A FEW months ago a lady in England wrote to a friend in New York, concerning a son of hers who had gone to America and was then in one of the Western States. News about him had made her long to have him with her again, and she now wrote to this friend to help her in getting him back. She apprehended for him the passage through New York, and greatly desired that some one might receive him there upon his arrival by train, take care of him till a certain vessel sailed and see him safe on board this vessel for London.
The lady's friend was, himself, about to sail for England: his time was already set, and barely allowed the youth to reach New York from the distant place where he was. He arrived however a few hours before the time of sailing, and both, with other friends, were soon plowing through the angry waves of the disturbed Atlantic.
It did not take long to see that the young man had been, during his residence in the West, taking lessons at a sad school. His protector and friend felt deeply grieved, and thought to himself,—What an end for the poor young man unless the goodness of God lead him to repentance. Also, what a sorrow for his Christian mother when she discovers all this. It reminded him, with pain, of another mother's saying: “When my children were small they trod on my dress, now they tread on my heart.”
Under these feelings he spoke to the young man, telling him what weighed on his heart. The youth freely confessed that his life in the West had been very wild and wicked, but when he was in bad company he could not help doing as they did. He once tried to be a Christian, but he had been unable to walk as one, and now he thought it was useless for him to make any more attempt at it. Evidently to be a Christian was, in his mind, as it is, alas! in many more, to do something nice for God. Oh! how long it takes often, and how much humbling, to bring a soul to know that it is not so, but just the other way, i.e., that it is God who has done, something wonderful for us.
A few clays later, the young man was conversing with a lady passenger, and as she spoke to him of his soul he said, “Oh yes! this is all very well, but I am young, and I want to enjoy myself; I want to see life.”
“And what if you should see death?" was the lady's prompt reply.
This smote him, and with a troubled look he said, “I don't want to think about that.”
Shortly after this he was taken ill, and, to the end of the voyage, moved only with pain from his bed to a lounge in the saloon. There he would lie, evidently sad at heart, and from time to time opening his mind to his friends. All he could say was about his wickedness, and how justly God might have cut him off in the midst of it. "And I believe His hand is upon me now," he said once.
The last day of the voyage had come, and it was Sunday. The captain had requested a servant of Christ on board to preach, and as many as could or would, at the hour, assembled in the saloon. The sick young man was there too.
The preacher read for his text a part of the tenth chapter of Luke,—the "Good Samaritan." In his discourse he showed how that the Lord is there, in a wonderful manner, teaching the lawyer what he really is: a poor sinner, who has left Jerusalem— the place of God's abode—to go to Jericho—the place of God's judgment: that the Priest and the Levite—the representatives of law—did the man no good; and so trying and trying, doing, doing, doing, could bring no sinner one step nearer God. After all his efforts, he was still there in the same place as the devil, that great thief, had left him, naked, wounded, bleeding, half dead.
But it is just then the Saviour meets him. Jesus came to seek and to save that which was lost. The sinner is guilty—Jesus died for him. The sinner is away from God—Jesus came to reconcile him to God. The knowledge of this is the binding up of his wounds, with oil and wine poured in, i.e., peace in his soul, —peace with God.
The preacher said much more about that blessed scripture, but what is now related took hold of the young man's soul.
“I never heard anything like it," he said to someone after the meeting. “Why, if the preacher had known everything about me, he couldn’t have told it out more fully. I never saw the gospel like this before. I always thought I must try very hard, and do a great deal, but here it is plain it is not so. It is because Jesus died for our sins a sinner is saved when he believes, and not because he does some great thing for Jesus.”
Scarcely had the young man reached his mother's house, when it became plain his illness was very dangerous. Week after week he lay upon his bed between life and death. His friend and fellow voyager saw him twice, and all seemed peace in that chamber, where the next visitor might be he who, a short time since, was to him the king of terrors. They spoke as freely as the sick one's strength allowed about the things unseen. The king of terrors had become to him only a servant, to let him "out of the body" where he was suffering, to be "present with the Lord" where perfect bliss flows on without a break.
Oh, the power of the grace of Gods! It "bringeth salvation "first of all; then sets to work," teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world; looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the great God and our Saviour Jesus Christ: who gave himself for us, that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himself a peculiar people, zealous of good works.”
The young man still lives at the time of penning these lines; and should it please God to restore him to health again, He will, no doubt, teach him, as He has already saved him. The "Good Samaritan” was not content with merely binding up the wounds, and pouring in oil and wine, but also “set him on his own beast," i.e., Christ gives power for a holy walk as freely as He saves.
Reader, may you know the grace of which WE speak.
“Great God of wonders! all Thy ways
Are wondrous, matchless, and divine;
But the blest triumphs of Thy grace
Most marvelous, unrivall'd shine
Who is a pardoning God like Thee?
Or who has grace so rich and free?”
P. J. L.