MY earliest recollections go back to the family services we used to have at home on Sunday evenings. I can still picture my father standing praying at the head of the table, while I was kept close beside my mother, partly to follow the singing and reading with her, partly to be kept quiet; also I remember well being taught to pray at my mother's knee. It was among such home influences that I grew up.
It was a red-letter day when I set out for Glasgow University, for a bigger world and a more self-dependent life. I knew that I was not saved, but I was making a new start, and I tried to get more certainty in regard to religious belief, for I had not been without soul anxiety for some time. Feeling some conviction after a sermon in a Parish Church, I formally put myself under the promise to serve God in my life, and prayed that I might have the knowledge that I was thus serving, but as I now know I did not base my plea on any proper ground, and so the feeling passed. I was more in despair than before, because I felt that an opportunity had passed and that I was still in the old position. I still said my prayers and read my Bible, mainly because I regarded it as a duty.
Thus passed four years in Glasgow, now in despair and then feeling more satisfied, as for instance after a good sermon. Sunday I always welcomed as a physical rest, and went to church twice.
I taught in the Sunday School in a slum Mission and went to Garscube with the Temperance Society (University) on Saturday nights. The University Christian Union held half a dozen services each year in the University Union, and in 1914, Mr. G—, a man who had given up a big Church in order to do slum-work, was asked to take the services. That man did me great good: I remember many of his words, and at the end of the services, I was happy in the thought that perhaps I had at last found salvation. I have learned since that a man knows he is saved, just as much as a man knows he is well after being ill.
That night I walked about alone revolving things in my mind. I thought, Is religion such an uncertain thing after all? Is salvation so slippery? How do men get it and hold it fast?
After one of Mr. G—'s sermons, which seemed to carry conviction to me, I went home for a week-end, and having engaged to take a service at a Mission, I preached the same sermon as Mr. G—, in the hope that by expressing in my own way the ideas which had appealed to me, I might be established myself, but all the time of that service I was conscious that I was a preacher without a true message. So the years passed.
My University life finished. I graduated M.A. with honors in classics, wondering half proudly and half bitterly, what it was all worth. A little later I was offered and accepted a situation which took me to Spain.
On July 27th, 1914, I arrived in Spain. Tennis, they said, was always played on Sunday. Previously, I had always observed Sunday as a day apart from worldly pleasure. This time I determined to experience the other side, and so the first Sunday I spent in A— was devoted to tennis. That night Mr. M— said to me, "What would your Scotch mother say if she knew her son played tennis on Sunday?" I merely laughed, but said to myself, "The question is, how do I feel myself?" The fact was that I felt miserable, and knew that something was wrong. I never went to tennis again, feeling doubtful if I should be able to retain the little right feeling I had.
But man's extremity is God's opportunity. Before leaving Scotland I had heard much about Mr. S— of A—, the Agent of the National Bible Society of Scotland and had always been eager to see him, and since reading Borrow's "Bible in Spain," to hear of his experiences. I thought that were it possible I might have the opportunity of accompanying him in a journey. I had my first talk with him in Mrs. G—'s, the night of a Red Cross Concert, and he told me about his work. I went to his house and also to the Chapel. In the latter place I admit I didn't feel exactly at home. People spoke in a straightforward way about salvation and so on and I didn't feel in line at all with them. I went several times to the Chapel, and saw gradually that I had been digging on the surface.
