The Beat of a Drum
F.H. Murray
Table of Contents
The Beat of a Drum
“Charlie, you are too young to be a soldier.”
“But, Mother, they need me. Mr. Lincoln's appeal posted in the store says they need every able-bodied man to preserve the Union.”
“You are not an able-bodied man, Charlie, You are a seventeen-year-old boy.”
“But I am as strong as a man, Mother. If I cannot fight there are many things I can do; I could wash clothes and cook meals.”
Mrs. Coulson looked at her son. Was it true that he was still a boy, or was he a man now? Had the transition come without her being aware of it? His heart seemed set upon joining the army. She would try a different approach.
“Have you prayed about this, Charlie? Have you asked the Lord for His will in this?”
“Yes, Mother, I have. Do you remember some time ago when we read together one evening about the two and a half tribes of the children of Israel who wanted their inheritance on the east side of the Jordan? And Moses said unto them, 'Shall your brethren go to war and shall ye sit here?' That evening the Lord spoke to my heart. That is exactly what I am doing; sitting here in comfort while other men are fighting and dying to save our country. I have been praying about it ever since that night. I am sure the Lord is directing me to go.”
“Then go, my son. And may He watch over you and bring you safely home again to me."
“He can do that, Mother. If I am in the center of His will I will be as safe on the battlefield as I am right here at home. But even if He chooses to do otherwise and let me die there, never forget, Mother, that I have gone to be with Him; I will have only taken a shorter route home. And think of this, too," he continued, "If I should die on the battlefield perhaps it will have spared some man who has a family, or someone who was not prepared to die. I feel perfectly safe knowing that my life is in the hands of my Heavenly Father. You must keep that thought always in your mind.”
Pride and sorrow mingled in Mrs. Coulson's heart as she watched her son leave the house and walk away to enlist in the Union army. It was March, 1863. For almost two long years the war had already raged between the north and the south. Families, homes and hearts had been torn asunder as well as the nation. How much longer would the terrible war go on?
She thought back over the years of Charlie's life. He had been such a sweet baby. But his early childhood had been filled with suffering. She thought of her husband who had been kind and gentle when he was sober, but how cruel he became when under the influence of liquor. And that was far too much of the time. She hated to think of the many times he had beaten both her and their little boy. She wondered if Charlie remembered those heartbreaking times. He had been only five when his father died; perhaps he had forgotten the terrible early years.
In her mind she followed her son through the years. Mother and son had kept close together. She had sent him to school although there was no law that required her to do so, and it had not been easy. But she was so glad that she had made the effort to do it. He had learned to read and they had read together every evening. Of all her memories she lingered longest over the Sunday evening when Charlie, then nine and a half, had first realized that he was a sinner and had claimed as his own God's gift of eternal life through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. How her heart had rejoiced to know that he was saved for all eternity! From that evening she had hoped and prayed that Charlie would become a preacher of the Gospel, proclaiming the good news of salvation to a world of dying men and women. Now was he to go off to the war before he even became a man? Could this be the fulfillment of her hopes and prayers? She did not see how.
Charlie was accepted into the army, not as a personal servant of an officer as he had thought he might be, but as a drummer-boy. And drummer-boys went with their regiments into the thick of the battles. Before he left home his mother washed and ironed his clothes with loving care. Perhaps this would be the last time she would have the opportunity of performing this labor of love for him. She packed them together with such personal items as she thought he would need, into a knapsack which she had made. Last of all she picked up his well-worn Bible. As she held it in her hands she said, "Promise me, Charlie, that you will read at least a chapter of this precious Book every day." Charlie promised.
His mother continued, "It will not be easy to keep that promise, son, but I am depending on you. You will be among all sorts of men. Some of them will be very rough and ungodly. They will ridicule you and make your life miserable. But it will be far better to be miserable from their unkindness than to forget the Lord and drift so far from Him that you will not realize His presence with you. Keep so close to Him, Charlie, that you can always call upon Him in time of trouble and know that He will hear and answer your call. And even when you are not in any particular trouble, call upon Him every day. Cultivate His presence. Walk with Him.
“If you will continue reading where we have been reading and read one chapter each day, I will do the same and we will be reading the same portion at the same time. If we do that I will not feel that you are so far away." Her voice trembled and Charlie knew what it was costing her to let him go.
“I will meet you at the Throne of Grace every evening, Mother," Charlie said solemnly.
