The Postman's "Red Letter Day."

Listen from:
A THICK mist hung in the valleys, dense clouds rested on the hilltops, the autumn sun seemed trying to rise from behind the cloud wrapt hills, as a postman wended his way across a moorland road with his usual morning’s letters. His step had none of the elasticity which usually characterized it; his brow was clouded, his eyes downcast, and as he stopped at the various houses to which his missives were addressed, the recipients marked the absence of his customary cheery jest, and more than one inquired as to the cause of his despondency. And good cause had he to look distressed, for deeper than the vapor that enshrouded the surroundings was the mist that hung around his soul. A stern conflict was going on in his heart, the conflict between sin and God. He had been brought up by Christian parents, had received careful instruction in the Sunday school, had led a strictly moral life, and was spoken of as a good Christian lad; but now, for the first time, he found himself in God’s presence, and in the light of that presence his comeliness was turned to corruption. He saw that he “was lost and vile indeed;” in his soul there was only “blackness and darkness and tempest;” and in despair he cried out, “What must I do to be saved?”
While in this state he heard a rumbling noise of wheels behind him, and turning round saw approaching him a lumbering baker’s van, so commonly seen in country roads. At the sight of it a ray of hope lighted up his face, for the vanman who accompanied it was a well-known Christian, one of the “revivalist” type, who openly said he was “born again.”
Hitherto the postman had avoided him, as the plain way he spoke to him about his state before God, did not agree with his tastes; but now, awakened to the reality of his lost condition, he welcomed his approach.
One word, fellow Christian: ―Is our light so shining, that anxious souls may at once know, that from us, they will receive suited balm to their weary hearts? or, are our lives emitting so uncertain a sound, that they would hesitate to come to us for needed instruction?
The next delivery the postman had to make was at a farmhouse two miles distant, and, as the baker went to the same place, he knew he would get a drive with him, so, without waiting an invitation, he jumped up and seated himself beside him. Some cursory remarks passed about the weather, and then the vanman inquired as to the cause of his agitation.
His answer was simple, “I am in deep distress about my sins.”
He could say no more, for the load of them seemed crushing him down. For a few moments the vanman closed his eyes and silently thanked God for awakening this soul, and asked for grace to place Christ clearly before him.
“What did Christ say when on the cross?” at length he asked.
“It is finished,” replied the postman.
“But there was something else He said, what was it?” asked the vanman.
“‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’” returned the postman.
“And why did God forsake Christ then?” asked the vanman.
“Because He was bearing sins,” replied the postman.
“But whose sins was He bearing? were your sins on Him?” asked the vanman.
“Yes, my sins were on Him,” said the postman, “for we read ‘the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.’”
“Exactly,” said the vanman; “but is Christ dead now?”
“Oh no!” replied the postman; “God raised Him from the dead.”
“And where is He now?”
“At God’s right hand.”
In a moment the light dawned on the troubled soul; his eye beamed, as he exclaimed “They must be gone.” And they were gone, for Christ had blotted them out.
The house where the postman had to go was now reached, and he came down from that van a new creature. He looked around; the sun had now risen in splendor, the mist from hill and dale had disappeared. Fit illustration of what had taken place within himself, ―the mist of uncertainty gone, and a glorious sun now shining in his heart, a sun that never will go down.
That day was a “red-letter day” in very deed to him, and molded the course of his whole afterlife. True, he had opposition to encounter. His friends thought he was beside himself when he told them he was converted; those who had called him a “good Christian lad” before, now said he had turned a big hypocrite. But he rejoiced that he was counted worthy to suffer shame for Christ’s name; and so will you, anxious reader, if you too, by simple faith, see that your sins have been borne by Jesus, “the substitute from God.”
“‘It is finished!’ ‘He is risen,’
Ye who these blest words receive,
Peace in Him is now your portion,
Peace eternal He will give;
‘Peace unto you!’
All who on His name believe.”
M. R.