Some years ago whilst going round with some Tracts in a certain poor district, I knocked at the door of a garret-room in a high back-land. As no one opened, and I thought I heard a faint voice within, I raised the latch and entered. In a bed in the wall, supporting himself on one arm, whilst the other hand held back the bed curtain, was a strange weird-looking old man: his eyes gleaming out of an unshaven face, gave him a peculiarly wild look, the effect of which was heightened by the eager gesticulation with which he immediately began to address me, in what at first appeared to be an unknown tongue.
He turned out to be an old Highlander, who could scarcely speak a word of English. With some difficulty I made out that he lived alone in the house, and was not on speaking terms with his neighbors, that he had seen no one since the day before; and having been suddenly taken very ill, had not been able to leave his bed to make his state known, nor to get as much as a drink of water. As I turned to see if I could not supply this want, I was struck with the bare desolate look of everything in the little room. A small pan was on the hob; but only black cinders in the grate; and opening the cupboard, not a particle of food of any kind was there but an old dry crust. He drank the cold water eagerly, and on giving back the cup, laid hold of my hands, with his dry burning ones, as if after aid I would leave him, before he had finished all he had to say. He had been long too ill to work, he said, and now “the bawbees were all done,” he would have to apply to the parish for assistance; but he had no one to send, and did not know how to set about it. But I had come, as he said, a good Missionary, I would manage the whole thing for him, and with the words, “I’m trusting all to you,” he sank down exhausted on his wretched bed. He had thrown his burden of care upon me, and with this last effort his worn-out mind and body succumbed. He could answer no questions, nor did he understand a word I said, and the only thing for me was to take up the case. So with these words, “I’m trusting all to you,” urging me on, I rested not till the poor friendless dying man was cared for.
Many a time since this little incident has recurred to my mind as an illustration of faith. “The poor committeth himself unto Thee.”
To a Scotch ear, the old fashioned word “lippen,” has a fuller, deeper meaning of trust and confidence, than the word “commit.” “I can lippen all to Him now,” said one lately, who had been long groaning under his own burden, “ and oh, how happy I have been all day long, in the thought of my Saviour’s nearness and willingness to supply all my need,—“I, too, will lippen all to Him,” said a dying man, to whom was narrated the above little incident, as illustrating the nature of saving faith; and leaning upon One mighty to save, with the everlasting arms beneath him, and around him, he was carried through the dark valley, as a little child resting safe and happy in its mother’s bosom.
True faith has respect not simply to the truth about Jesus, but to Jesus Himself. It is to a living Person we must “trust,” not to a doctrine, a fact, or abstract truth. The knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus is precious, just as it leads to the knowledge of Jesus Himself. When we truly know Him, we cannot but trust Him, knowing ourselves to be lost and perishing, and Jesus to be the only and all-sufficient Saviour.
“I believe that Jesus died for sinners, and that He is the only Saviour,” said a wife one day in my hearing, wondering at the new-found “believing” which filled her husband with peace and joy. “O woman,” said he, “the devils believe that, and they only tremble.” The faith that leads the soul to trust all to Jesus, believes that too, but rests not there: it straightway flees to Him, lays hold on Him; cries, “Lord, save me; undertake for me; say unto my soul, I am thy salvation.” Then, in the experimental knowledge of His love and power, of His truth and faithfulness, the believing soul takes up the glad language of assurance, “The Lord Jehovah is my strength and my song; He also is become my salvation.” Yes, He whose name is Faithful and True, is One who may indeed be trusted. He has never proved a broken reed to any fainting soul who leaned upon Him. None were ever ashamed who waited for Him; and no poor lost one who came to Him for salvation, was ever cast out.
Dear Reader, come, taste and see how good He is, and how blessed is every one that trusts in Him. The woman of Samaria told her fellow-citizens about Jesus, and many of them were thus led to come to Him, and prove Him for themselves and then they said, “Now we believe, not a because of thy saying, for we have heard Him ourselves, and know that this is indeed the Christ, the Saviour of the world.”
The faith that leads to appropriating Jesus is the only faith that saves. It is not enough to say, “I believe that He is the only Saviour, and that He is able and willing to save.” Have you made Him yours by accepting Him, by committing yourself to Him? The profession of faith that leaves the soul as careless and secure in sin as ever, or as heavily laden and burdened as ever, is no faith at all. In the one case there has been no felt burden to roll upon Him, in the other, no real rolling of the burden which was weighing it down. Just in proportion, as we truly trust all to Him, our souls are filled with joy and peace in believing.
The old man’s mind was at rest when he cast his care upon rue. He did not wait till he saw all he desired accomplished; before he rested. He trusted simply and was sure that his helpless need would be supplied; and in this he rested. And so the believer trusts Jesus with a faith which is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. He has learned to rest calmly upon Jesus, whom not having seen he loves, and in whom though now he sees Him not, yet believing, he rejoices with joy unspeakable and full of glory, receiving the end of his faith, even the salvation of his soul. (1 Peter 1:8-9)