However, Mr. S— was going on a journey in August and I was going to accompany him, but I was a step further than before. I was gradually seeing that though I didn't find salvation and peace there, I had acquired something very valuable—the knowledge that I wasn't saved. Had I been, I would have felt in touch with the people in the Chapel. And so the desire rose within me again, “Oh for the secret of a realized salvation. '
On August 2nd, we set out—it was to be my ' Damascus journey.' At the train Mrs. S—said that she was glad that Mr. S— had the company of another Christian, and I thought, "If only you knew how little claim I have to that name," for now I knew what I lacked. Away we went, one rejoicing in God's salvation, the other a stranger to it. Before long Mr. S— produced tracts and distributed them. "Well," I thought, here is a man who flies his flag boldly." During that journey I saw many instances of it. Naturally I lived closely with Mark 5—. Night and day he read his Bible and said his prayers. I did so ton. I had always done so, but this was the first time I had lived closely with a man with whom I felt in sympathy and my reading of the Bible and my prayers became a pleasure to me. Would he perhaps mention me in his prayers? Miles passed behind us. In Albacete and in Madrid we met men, all working for the same end and all exchanging their spiritual experiences as an everyday happening.
We reached San Sebastian late at night, Ramon and Francisco, Colporteurs, met us. We stayed in. the house of the former. We dined together—two converts from Roman Catholicism, a Scotch Missionary and a Glasgow University student—a mixed lot surely. The reading of the Bible and prayer (in which all the common events of every day were made the subject of petitions) and conversation went on as in other places. It was good to breathe that atmosphere.
On Sunday morning we went to church. The pastor was a Spaniard, but the sermon and service lacked something and were disappointing. At night we went to the same church but neither service yielded anything but disappointment. I happened to go ahead with Francisco. I asked what he thought of the service. He said that it wasn't very good and added that he had previously spoken with the pastor, that the conversation had turned on conversion. In reply as to whether a man knew he was converted or not, the pastor replied "Who knows?" but Francisco stopped in the road and said, "I know because I have joy in my heart.”
How that answer condemned me! Here was I, an honors graduate of a Scotch University, with some knowledge of seven languages besides English, but I had looked in vain for what a Spaniard, who left school at seven had discovered and he knew no language but his own. It was easily seen, too, that he did know. The words came back to me often, they left me with a bit more knowledge—a man knew that he was saved.
We left for France immediately but shortly after we met again in Bilbao, and again I experienced the same uplifting in the company of these three men. We went to church there and on the way Mr. S— remarked that all men ought to be assured of their salvation before going into the Divinity Hall. I heartily agreed with him, for I was athirst to get certainty. Sometimes the Colporteurs and Mr. S— gave me tracts to read, perhaps something new or original, and I kept some of these in my pockets.
We left Bilbao for the south, and between Cordoba and Seville I came across some tracts in my pocket. The title of one of them, "Is it settled?" caught my eye. I Opened it and saw the words, "Perhaps you find yourself among those who say with all sincerity, Yes! I wish to have this question settled. I have tried to find salvation for my soul for a long time but I don't know how to lay my hand upon it." I said, "That is meant for me," my mind was made up quickly.
In a day or two I would be in A—, I would read it carefully in the quiet of my rooms.
We arrived on Sept. 2nd, I produced the tract and read it right through. It seemed specially written for me. It talked of the man who lacked certainty and who sought it in the wrong way. It said nothing about realizing, nothing about any change of the emotions, but said that "to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ" meant simply to understand and to personally accept the work performed by Christ on the cross.
When I read that joy comes as the natural result of knowing that God is satisfied with Christ's sacrifice, I could have cried aloud for joy. There it was, staggering in its simplicity. It had always been before me, and yet I had never seen it. In a flash I saw how things lay. I accepted the terms: I believed and gave myself into God's keeping, and since that day I have known what joy in my soul is.
On Sept. 6th, Mr. R— preached on the free gift of salvation, and the responsibility of standing before the perfect law, and he seemed to speak to me alone. What joy Bible study and prayer are now! I look forward to such exercise eagerly. I have no desire for dances, theaters, etc. Such things seem to have slipped away. What a meaning Scripture, learned as a child, has for me now!
I trace it all to that Damascus journey' of August, to the company and holy influence of S—, Ramon and Francisco. I have learned what salvation is in a foreign tongue, and I will go back to my studies knowing that God has saved my soul alive—and that, more than all other knowledge, is the necessity for any man who would be a servant of God. Reader, have you that knowledge? R. M.