IT has often been noticed with wonder that, among the teeming myriads of mankind, it is impossible to find two faces exactly alike. But if people are dissimilar in outward features, how infinitely more diverse are they in nature; and yet however opposed their characteristics may be, there is that in the Lord Jesus Christ which can satisfy the longings of every nature, and the deep necessities of every soul. Thus a Peter leaves his nets, a Matthew his counting house, a Luke his pharmacy, a Paul his parchments; and Jesus, in the divine adaptability of His nature, is the attraction to them all. To illustrate this adaptability of His nature, and this attractiveness of His person, we would narrate the story of three conversions, only premising that, while in God's Word the possession of Life is connected with belief in the Person of the Son of God (John 3:3636He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on him. (John 3:36)), the possession of Peace is always associated with the knowledge of Christ's work (Rom. 4:2323Now it was not written for his sake alone, that it was imputed to him; (Romans 4:23)—5:1); and that though two at least of those whose conversions we are about to record, received life, and knew it, through believing on God's Son, yet they, in common with all believers, would have to learn, though it were subsequently, that Jesus was not only the Son of God, but the Savior of sinners also.
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Gaily shone the sun upon one of our fashionable watering-places, and happy crowds thronged the shore, bent upon enjoying their holiday at the sea; while health, strength, and merriment seemed to pervade the scene, for "Youth was at the prow, and Pleasure at the helm." But as if to afford a contrast to the happy throngs, a little deformed woman, scarce four feet high, was slowly making her way along the Promenade.
And as we strode along, the loneliness of this poor little misshapen thing, and the terrible nature of her affliction, which debarred her from all those hopes which are most dear to a woman's heart, touched us most deeply, and we cried to God that, since so much that others had had been denied to her down here, He would recompense her by revealing to her His own love.
And now we reach our destination, for we are about to hold a children's service on the sands; and here, awaiting us, their sand cathedral already well advanced, are a goodly crowd of little ones, and many grown-up people too, who are attracted daily by the simple story of God's grace. A few more finishing touches we give to the cathedral seats, and then, having dealt out the hymn-books to willing hands, we are soon happily employed in singing the Savior's love. And as the hymn proceeds, we hear just behind us a little shrill child-like voice piping away, and turning to see who this hearty singer may be, our eyes fall on our little deformed friend of the Promenade. And as the children resume their seats, and our companion is commencing his address, we whisper to her, sitting as she does just beside us, “We have just been singing of Jesus' love; may I ask you, do you know it for yourself?”
“Oh, yes," she brightly replies, "I am glad to say I do."
“And how long have you known it, may I ask?”
"About eighteen months now."
“And what was it that led you to Him?"
"Oh, sir, I felt so lonely."
Yes, she had felt lonely once, but now she had the blessed company of Jesus, and she will feel lonely nevermore. Thus Jesus satisfied a lonely heart.
Let us next see how He satisfied a sinful one. Not that the person whose conversion we are about to narrate was an open sinner ; on the contrary, she was in every way a most moral and respectable woman, the wife of the pew-opener at a certain church, and one who was most regular in her attendance at it. But for all this she felt uneasy as to her sins. So, one day, when the district visitor called, she unburdened herself to her.
“Do you attend the sacrament?" asked the latter.
“No, I do not, ma'am," replied our friend, “for I have never been confirmed."
“Oh, then you ought to be confirmed," said the district visitor, and accordingly our friend shortly afterwards received a visit from the curate, who pressed the rite upon her, explaining at the same time that he had seven other grown-up candidates who would keep her company. "And," he added, “I assure you, Mrs. H., if you are confirmed you'll never regret it." So she was duly confirmed and attended at the communion, but the curate's forecast was destined not to be fulfilled; for looking around at the women who had been prepared for confirmation with her, and seeing their careless, godless, week-day lives, and then meeting them on Sunday at the communion-rail; and looking within at her own sinful heart, she began to regret that she had ever been persuaded to take the step.
It was in this frame of mind that, taking a stroll one evening, she saw a tent being erected in a neighboring field, and enquiring of one of the onlookers what it was being erected for, she received a reply that a gentleman was coming to preach "the new religion" there. Wondering what the new religion might be, and satisfied that her old religion had done her no good, she determined to attend on Sunday at the opening service, and hear what the preacher had to say.
