THE gray shades of an October evening were beginning to fall over the city of London. The dim daylight was gradually giving way before the still dimmer twilight, rendering more and more difficult the task of two young men, as they bent over their’ books at—Hospital.
“Well, I have done for today,” exclaimed one, and suiting the action to the word, he shut up his books, and prepared to go home. “Good-night, old fellow,” he continued, “I will think over what you said, though I don’t care much about that line of things.”
His companion did not reply. “Poor E―,” he sighed to himself, “his line of things will soon be ended. Why mill not men think of eternity? Although so shrewd and sharp as to everything this side of life’s horizon, many seem stone-blind to their eternal future.”
Reader, atop for a moment, and consider. You will soon be in eternity. You are rapidly passing onward. Every beat of your pulse, every throb of your heart, every tick of your watch, tells you that you are GOING! But whither? Soon you will be GONE! But where?
Not many minutes had elapsed since the words above recorded were uttered before E― appeared once more.
“Oh, I am glad you are still here, B―,” he began, “for there is someone in the colonnade wanting to see you, ―a Salvation Army girl. She will not say what her errand is, or send a message by anyone else.”
“Thank you, E―. I will go at once then.”
As the young man spoke, he rose, put away his books, and went to see his visitor. A few moments brought him to the lodge, where she stood waiting.
“You wish to see me he inquired.
“Are you Mr. B―?”
“Yes; but I have not the pleasure of knowing you.” “Nor I you. But perhaps you remember this.”
So saying, the young lady pulled from her pocket a little piece of paper, and put it into his hands. At once he recognized it as a prescription that he had given to a woman for her cough, some it months before, and on which was his name and address.
“It is the owner of that who wants to see you,” said the girl, she is very ill, and asked me to come for you before he died. If you can come with me now, I will show you the way.”
“I will do so,” replied Mr. B―. “Is it far from here?”
“It is near P—; we can get there in half an hour, if we take the Underground Railway.”
“Let us start at once then, and on the way you can tell me more about the woman.”
“It is not the woman for whom you ordered the medicine who wants to see you, but a young person, probably her daughter, who was nursing the other when you attended her. She says you gave her a, little book, and spoke to be? about salvation. A comrade of mine, with myself, came across her to, day, just after the doctor had been, and told her there was no hope. We stopped a little while with her, and my comrade is there now.”
“Well, what did you say, or do while you were with the poor invalid?”
“Oh, we prayed with her, and sang―
‘Down at the cross where my Saviour died,’
and told her to trust the blood.”
“Ah! there is virtue indeed in the precious, blood. It speaks of a life laid down for us, a sacrifice which opens the way for God to shower down all the wealth of His love upon undeserving sinners, and to save with a complete salvation all who trust in Jesus. Do you think the poor woman we are goat to see knows the value of the precious blood?”
“Yes, I think she is all right, but she does not feel so happy as she might. She keeps saying, ‘Yes, I trust the sprinkled blood, but there is something else, something else!’ But we, told her there is nothing else, and that she ought to feel happy, and keep trusting in the blood. But she only replied― “I can’t feel happy, and there is something else. And then she asked me to come for you, and said you would tell her.”
By this time the two had nearly reached their destination. A few steps farther took them into a little back slum, within a few minutes’ walk of, one of the most fashionable parts of London.
Words would fail to describe the state of that slum. Making the most of the little light that remained, our two friends pursued their way, now passing between groups of half-naked children, playing upon heaps of refuse; now pushing through a crowd collected to witness a drunken brawl. At length they came to the house they were seeking. It was one of the most miserable kind. Filled with the odor of gin and tobacco; cobwebs everywhere abundant; the floors and stairs broken and filthy―the sight was enough to sicken the least sensitive. Fortunately, however, neither of the two visitors was unfamiliar with such places, and without much difficulty they managed to climb the dilapidated staircase, and find the dark, dingy, comfortless attic, where the object of their search lay.
It was a few seconds before their eyes got accustomed to the dismal light, but when they were able to see, a pitiful sight met their gaze. On the bed lay a young woman, whose face told the oft-repeated tale of the ravages of consumption. It was only too evident that she was dying.
