WE were quietly engaged in our classes at Sunday school, when a knock at the door was heard, and a woman with a child in her arms asked if someone would come and see her sister, who, she said lay dying.
School ended; we prayed the Lord to send a word of salvation to the sufferer; for pain and death are terrible things to be encountered by the soul that is unsaved, and estranged from the God of all grace.
From the description given I readily found the house. Ascending the stair, the woman who had called at the school welcomed me, bidding me enter an inner chamber where lay the object of my visit. The room was better furnished than the exterior of the abode had led me to expect, and bore about it an air of homely comfort, indicating the hand of provident care. Some children played about, and a woman present acted as nurse.
On approaching a bed at the farther corner of the room, I recognized the face of one who had occasionally attended our gospel meetings. Her face bore, the traces of former comeliness, but wore that pinched and flushed look which denotes intense suffering; her lips were parched, and respiration extremely difficult. She was fast and surely sinking. Bending down, I spoke a few words of sympathy, and then asked tenderly, “Are you ready to die?” Fixing her eyes upon mine, she replied with difficulty, “No, ―I’ve―been―a―great―sinner.”
I felt thankful that the Holy Spirit had wrought conviction of sin, in her heart, for He alone can impart a real sense of being unfit for the eye and presence of God. The mere and too common assent, “We are all sinners,” is not enough, but the heart-learned and honest conviction which leads to the true confession, “Behold I am vile,” ever accompanies real conversion to God. There was here no need for stripping the poor soul of false hopes of fancied righteousness; she was seeking the Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ―the only name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved. Taking the Scriptures, I read to her from the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, about the Man of Sorrows, wounded and bruised, upon whom the Lord laid the iniquity of us all, who poured out His soul unto death, who also was numbered with the transgressors, and bare the sin of many. Having “once suffered for sins,” God had raised from amongst the dead―
“The Lord, almighty now to save
From sin, from death, from endless shame.”
Just as a thirsty traveler receives a refreshing draft, so did this poor dying woman receive the gospel of Jesus Christ. With the simplicity of a child, she believed God’s word. Seeing her much exhausted I left, after committing her to the Lord, with a promise to return at a later hour. It was late in the evening when I returned. She felt free from pain, and was propped up in bed with pillows. The room was filled with friends; her husband, a man of rough exterior but feeling heart, sat near, while her aged mother silently watched by the bed, a tear now and then trickling down her furrowed cheeks.
God was about to give a bright testimony to His own grace and power in her, who was beyond all human help and so soon to bid the sad world farewell.
“She has been longing for you,” said her sister; “and feared you wouldna come.” Looking for guidance I opened my Bible at Luke seventh and read, “And, behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster box of ointment, and stood at his feet behind him weeping.” While reading, I observed the sufferer’s eyes fixed intently on my face. I read to the end of the chapter, laying special stress upon the words, “Thy sins are forgiven ... Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace.”
I then asked her, so that all present might hear, “Are you a sinner like this woman?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“And you now trust in Jesus alone for salvation?” “Yes.”
“Are you like this woman when she entered Simon’s house—unforgiven, unsaved, and at enmity with God; or are you like her when she came out—forgiven, saved by faith, and told to go in peace?”
She summoned up strength, then with laboring breath, said decidedly and distinctly, “I―am―like―her― when―she―came―out.”
Oh! the grace of God which gives such boldness, even in view of coming death―the perfection of that love which casteth out all fear! Now she was at rest, in the peace of “a great calm.” Peace―not the result of anything she had done, but―won for her by the blood of Christ, was assured to her by the voice of Jesus.
It was a blessed confession to the mercy of God, and I was not slow to use the golden opportunity to press upon all present the necessity of accepting the gift of God so freely offered to perishing mankind.
Once again I stood beside that bed. The pallid face spoke of speedy decay, but peace, deep as a river, filled her heart, for she had come to Jesus, and left her weary burden at His feet.
“I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture.”
Christ Himself is the way to God, to the Father, to life eternal, to everlasting glory. Unsaved reader, beware lest you trifle with the “great salvation.” Now, near you, even in your mouth, and in your heart, is the word of faith which we preach―namely: ― (See Romans, chapter 10, verse 9.)
“That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness, and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.” Oh! sweet words of grace! Are you ashamed to confess yourself a vile, hell-deserving sinner? There is none too bad for Jesus. He “will in no wise” cast you out. He will own you as an object for His saving power, His cleansing blood, H. infinite love. Accept and confess Him this moment, as you are, and you will find that “this man receiveth sinners.” T. R. D.