So Charlie Coulson, seventeen years old, went off to war. He found that all the things his mother had predicted were true. There were many to ridicule and belittle him for his steadfast faith and for reading the Scriptures faithfully and praying. On the other hand, many of the men with whom he was associated were God-fearing men. Often there were meetings around the campfires when many joined in singing hymns of the faith and in prayer and testimony. Sometimes someone preached or simply read the Scriptures. But they knew God's presence.
It was not long until Charlie's regiment was involved in the fighting. He saw comrades killed and wounded. There was nothing glorious about war; it was cruel and unspeakably sad. Charlie tried to help those about him in every way he could. Both those who were men of God and those who only ridiculed his faith came to love him and they all spoke with real affection of their "little drummer-boy.”
The first of July found Charlie's regiment together with many others on the battlefield of Gettysburg. He had been in the army just three and a half months but he certainly was a boy no longer. Over and over the army had called upon him to prove his manhood. This experience was to be the worst of them all. For three days the battle raged fiercely. Thousands of men on both sides lost their lives.
Many thousands more were mutilated and left on the field half-dead. It was a battle which has had few counterparts in history. It ended in victory for the Union armies but how dearly that victory had been bought!
After the fighting had ceased Dr. Max Rosvally, surgeon in the United States Army, with some aides, walked over the battlefield looking for survivors whom they might still be able to help. He came upon a young soldier who seemed more dead than alive; one arm and one leg were shattered and he had lost so much blood that it scarce seemed possible for him to survive. As Dr. Rosvally stood beside him he opened big blue eyes and feebly asked for water. The doctor was deeply touched and had him carried to the hospital which had been set up to care for the wounded. He thought that he would do what he could for him although it almost seemed useless. There were other men in like condition. When they had brought in all the survivors they counted twenty-eight among them who required amputations of either an arm or a leg or both. This blue-eyed boy would lose both arm and leg and perhaps his life. It was Charlie Coulson.
Aides and stewards did all they could to assist the surgeon. They went from bed to bed administering chloroform in preparation for the surgery. When they reached Charlie he refused to have the chloroform and insisted on waiting until he could talk with the doctor. When Dr. Rosvally finally stood beside him he asked why he had not been given the chloroform and when the aide said he had refused it, the doctor spoke firmly: "You must have the chloroform, son. It is the only chance of saving your life. That arm and leg must be amputated and you could not possibly stand it without chloroform.”
Charlie reached out feebly and laid his hand upon the hand of the surgeon. "I can stand it, sir," he said. "The Lord will be my Strength! Before I was ten years old I trusted the Lord Jesus Christ as my Savior. I have trusted Him ever since and He has always helped me. Sometimes the going has been rough but I have found out that Psa. 46:1 is always true. 'God is our Refuge and Strength, a very present help in trouble.' He'll support me now; I know He will. And I will not give you any difficulty.”
Dr. Rosvally looked at him in amazement. He had never seen such faith before. The Scripture which Charlie had quoted was well-known to him. He had learned it as a boy in the Rabbi's school back in his native Germany. He believed it to be true as—applied to his forefathers, of course; but he had never before heard it applied to his own experience.
“At least, take some brandy, son.”
But again Charlie refused.
“My father died a drunkard," he said, "when I was very young. I promised my mother that day that I would never touch a drop of liquor. I have kept that promise. Now when I am probably going into the presence of my God, would you have me go with my mind befuddled with brandy and my last act a broken promise?”
Dr. Rosvally had been taught from his earliest days to hate the name of Jesus Christ. That hatred had intensified as he had grown older and had met many people who had claimed to be followers of the Nazarene but had lived wicked, ungodly lives. He would never speak the name and he felt defiled for having listened to it; but the steadfast, unflinching faith of this young soldier touched his heart deeply.
Turning his gaze to Dr. Rosvally who was standing beside the bed, he said, "I'm ready, sir. And I promise if you do not make me take chloroform I will not cry out no matter what you do to me.”
The surgeon proceeded with the operation although he felt the need of a stimulant to bolster his own nerve for the task. He cut through the flesh with swift, sure strokes, then using a surgical saw, he severed the joints. Charlie kept his word. The only sound which came from the bed where he had taken the corner of his pillow between his teeth was a softly spoken prayer, "Jesus, blessed Jesus, stand by me now.”
No other surgery he had ever performed affected Dr. Rosvally as did these amputations. He could not sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes he seemed to see Charlie's white face and hear those words: "Jesus, blessed Jesus, stand by me now." He turned from side to side trying to go to sleep but could not. About one o'clock he decided there was no use trying. He dressed and went to the hospital where he asked the steward in charge about the men upon whom he had operated that day.