But the new religion after all was nothing very new: it was at least as old as the Passover night; for the preacher took the twelfth chapter of Exodus for his text, and explained how judgment fell on every house in Egypt which was not sheltered by the blood of the Paschal lamb, and that, similarly, the judgment of God was overhanging a guilty world, and would assuredly fall on all who failed to take shelter beneath the blood of Christ. And if our friend was uneasy before, she was in an agony of distress now. Guilty? Yes, she was guilty, and she felt she had added to her guilt by attending at the communion: for what was the blood of Jesus to her? she was sure she had not taken shelter beneath it, and she was certain now that she had no right to be there. But at this moment the preacher gave out an announcement He said that next evening he hoped to tell the story of his own conversion; of how he, an infidel, had become a preacher of Christ: and accordingly next night found our friend once more in the tent.
The preacher began by assuring his hearers that all that religion could do for him, had been done. He had been christened in Jordan water, but he had been christened in his sins; he had been confirmed at fourteen years of age, but he had been confirmed in his sins; he had attended at the communion, but he had partaken of it in his sins. And gradually the unsatisfactoriness of it all had been pressed upon his mind; besides, he looked around and saw the lives of so-called Christians, and began to think that if this were Christianity, then was Christianity a sham. Next he turned to the Bible, and because he could not understand it, he soon discarded that, together with the professors of religion, as a sham also. And one may well imagine how in all this God was speaking to our anxious friend, for step by step, their experiences had been almost identical.
People, then, were shams, and the Bible was a sham, Was truth to be found anywhere? If so he would find it; and as he read a novel one day he came across the tag end of St. Chrysostom's prayer, “Grant us in this world the knowledge of Thy truth, and in the world to come life everlasting." Here, then, were his longings formulated; he longed for truth, and for life everlasting. Now, though he had discarded revelation, he had not discarded God; he would have been glad to do so, but there was that within him that spoke of God and a future state. So he cried to God, “Grant me in this world the knowledge of Thy truth, and in the world to come life everlasting," and God heard his prayer; for directly afterwards someone met him and said, “By-the-by, I hear that old Mr. C. is coming to preach at the new church."
Now by this time he had given up going to church, save occasionally for respectability's sake; and if he went anywhere he went to the old church, because the singing was good and the sermons were short, and he thought that if you had religion at all, you had better have it lively. Still he had heard people speak well of old Mr. C., so he would go and hear him. He went and offered up his one prayer. But, alas, it was a begging sermon, from which he carried nothing away, and, it must be confessed, he left little behind, However, he thought he would give the old preacher another trial, so he went again at night. And now all was changed. The old clergyman was like an uncaged bird; he was full of life and fire, as smiting mightily the pulpit cushion he thundered forth, “He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life": do you?
Do you? Where could our infidel friend be? Had he mistaken his way, and strolled into a Ranter's Conventicle? No, the Ten Commandments in front of him, and the lion and the unicorn behind, forbade the thought! And yet where were the proprieties?—where the generalities to which he had been from a child accustomed? This was no third-person-singular address, but a question which like a sharp-edged sword pierced him to the very soul. And life depended on the answer he could give to it; for “he that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life." Life was alone in Christ: he would, he did, believe in Him. And so, as he left the church, he said to one who had accompanied him, “Thank God, I know that I have everlasting life." He had asked God in this world for knowledge of the truth, and God had granted this portion of his prayer, and given him the knowledge of His Son, who is the Truth. He had asked for life everlasting in the world to come; but God had gone beyond this request, and given him the knowledge of it here.
And as the pew-opener's wife walked homewards with her husband, she, too, thanked God that everlasting life was hers; and later, with the tears running down her cheeks, she told the tent preacher of God's goodness to her, and added, "Oh! sir, what a different communion was the next one that I attended! What happiness! What joy! For now I know that His blood was shed, and His body given, for me."
Thus Jesus met and satisfied one who was lonely, one who was seeking after truth, and one who was anxious about her sins.
And, my reader, will you, who have followed me thus far, do me one parting favor? If you cannot truly say that everlasting life is yours as a believer in God's Son, will you kneel down, and, slightly altering and individualizing the ending of St. Chrysostom's prayer, say, " O God, grant me in this world the knowledge of Thy truth, and grant me in this world life ever-lasting, for Jesus Christ's sake "? J. F.