was dark and cold. The smithy was closed. They were shutting up the inn; and I made haste to find shelter for the night, wondering more and more at the patience and pity of the man. In the public-house I learned from the landlord the character of the farmer; and late as it was I went back to the patient stranger and said: "Sir, come away! He is not worth all this trouble. He is a hard, cruel, wicked man. He has robbed the fatherless, he has defamed his friend, he has built his house in iniquity. Come away, sir. Make yourself comfortable with us by the warm fireside. This man is not worth saving."
With that he spread his wounded palms before me; he showed me his wounded feet, and his side which they had pierced. I beheld that it was the Lord Jesus!
"Smite him, Lord," I cried in my indignation; "Then perhaps he will open to Thee."
"Of a truth he shall hear Me. In the Day of Judgment he shall hear Me when I say, Depart from Me, thou worker of iniquity, into everlasting darkness, prepared for the devil and his angels."
After these words I saw Him no more. The wind blew; the sleety rain fell; and I went back to the inn.
In the night there was a knocking at my chamber door. "Get up, get up," cried my landlord. "You are wanted with a neighbor who is at the point of death."
Away I hurried along the street, to the end of the village, to the very farmhouse where the Stranger had knocked so long. But before I reached the house I heard the farmer's voice in agony: "Oh, Lord Jesus, save me! Oh, God, have mercy upon me! Just a day—just an hour—to get ready! Oh, save me!"
His wife was wringing her hands, his children were frightened out of their senses. "Pray, pray for me!" he cried. "Oh, man, pray for me. He will hear you; me He will not hear."
I knelt to pray; but it was too late. He was gone!
"He, that being often reproved hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without remedy." Proverbs 29:1.