IN the autumn of the year 1858, the writer was suddenly summoned to see a young man, who was supposed to be in a consumption. The summons was instantly obeyed, and I found myself in the company of an intelligent young man, of about 30 years of age. To smooth the way for the subjects I had come to consider with him, I spoke for a little of more general matters—inquired after his health, and learned a little of his history. He had had his struggles in life, but had cultivated habits of morality, and had held on to business long after his state of health was fit for it. At last he had broken down, and become as an invalid an inmate of his maternal home; his mother and nurse being a widow advanced in years.
Gradually the object of my visit was introduced, and inquiries affectionately made as to his state) of mind and his prospects for eternity. He spoke with thankfulness of having been preserved from open sin, but admitted that the world and business had engrossed his attention to the neglect of his soul’s interests, and that now his prospects were uncertain and gloomy. He was unhappy—he was not at rest. I asked him why he should not be, if his life had been as he represented? He explained that though his conduct had been outwardly fair, he did not feel that he was fit to meet God. He was not good enough for that. But now he hoped that, withdrawn form the turmoil of business, he should be able to make his peace with God.
“My dear friend,” I said, “are you aware what you undertake; what God’s requirements are?” He spoke of an amended life, of prayer, but evinced in all he said, that his whole thought was that of working out a righteousness of his own.
We still pursued the subject, and got to closer quarters. I endeavored to show him that if God were to be thus met, He could not abate anything of His claims for a uniform and absolute obedience. To love the Lord his God with all his might, and his neighbor as himself, I showed him was the measure of these claims, and that this was God’s requirement of His creatures, as such, whereas we were sinners, and had already broken this law in numberless ways, and what we needed was a Saviour. But all was vain; the thought had taken possession of his mind of improving himself in his retirement, and when I pressed him as to the hopelessness of the task, he said, “O yes, I think I can manage it!” and feeling that it was vain to attempt more, I shook hands and left him to try.
It was not long before my visit was repeated, and I asked him what progress he had made. “Well,” he answered, “he was sorry to say, not much; when he attempted to pray, thoughts would intrude, and his mind would wander and he could not fix it; his heart was still in the world, and altogether he had made nothing out.” I sought to show him that he was on the wrong track entirely, told him of a Saviour’s love, how He had come to call—not the righteous, but—sinners to repentance. I quoted to him the passage, “Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us, and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins.” But all was darkness, not a ray seemed to enter. The love of God, and the blood of Jesus, and its atoning and cleansing power, seemed all inexplicable to him. He would try once more; and he repeated on parting, “I think I shall manage it.”
My visits became more frequent, as the sufferer was rapidly sinking. He was no longer able to rise, and his concern became greater, but it was still to fit himself for God. He said he did not know how it was, but things seemed to get worse with him instead of better. He spoke of kneeling in bed to keep himself awake while he prayed, but he could not, and he began to doubt whether it could be managed, and to be in real and deep concern.
Meanwhile, earnest and united prayer was being made for him by a little circle of Christian friends; and one of these whose heart was specially engaged on his behalf, and who undertook to pray at home during my visit to him, sent by me the little well-known leaflet, “Just as I am.” We read it verse by verse and line by line.
“Just as I am, without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bidst me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come.”
Gradually the light seemed to dawn upon his soul, and he said, “What—just as I am, without being any better?” He was told that it was no betterness of ours—no prayers, or tears, or reformation, but the precious blood of Jesus, that it had been. already shed, that all was finished, that nothing could be added to it, and that all was a free gift to the vilest sinner who could truly say, “O Lamb of God, I come.” “Ah,” he said, “then I see it is grace that can do all,” and his soul entered into peace, a peace confirmed indeed by further readings of the word, and clearer views of the blood of Jesus, but unbroken till the day of his departure, when his last words were, “Grace has done all:” and after a short pause, “Lord Jesus, receive my soul.” And he breathed his happy spirit into the bosom of his Lord.
Reader, are you trying to manage the hopeless task this young man had undertaken in his last illness? Or are you still living in carelessness and sin, preparing thorns for your dying pillow, and if you repent not, preparing stings for the undying worm, and fuel for the everlasting fire? To spend a life in sin, and think to make it up by a few prayers on your deathbed—this is no preparation for anything but everlasting woe. To save our souls, it required that the Son of God should become a man, and die as an atoning victim on the cross. But the benefits of this wondrous and mighty work are not bestowed on careless sinners or self-righteous imitators of God’s people. These benefits are free to all, urged, pressed on all as a free gift; but if you, in your pride, reject the offer, and think you can manage the work yourself, what is to become of your poor soul?
God commands, as well as entreats, you to believe in this blessed Saviour, and be reconciled to God. Will you not hearken and submit, yea, submit yourself to the righteousness of God? God grant you may; and that instead of putting off these matters to a dying hour, thinking that all may be right at last, as through grace it was with this dear young man, may you remember that you may have no such opportunities as he. Flee then at once to the shelter of Christ’s precious blood, and receive Him as your life, your righteousness, your object through life, your comfort in death (should you die), and, at last, the Completer of the whole work of grace by receiving us to glory with Himself. Amen.
W. T.