“I am glad you have come,” she said, in a weak voice, “I knew you would.”
“I am pleased to have been able to do so,” replied the visitor, “but why did you send for me?”
“Oh, sir,” she answered, making a great effort to speak, “you gave me a little book last May, and told me the blood of Jesus would make me safe; but there is something else. What is it?”
“There is nothing else needed for salvation but resting on the work which our blessed Saviour did when He shed His precious blood. You may stake your soul on the value of that, and be eternally safe. Nothing that we could do could procure salvation for us, but even though we are such ungodly sinners, Christ died for us. He undertook to settle the question of sin, and He settled it by going to the cross for us. His settlement has completely satisfied God, and has set Him free to offer full and free pardon to all who believe. You are one of these, are you not?”
“Yes, yes,” was the feeble reply, “but there is something else. Sir, I am dying; can you make me sure that I am safe?”
“No; but God can, and He has taken pains to do so. He first points us to the blood of Jesus as the ground of our safety, and then points us to His own infallible Word as the ground for our assurance. It is as if He said, ‘See, in order that you may be sure that it is all right with you, I make a definite statement about all you who believe in My Son. You are all justified from all things (Acts 13:39). This is absolutely true of everyone who trusts in the finished work of My Beloved Son.’ Do you see? Christ’s work for you makes you safe, and God’s word about you makes you sure.”
“That’s it! That’s it!” gasped the dying woman, the tears trickling down her face. “That is what I have been trying to remember. But I see it now. Yes, sir, that is what the book you gave me says.”
With these words she turned around, and pulled from under her pillow a crumpled, well-thumbed copy of the little book called “Safety, Certainty, and Enjoyment,” doubled back at page 21.
“Here,” said she, giving it to one of the Army girls, “take it to the window and read it. I remember it all now. ‘The sprinkled blood makes us safe. The spoken word makes us sure.’”
Those were the last words that fell from her lips. Kneeling by her bedside in prayer and praise to God, the three visitors saw her head fall back, and within ten minutes of her last utterance, she was “absent from the body, present with the Lord.” She had passed from the misery of the London slum into the joy of Christ’s own presence.
After reverently closing her eyes, Mr. B — turned to his two companions, and said, “You see now what the ‘something else’ is. She was safe, because under shelter of the blood of Christ. But she had ‘something else’ to make her sure, and that was God’s unchangeable Word. Yes, the work of Christ for our salvation, and the Word of God for our assurance. Will you keep the little book, and study it well in remembrance of this solemn occasion?”
The young man then took his leave, thanking God for His grace in allowing him to witness, not only the cleansing power of the blood of Christ, but also the assuring power of the Word of God. Vividly came the scripture to his mind: “These things have I written unto you that believe on the name of the Son of God; that ye may KNOW that ye have eternal life” (1 John 5:13).
Dear reader, one word with you in conclusion. Do you possess the absolute certainty of your soul’s salvation?
Let us suppose that you are trusting to the work of Christ alone for safety. You would shrink with horror from relying upon anything else, whether good works, a moral life, or religious observances Yet you are not sure that you are saved. You have not got the “something else.” You do not rest upon what God says about all who believe in Jesus. For He says: “By him all that believe are justified from all things” (Acts 13:39).
Resting your faith upon this, you can say, “Thank God, then I am justified from all things, for I believe in Jesus, and God says all who do so are justified.”
Nothing but God’s Word can afford a solid, stable basis for assurance. Peace founded on happy feelings will vanish when the feelings change. Assurance based upon our own assumed sanctity will break down when we fail. But the Word of God stands firm.
Let every servant of God, then, “preach the Word” (2 Tim. 4:2). Let nothing take its place. Experience, relating as a ground for assurance, is worse than worthless. It creates despair in those who have not had experiences like those described, and fosters pride in those who have. Nothing but the solid ministry of God’s own Word will produce results that will last.
And if Satan should ever whisper in your ear, dear fellow-believer, that it is presumption to speak with certainty as to our salvation, just quote to him a “Thus saith the Lord,” and remind him that he who believes God is not so presumptuous as he who doubts Him. E. V. G.