ONE Sunday night I sat down and looked back over my past life, and said to myself, “If ever there was a man who deserved to go to heaven, I am he! What more could anyone do for salvation than I have done? I am never out of my place at church; my attendance at the Sabbath school is most regular; if a sick person needs visiting, I am always ready―a good husband, a kind father; conscientious in my dealings with others―upright and honest; such am I.”
This was not the first time I had thought thus complacently, and in consequence had felt quite satisfied that, so far as I was concerned, all was right.
But, in spite of this, something within me seemed to say, “If I were you, William, I would ask God to show you if there is anything more needed than all this, and also to show you if you really are quite fit for His presence.”
“Yes,” I thought, “I will ask God to show me anything wrong in myself that wants putting right.” So I went upstairs and said, “Oh, God, show me if I am wrong, and show me where I am wrong, if there is anything wrong about me.” I was in earnest, really wishing to be right.
From that moment I began to see all sorts of evil things in myself, not only learning that I had done some wrong things, but that I myself was a vile, hateful creature, lost, ruined, undone. I also saw that I was all wrong in fancying that good deeds had made me fit for God. The more I cried to God, the more wretched I became. I began to see myself in my true colors, and felt, as God looked me through and through, that I was lost. Oh! I shall never forget the misery of those five weary months: I was too wretched to work, eat, or sleep.
I made up my mind to go to my religious instructor and tell him my case, and see if he could help me. I did so, but he did not understand me a bit. When I told him. I was lost—a vile sinner, longing to know how to be saved, and taken out of this state of misery, he evidently did not know what I meant.
Then I spoke to other religious friends, but they only said, “You must have committed some very dark deed that no one knows anything about, and it troubles your conscience.”
My poor wife was quite amazed at me.
She knew I had not committed any dark deed, but she could not understand how a good-living man could be so wretched about his state before God; she thought, poor thing, that I was going crazy.
But I had come to the light. For the first time for nearly forty years my eyes had been opened to see my true condition before God. I had learned that I was lost. My real state was laid bare before me, and I had learned that in God’s sight my nature was as bad as that of the worst criminal that ever lived.
My fellow-workmen ridiculed me; they thought me out of my senses. Ah, those five weary months! I was almost distracted. Not a friend in the world that I knew who could help me.
How I longed for salvation, and for that which would deliver me from the “wrath to come,” At last one morning I opened my Bible and threw myself down upon the floor, and cried from the depths of my soul in the words I read there in Psalms 69 “Save me, O God; for the waters are come in unto my soul... O God, Thou knowest my foolishness; and my sins are not hid from Thee. I am in trouble; hear me speedily; draw nigh unto my soul, and redeem it.”
I cast myself upon God, for nothing tilt, His mercy could avail for my soul, and then went out to work, looking up to God for an answer to my cries.
Whilst at work, and still looking to God, all at once a sweet and holy sense of the pardoning love of God filled my soul. It descended upon me like dew from heaven, and a holy, joy possessed me. It was as though heaven itself filled my whole being. The Spirit of God had come upon me. I was so filled with happiness that I dropped my tools, ran straight into the workshop, and called out to the men, “The Lord has saved my soul.”
It was just as if a thunderbolt had fallen in the midst of my comrades. For months they had been teasing and bantering me, and I had been cowed before them, feeling myself a poor ruined sinner. Now I was as bold as a lion.
“Yes,” I said, “He has saved my soul, and He is ready to save yours.” This was too much for them. They all hastily left the shop.
Away I went home, and told my wife the good news, but she, thinking it was only a new phase of my complaint, wrung her hands, and cried, “He is now clean gone mad!”
Full of joy, love, and praise, I wanted someone to praise the Lord with me. “Well,” I thought, “if my friend did not understand my case before, he will do so now.”
So off I went to tell him the good news, but my joy seemed as strange as my sorrow had done before.
After that I told any who seemed likely to be interested, but no one cared for my story, or entered into what I felt, till one day venturing to say to a gentleman, for whom I was working, “I hope, sir, this new building will prove a good thing for you,” he replied, “For my part, I do not think much about it; these things sit very lightly on me; I have something far beyond all this world can give.”
“Perhaps he will understand my case,” I thought. So I told him what a self-satisfied Pharisee I had been, and also how God had opened my eyes, and how He had made me see myself lost, and had saved me when I came to Him as a poor lost sinner. As I told the gentleman this, I heard him say, “Bless the Lord!”
My heart danced with joy. I had felt that I ought to praise the Lord, but never could get anyone to join me before in blessing Him. This gentleman gave me a book, in which I read of one similar to myself, and I learned that there were others who had passed through somewhat the same deep exercise of soul.
After this I was asked by a friend to go to a prayer-meeting, and, when I told of the Lord’s goodness to me, there was such a chorus of voices, saying, “Bless the Lord!” that I felt, “This is just what I want―christian companionship with people who can bless the Lord.”
Now I can praise the Lord for saving me, and not only so, but for many years I have spent my time, when not at my work, in telling others of the Saviour.
Such is the story of one who, like many others, was quietly gliding into the lake of fire, self-satisfied and self-deceived. His case is that of thousands. Is it yours, my reader? Do you know what it is to be lost? Do you know what it is to be saved? You are either one or the other. In hell all are lost, and as the wail of those who neglected mercy rises from the abyss we hear them cry, “Is this mercy clean gone forever?” and sadly, solemnly, comes back the echo, “Gone forever.” In heaven all are saved, and were you to ask, “By whom or by what?” their reply would be, “We are here wholly, solely, and entirely through the blood of the Lamb that was slain on Calvary.”
Reader, today you are neither in heaven nor in hell, but today you are either saved or lost―fit for heaven, or fit for hell! Which is it? Have you hitherto thought yourself right? Let me persuade you, do as our friend did―go straight to God, and go to Him now, and say, “If I am wrong, O God, show me where and in what.”
Let me tell you this, that, if you have never been to God as a lost sinner, you have never been to God at all. You may be even a preacher of the gospel, and yet after all be lost. Preaching will not save―good works will not save: there is salvation only in Christ. Good works, in a scriptural sense, flow from salvation, but never produce it. The grace of God first brings salvation; then teaches us to deny ungodliness and worldly lusts. Salvation first; good works next. Reverse the order, and you will never get one or accomplish the other. For a work to be really good it must not be selfish. Test your good works, and see if they do not proceed from a selfish motive, instead of a pure, unaffected love for God.
“We love Him because He first loved us,” is the Christian’s motto; we serve Him because He died for us, is the power that constrains a truly saved man to work for Him. All other motives are worthless. The love of Christ is the grand power from which all true service flows. Is this your own? If not get alone with God at once; cry to Him to open your eyes, and may He in His mercy save your precious soul ‘ere it be too late― ‘ere you are found among a multitude who recount their “good deeds,” and who heal the voice of Him, whom no hypocrite can deceive― “Depart from Me: I never knee you.”
There were three distinct epochs in the life of this man.
For many years he was lost, and did not know it, and yet was quiet and undisturbed. This was the death-like peace of false security.
Then for five months he was wretched and unhappy because he knew he was lost.
Now for many years, saved through the finished work of Christ, he is filled with true peace and abiding joy, delighting to tell others of this great salvation.
How do you stand this moment, dear reader? H. N.