“Sixteen of them have died, sir, and have been taken to the death-house.”
“How about the drummer-boy, Charlie Coulson; is he among them?”
“No, sir; he is resting very well.”
An attendant who was standing near added, "About nine o'clock this evening Chaplain Roberts came through the wards with a group of young-men from the city. They prayed beside all the beds and sometimes they sang a hymn. At the drummer-boy's bed, after they had prayed, he asked them to sing, 'Jesus, Lover of My Soul.' And he joined in and sang with them. How he could sing after what he had been through I just can't understand.”
For several days Charlie lingered between life and death. On the fifth day as Dr. Rosvally made his rounds he paused beside the bed. Charlie took the surgeon's hand and said, "Doctor, my time has come. I know it in my heart. I will not be here when you come tomorrow. I want to thank you for all your kindness to me. And I want to ask a favor of you. When you have finished your rounds today, will you come back here? You are a Jew, Doctor, and do not believe in Jesus Christ my Savior. Will you stand beside my bed and watch a Christian die?”
The surgeon would have liked to grant the boy's request but he found he did not have the courage. Instead of going back to Charlie's bedside he went to his private office and sat down wearily, with his face buried in his hands. Why should this boy's death affect him so much more than any other soldier's? His reverie was broken by a knock at the door and a steward entered.
“Do tor," he said, "Charlie Coulson, the drummer-boy, asked me to please bring you to him.”
“I have just seen him," replied the surgeon. "I cannot see him again today.”
“But, doctor," insisted the steward, "he is dying and he says he must see you once more before he goes.”
Dr. Rosvally felt he must answer that plea but he firmly determined not to be influenced by anything the dying boy might say about his Jesus. As he entered the room he saw that this would indeed be his last visit.
When he stood beside the bed Charlie spoke, scarcely above a whisper. "Doctor, I love you because you are a Jew. The best Friend I have ever had was a Jew. He is my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Please promise me that you will never forget what I am about to tell you.”
“I won't forget, Charlie.”
“Five days ago while you were amputating my arm and my leg I was praying to the Lord Jesus Christ to convert you and save your soul. And I believe He will." He closed his eyes and with a look of indescribable peace on his young face, Charlie passed into eternity.
Hundreds of soldiers died in Dr. Rosvally's hospital during that dreadful war but this death affected him more than any other. He ordered a new uniform to be put upon the dead lad and the body to be buried in an officer's coffin with a United States flag draped over it. He, himself, accompanied the coffin.
Those words of the dying drummer-boy haunted the famous surgeon day and night for months. How often he would awaken from sleep with those words running through his mind. They were torment for his orthodox Jewish thoughts. This Jesus of whom the boy had spoken so lovingly was the "impostor" he had been taught all his life to hate. Gradually, however, the deep impression lessened and for many years Dr. Rosvally successfully withstood Charlie Coulson's last words. After the war he remained in the army and was assigned as inspecting surgeon in charge of the large military hospital in Galveston, Texas. Life was full and busy for him, and very satisfactory. He had married a beautiful Jewess and had two children whom he loved dearly—a son and a daughter. He maintained a home in Galveston and one in Washington, D.C. The home in Washington was directly across the street from the home of his wife's wealthy and influential parents. It was here that Mrs. Rosvally preferred to spend most of her time.
So ten busy, happy years passed for the Rosvally family. The doctor seldom thought of his war experiences. When he did, he dismissed from his mind as quickly as possible the words of the dying drummer-boy; they were too disturbing to dwell upon. And then one day they were brought vividly again to his memory. He was en route from Texas to Washington and had quite a wait in New York City. After he had eaten his dinner he decided to get a haircut while he waited for his train. On entering the barbershop he noticed several attractive, beautifully framed Scripture texts hanging upon the walls. Some of them were verses with which he was familiar—verses from the Old Testament which spoke of God's love and faithfulness—verses which he had learned in his boyhood. Some of them must be from the Gentiles' New Testament which he had never read and which he was firmly determined never to accept as part of the Holy Scripture. Directly opposite him as he sat in the chair was a framed notice which said, "Please do not use profanity in this room.”
Looking at it, he said to the barber, "Do your customers abide by that rule?”
“Most of them do," answered the barber, "but sometimes someone who thinks he is smart tries to see if I mean it. I have had to ask a few of them to go elsewhere for service.”
