DURING the visit to this country, in the year 1875, of two well-known American evangelists, they were the subject of conversation in a City printing office, and there was much speculation as to the motives and reasons a their visit.
Among those who took part in the conversation was one John M., a young man who, according to his own words, “had gone far in the depths of sin, and had seen the pleasures of the world from the east to the west.” He might truthfully be described as one without God, and without hope in the world, Even the outward forms of religion had long since been cast aside by him, and the Lord’s Day was usually spent in sculling and rowing upon the rivers Thames and Lea. He was tolerably well known as an amateur in these sports, and was thus thrown in the midst of much ungodly company. In the conversation of which I write, John M. declared his opinion that these two evangelists had simply come here “to line their pockets,” i.e., to make money, and then return to their own country to spend it. He concluded by saying, “I will give up my Sunday morning spin on the river, and will go to hear what they have to say.”
Sunday came, and John kept his word. He entered the hall in which the meetings were being held, little thinking that God would meet with him there. After prayer, a hymn was given out, and as John had no book, a lady offered him part of hers. The words at once arrested his attention:
“God loved the world of sinners lost,
And ruined by the fall;
Salvation full at highest cost,
He offers free to all.
O ‘twas love, ‘twas wondrous love,
The love of God to me,
It brought my Saviour from above,
To die on Calvary.”
For the first time during many years, the thought occurred to John that this love and this gift were real, that these were not mere idle words. He thought, “Does God love me? Oh, no, I am too bad. Look at the life I have led.” And the conclusion he came to was, “God will cast me away.”
The service was over, and John returned to his lodgings an awakened man. But there was no peace. The love of God had touched a chord in his heart, leading him, as the goodness of God does, to repentance, but like Jacob when he met God at Luz, it was fear and not peace for him. On his getting home, and on his returning to business the next day, he was asked, “Did you go to the preaching?” “Yes,” replied John, “but I did not hear much of it. The singing is very nice, and I think I shall go again.” This resolution brought down some little banter upon his head, but, unmoved by it, he went the same evening to the hall. To his disappointment and sorrow the policeman at the gate said, “Young man, it is too late to mend to-night; the hall is full.” Why was he sorry? Had the singing so much attractiveness to him? Indeed no, it was not the singing he wanted, but the needs of his soul were crying out, and he believed that there was blessing to be had at the meeting. The policeman’s words added to his distress; “For,” thought he, “God may have put the words into his lips. He may have told him to say that it was too late.” John went home, but not to rest. On Tuesday he left his work earlier than usual, in order to be in time for the meeting. He was in downright earnest to hear if there was any message of peace for him, if there was any hope for his soul.
The evangelist turned to a text which thousands upon thousands will remember for all eternity — the words of the Lord Jesus, when He said —” God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” But the key-note of the verse was somehow missed by John, who got no comfort from it. What do I call the keynote? The word “whosoever.” The love of God is thus proclaimed to be of world-wide extent, and whosoever —” you, me, or anybody else,” as the schoolboy defined the word — whosoever believeth shall not perish, but have everlasting life. John did not see that the word was large enough to include him, and was leaving, not any happier, when his eye caught sight of a notice-board over a door — “Enquiry Room.” He went in, and was at once spoken to by a Christian soldier present, who asked, “Friend, are you saved?”
“No,” replied John, “I wish I was.”
“Sit down,” said the soldier. “Did you hear the text to-night and the address?”
“I heard both, but there was nothing for me.”
Taking his Bible, and turning to John 3:16,16For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. (John 3:16) the soldier told John to read it. He did so. “Is there anything for you?”
“No,” was still the answer.
“Read it again.”
John began, “God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever —”
The soldier stopped him here, that the last word might be emphasized. Now was the moment of all moments in his history. God, who had already wrought repentance in his heart, added the gift of faith (Eph. 2), and poor, troubled John was enabled to step into that great circle of “Whosoever,” and at once tasted the joy which springs from faith in Christ. Ah, what a moment that is for the soul! It is as when a drowning man feels his feet touch solid earth, after he has given himself up to death. It is as when the condemned man is told that not only is the sentence of death remitted, but he is set at liberty. Oh, dear reader, may you taste the joy of such a moment. John and his new friend went on their knees, the former, whose lips and whose heart were strangers to prayer, asking in the same breath for forgiveness, and thanking God for His love to him, like the uncertain language of one whose dumb tongue has just been loosed; the soldier committing to the preserving mercy and power of God, the rejoicing soul before Him.
John went home a saved man, and knowing that he was saved. The test soon came. Would he stand for Christ before his old ungodly companions? His own soul was troubled about it; but that faithful God to whom he had been commended, gave strength for the day, and with the moments of testing, gave power to overcome. He graciously helped His child, for as there cannot be any concord between light and darkness, so these same old friends, on finding that John was a Christian, shunned his company. So grace has kept him, and to-day he is one of a little band of Christians who, in the dark corners of London, seek to make the love of Christ known to old and to young.
W. J.