Abridged by T. W. M.
PHILIP SHARKEY was a blacksmith at Kilmarnock, a parish and town of Ayrshire, in Scotland. He had been educated as a Romanist. After he had grown to manhood he became an infidel in his opinions, and a profligate in his habits. To use his own words, he had been “for three and fifty years the devil’s honest servant.” His character may be guessed at from what one of his companions said to his biographer. “Ah!” he said, “I see through you; you want to convert me; but try your hand on Sharkey; he’s a merry one, and you won’t go without your answer from Phil.”
After two or three years’ effort to bring Philip Sharkey to “believe on the Lord Jesus Christ” for salvation, he one day said to the earnest minister, “Man, you make me miserable. Yet don’t speak to ither folk that way, do you?”
Shortly after this, God, in His sovereign mercy, plucked this poor sinner as a brand from the burning. One morning the minister found him in his workshop with opened mouth and enlarged heart praising Jesus, and asked, “Who was speaking to you, Philip?”
“There was nobody speaking to me at this time; but I’ll tell you’t a’. On Tuesday morning, after my breakfast, I took my Bible, and read a wee bittie o’ the third chapter o’ John. Weel, as I was reading there was an awful’ thoeht took a hand o’ me; it stanged me just like a bee, an’ put me that I couldna read only main. I saw that Nicodemus was a guid man, a saint beside me, and yet even he couldna be saved unless he was born again; and my conscience said to me, ‘What’ll come o’ a dyvour (a worthless fellow) like you?’ I kenned I had tried to be good and, though I hadna manged it yet, I expected to manage it some time; but to be born again born owre again, I had ne’er tried that. I had ne’er thocht o’ that ava’ (at all), and didna un derstan’ boo it was to be dune; and yet, unles I was born owre again, I couldna see the kingdom o’ God. I was dumbfoundered, an’ ha’ena mind whether I let the book fa’, or flung it frae me; but I got rid o’t, and geed out to shake aff the fear and trouble that it had brocht on me.
But it wouldna shake aff. ‘Hoots!’ said it’s a’ nonsense.’ But something in my heart Said, It’s no nonsense, but a’ true.’ I gaed into the smiddy, and began to work, and tried to Forget it; but no, it grew waur and waur, till I oulna bear’t. I never was in such a state in my life. If ever onybody had a taste o’ hell it was me on Tuesday, staunin’ wi’ the hammer in my haun before the studdy there, an’ the sweat breaking on me in perfect horror. There was hell opening it’s very mouth afore me, an’ there was I just ateppin’ into ‘t; an’ a’ that I had been loin’ for three and fifty years was only heapin’ up sin on my ain head. ‘Oh,’ said I, ‘if I never, never had been born!’ It was awfu’! I couldna bear’t; so I creepit doon on my knees in the Corner, owre among the coals there, (it’s a brave while since I was on my knees before,) and cried out for mercy.
“Weel, I believe I got it. When I was on my knees saying I dinna ken what, a strage licht filled my mind: I saw things clearer than ever I lid afore; na’, things I never saw afore. I had aye kent I was bad enough, and had aye ettled (intended) to be better some time; and though I had never managed it yet, I blamed mysel’ for no being earnest enough, and thocht that the neat time I tried I wad pit out a’ my pith (strength), Ind mak’ a richt reform. But I never saw till I was on my knees there that it was a’ far past that already; that, even though I could mak’ mysel’ better, I wouldna be a bit nearer the nark, for I was lost already, and a’ my strivings, reform or no reform, couldna alter that. But clang wi’ this I saw anither thing: that salvation was a’ settled tae for me by the Lord Jesus; hat afore ever I had sinned ava’, He Himsel’ had ta’en the sin, and suffered for the sin, and sae completely settled salvation for me, that naething was left for me to de but just thankfully to tak’ Him at His offer. Oh, man, hoo my meant grippet at it! and I rose filled wi wonner, that the Lord Jesus wad hae onything to de wi a creator like me. It’s wonnerfu’! but it is the blood of Christ that cleanses from all sin. If I was in hell afore, I hae been in heaven ever since. I never was happy till noo, an’ I believe that I hae never stoppet praying nicht nor day tin’ syne. I prayed a’ nicht yestreen in my dreams. But ye’ll no tell onybody.”
“What! Philip, are you ashamed of the Lord Jesus?”
“No; I was nane ashamed o’ Satan when I served him to my sin sorrow, and do you thin I’ll be ashamed o’ my Saviour? no, no; but to tell you the truth I’m no just sure that will staun’: wait a wee, an see. I have mony a time tried to be guid, but it hae wore off in a day or twa; an’ oh, if this should wear awa’ te! But I hope no, for I never felt onything like this: but I’m a puir weak creatur’, an’ if I canna de the cause ony guid I wadna like to de ‘t ony ill.”
But Philip could not keep the good news to himself. One day he asked, “Hoo comes it that folk pray sae different free what they used to do? Lang syne a’ prayer used to be the dullest thing I ever heard, but noo it’s a perfect treat.” The answer was, “The difference is less in the prayer than in yourself.”
Six weeks after his conversion Philip Sharkey took cold, and four months after that he died. During the whole of his illness he delighted in perusing the Bible. His favorite text was, “The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin.”
Not long before he died his wife said, “But, Philip, are you no fear’t to dee? I declare I’m fear’t when I think o’t.”
He replied, “No, Peggy, woman, what wad I be fear’t for frae a man that de’d for me?”
“But, Philip, have you never any trouble at all when you think about your sins?”
“No, I canna say I have: the blood of Jesus Christ cleanses from all sin, Ye see the view I tak’ o’t is this: God says it, and I just believe it. There are some men so true that I would actually lippen (trust) my soul to their words. Indeed, they micht be mista’en; and so I wadna like to stake my soul on their judgment; but I could at least lippen my soul to their truth. No, no they would not kenningly deceive a puir creatur’ to his eternal ruin. Weel, then, is the Lord Jesus waur than them? Ye ken He canna be mista’en; and is His word no to be trusted as weel at least as the best o’ men’s?” Here wet the rock on which Philip built― Christ’s blood and God’s word.
Another passage of Scripture to which he constantly referred was, “Thou art my hiding place.” “It’s wonderfu’! most wonderfu’! my hiding-place! mine! I used to hide free God, but noo I hide in Him. I used to be fear’t fot Him; and noo a’ my comfort is to be beside Him.”
His confidence never faltered. It was all based on free, full grace, through the precious blood of Christ. One evening a neighbor of his who was ailing in body, and also exercised about his soul, said to him, “Yes, Philip, I believe God is willing to forgive me; but you see I’m bound to be terribly scourged, I have been such a sinner.”
Philip’s reply was, “No, no, man, that won’t do. Nane o’ ye a’, ye ken, hae a richt to speak about sin an’ scourgin’ like me. But my comfort is that the Lord Jesus took a’ my sins, an’ was scourged Himsel’ for them eighteen hunner years since. It’s His scourgin’ gets them forgi’en to me. As for this illness o’ mine, I look on’t as God’s dealin’ wi’ me in love for my ain guid.”
Philip’s end drew nigh: it was perfect peace. The last time his friend saw him he was sorely distressed in body, but calm in soul. With great effort he gasped out, word by word, slowly and painfully, “When―ever―I breathe―my―last― here― I just― drap― drap― into― Christ’s―arms.” He clearly wished to say more, but could not. He took his hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, smiled with a happy smile, and glanced upwards. Shortly after he fell asleep in Jesus.