I IMAGINE a dark spur of rock jutting up above the sea. On the rock is a lighthouse which is continually wetted with the spray of the great waves which break against the rock. The wind is rising and in the distance you may see the steamers outward, or homeward bound, plunging in the great swells of the Atlantic rollers. It was about four o’clock, and there was promise of a wild night.
All this was noticed by a boy of twelve, who was standing at the window of the lighthouse looking anxiously toward the land. Nat Marble’s father was the lighthouse keeper of the Mitchell Lighthouse. But he was very sick with a fever, and the assistant lighthouse keeper had gone ashore to look for a doctor. So Nat was alone with his father, and was just be ginning to realize that however much Tom, the assistant lighthouse keeper, might wish to return, he would not be able to get a boat to take him across the channel in such a storm as this.
Even in his fever, Nat’s father raved about the lighthouse lamp, and seemed to worry over ships which he imagined were driving on the rock.
It began to grow dark, and Nat realized that there was no hope of Tom getting back that night. He would have to take care of his poor sick father all night, and he would have to light the lighthouse lamp.
“The lamp,” he said to himself “ought to have been lighted an hour ago; suppose a ship should run ashore for want of a light, and all the people be drowned, why I should be a murderer,” and poor Nat’s blood almost froze in his veins.
Taking a light, he climbed the winding stairs to the great lamp at the top. All seemed clean and in good order, but when he touched the wicks with the flame of his lamp, to his horror the wicks only burned charred, and went out. Could there be no oil in the lamp? He at once ran downstairs for the oil can. After trimming the wicks again he attempted to fill the lamp. But the oil would not flow, and yet the can must be full, thought Nat, it was so heavy. He unscrewed the top and put in his finger—hard as a stone. What should he do? The oil was frozen.
At this Nat was in despair. He put his arms round the can and cried, till the thought came to him, “Jesus could help me.” Looking up through his tears, he said, “Lord Jesus, You know that there are poor men drowning tonight; help Me to do the right thing to save their lives. Amen.”
As he uttered these words it occurred to him that he might learn something from his father’s wandering words. He ran downstairs again.
“Father, dear,” said Nat imploringly, “the oil is frozen, what shall I do?”
“Don’t get it too hot, Tom, not too hot.”
What did that mean? Why the oil, of course. He would heat it up at once. He held the can carefully over the lamp and turned it slowly round the flame so as to heat it on all sides. But the oil melted more quickly than he had expected and soon was trickling out on his clothes. The next moment the flame of the lamp caught the oil, and his trousers were blazing. He tried to put out the fire with his hands, but only spilt more oil, and as there was neither carpet nor rug to smother the flame the poor boy was in a blaze. Then he suddenly thought of the little snow patch on the rock outside the lighthouse. He dashed downstairs and threw himself on the heap of snow and rolled over and over in agony. But the fire went out and he was saved.
Then the thought of the unlighted lamp came into the boy’s mind again. He must try to light that lamp for Christ’s sake, and surely it was in His strength that he staggered to his feet, entered the house and crawled painfully up the stairs. At last he got to the lamp; he tried the can, the oil poured out, but what agony he suffered. With many a groan and cry of pain, he filled the lamps and screwed on the top, but he could scarcely hold out long enough to light the wicks and turn them right. The light of Mitchell’s Ledge hurried through the black night just in time to save a fine steamer from striking on the rock. Several smaller ships, too, had been nearing the breakers when they were suddenly warned of their danger by the faithful light.
Salvation is never gained without sacrifice; to save the drowning sailors, Nat suffered much; to save a lost world, including each one of us, the Lord Jesus suffered infinitely more. He gave Himself; He wept for us, He died for us.
Why did He have to suffer so much? Because our sins are so terrible in God’s sight. But now God sees the great work that the Lord Jesus did on the cross. He sees that it is enough. We have only to accept the greatness and perfection of that work—to say simply, “Christ died for our sins.”
When morning came, Tom, who had been weather-bound on the mainland, arrived. He ran hastily upstairs and never stopped till he reached the lantern room. There was Nat lying on the cold stone floor. Tom guessed the story as he looked at the form of the poor lad; he tenderly picked him up and carried him into the warm room below, and watched over him till he opened his eyes.
“I got it lighted, Tom,” were Nat’s first words. A big, bright tear fell from Tom’s eye on to the floor, and he dashed his fist into the other to hide the tell-tale drops.
“You’re a real brave chap, Nat,” he jerked out. “I’ve heard of such things, but never came across it before. You saved a lot of lives last night by your brave pluck, all burnt as you were, in lighting the lighthouse lamp.”
Our poor little Nat risked his life in order to save the lives of the sailors, but our Lord Jesus Christ offered Himself to God, and bore our sins on the cross, to save us and to make us fit to live with Himself for eternity.
Let us thank Him every day for His great love to us.
“LET EVERY THING THAT HATH BREATH PRAISE THE LORD.” Ps. 150:6.
ML 06/17/1917