A Narrative especially commended to Infidel objectors.
ONE morning, the late Dr. F — received a letter from a friends stating that a neighbor of his, an intelligent man, but professedly a skeptic, was apparently very near his end; and, though he refused to see any other Christian visitor, was willing, he could scarcely say wishful, to see Dr. F —, whom he had seen and once heard, and whom he thought a sincere man. He went, as requested, and on entering the chamber of this apparently dying skeptic, he beheld the attenuated form of one who had been, a tall, athletic man, struggling under the ravages of a disease at once the most painful and incurable. Dr. F —made some kind inquiries respecting his disease, and, after suggesting some means calculated to soothe his pain, alluded to the sufferings of Christ, who died for us, and gave Himself a ransom for sinners—who, equal with the Father, and one with Him, humbled Himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross, that through His blood we might have peace with God. Hearing this, the dying man said, “Sir, I don’t believe that. I wish I could, as my dear wife does: she believes all you say.” “Well,” said Dr. F—, “but you say you wish you could, and that is a great point towards attaining it, if you are sincere. Now what do you believe concerning Jesus Christ?” “Why,” said he, very inarticulately, “I believe that such a man once lived, and that he was a very good, sincere man; but that is all.” It was a principle with Dr. F—, when reasoning with unbelievers, if they acknowledged the smallest portion of truth, to make it a position from which to argue with them. This mode he adopted in the present case, and said, “You believe that Christ was a good man—a sincere man; now do you think that a good man would wish to deceive others, or a sincere man use language which must mislead?” “Certainly not,” said he. “Then how do you reconcile your admission that He was a good man with his saying to the Jews, ‘I and my Father are one?’ When the Jews took up stones to kill Him, because He made Himself equal with the Father, He did not undeceive them, but used language confirmatory of His Godhead; and He further said, My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me, and I give unto them eternal life.’ How could any mere man say, ‘I give unto them eternal life?’ Could any angel even, however exalted— “Stop!” cried the dying man, with an excited voice. “Stop, sir; I never saw this before; a new light breaks in upon me—stop, sir!” Holding up his emaciated hand, as if fearing that a breath might obscure the new light breaking in upon his benighted soul, and with a countenance lighted up with a sort of preternatural expression, he fixed his eyes intently upon Dr. F—, and after a short, but most solemn pause, he exclaimed, the big tears rolling down his face, “Sir, you are a messenger of mercy, sent by God Himself to save my soul. Yes, Christ is God, and He died to save sinners—yes, even me.” His feelings were so excited as to be almost too much for the wasted body; and Dr. F—was so powerfully affected as to be only able to conclude the interview with prayer, and a promise to renew his visit next day, referring him before he left to some suitable portions of Scripture on which to rest his faith and hope.
The next day he found him propped up in bed, literally “a new man,” with all the eagerness of a hungry man seeking to be fed with the bread of life, and yet, with all the simplicity of a child, trusting in the promises of God, which are “yea and amen in Christ Jesus.” He candidly confessed that though he had rejected the gospel as unworthy of credit, he had never before read it—a painful fact, which, however, is not unfrequently found to be the case with infidel objectors. The mind of the dying man seized upon each successive truth, as it was unfolded to his view, with an avidity indescribable. He seemed almost to forget the severe sufferings of his body in the absorbing impression left upon his mind by the great and glorious facts of the gospel. The more clearly he perceived the certainty that Jesus was a divine person, the more overwhelming was his sense of His condescension and love. He spoke as though he felt that on such a Saviour his confidence could not be misplaced; and in proportion as his bodily frame decayed, his faith triumphed. He gave his eldest child a copy of the New Testament, with all the passages marked by his own hand which had been especially useful to him in the way of instruction or consolation, and he desired her, as the last request of her dying father, to read it daily, never to part with it, but to make its blessed contents her guide through life, that they might prove her comfort in death. He lived but a brief space longer to enjoy the light which had been by the Spirit of God caused to shine upon his heart. And then he departed, bearing an affecting testimony to the fact that “great,” in its power of relieving the conscience, of removing the dread of condemnation, and of inspiring a holy confidence in prospect of eternity, “is the mystery of godliness, God was manifest in the flesh.”— An Extract.