“Is it that important to you?" asked the doctor in amazement.
“Indeed, it is," replied the barber warmly. "The Lord Jesus Christ died for my sins. He bore my judgment. He gave His life that I might be forgiven my many sins. He is living now in Heaven to meet my every need. And He does meet them, too, Mister, every need of my heart and mind and body. He is a wonderful Savior! Would you allow such a Friend to be vilified on your property?”
“Well, no, I suppose not," said Dr. Rosvally, "not if you look at it in that way.”
“I do look at it that way. I tell you it makes a difference when you know He is the Son of God, the Creator of all things, and that He loved a person enough to die to save him." And he went on proclaiming the love and grace of the Lord Jesus Christ that would make Him suffer judgment for all the sins of the world.
For the first time in many months Dr. Rosvally remembered the drummer-boy of Gettysburg. This was the same ardent love and loyalty which he had shown. Again he seemed to hear Charlie's dying words, "While you were amputating my arm and leg I was praying to the Lord Jesus Christ to convert you and save your soul. And I believe He will.”
The barber talked on and on about the wonders of knowing one's sins forgiven and of being sure of a home in heaven. In spite of himself Dr. Rosvally was fascinated by the conversation. When the haircut was finished he said he might as well have a shampoo and a skin treatment. Finally he realized that he must go if he were to catch his train for Washington and home.
As they parted the barber said, "I suppose you think it strange that I have talked to you as I have. I will tell you why I did. The minute you came into my shop I saw that you are a Jew. I try to speak of my Savior to every Jew I meet. He was a Jew, Himself, and is such a Wonderful Friend to me that I long for every Jew I meet to know Him." Again this man reminded Dr. Rosvally of Charlie Coulson. He had spoken of Jesus Christ as being his best Friend. The barber continued, "If you will give me your card I promise you that every evening for three months I will ask God to reveal His Son to you and save your soul.”
There were tears of earnestness in the man's eyes and the surgeon's heart was deeply moved by his evident concern. What was it that made these Christians so interested in people who were complete strangers to them? Common courtesy required that he give the man his card but as he did so he said, "I appreciate your interest but I'm afraid your praying will be in vain; there is no possibility of that happening.”
The barber was undaunted. "If God should answer those prayers, would you be so kind as to drop a line to let me know?”
Dr. Rosvally promised with a smile. He took the card the barber offered, slipped it into his pocket and was on his way. Sitting in the railway coach speeding toward Washington a great restlessness filled his soul. His encounter with this Christian brought so vividly to his mind his experience with Charlie Coulson ten years previously. Their enthusiasm and even their expressions had been so nearly the same. He did not quite like the idea of this barber praying for him. Charlie Coulson had long been dead; there was no reason to fear his prayers but this man was very much alive and the thought of him praying daily for the conversion of Dr. Rosvally made him feel decidedly uncomfortable. He moved from one empty seat on the train to another but could not rid himself of the feeling that he was being enmeshed in something he did not like. His fellow passengers began to eye him curiously.
Arriving in Washington he purchased a newspaper and went to his office instead of going directly home. One of the first things which caught his eye as he started to read was an announcement of the big evangelistic meetings which were to start that very night. Supplying special music for the event would be a massed, city-wide choir. Dr. Rosvally enjoyed nothing more than good music. Perhaps this choir would soothe his troubled feelings. He had never attended a Gentile place of worship. As a boy he had promised that he never would. Had he kept that promise long enough to be released from it? He did not wish to break that promise, yet the thought of such a choir intrigued him. He could attend the meeting and listen to the music, then leave before the preaching should start, he reasoned with himself, or he could sit through the entire performance but keep his mind so occupied with other thoughts that he would not hear the sermon. He decided to go.
He was delighted with the beautiful singing and began to relax. He forgot, however, his resolve not to listen to the sermon. Before the speaker was five minutes into his message Dr. Rosvally found himself getting very angry. Someone, perhaps an usher who had recognized him, must have somehow told the preacher that he was in the audience. He could not possibly have stated his case so accurately and described his condition so precisely without having been informed of his presence. How dare the man be so presumptuous?
But suddenly the tone of the message changed, and the preacher was telling in tender, loving words of the love of God and His wonderful plan of redemption for lost, rebel sinners. That salvation had been fully provided by the death of the Lord Jesus Christ upon the cross of Calvary, the speaker said, the Lord Jesus Christ who was the only begotten and dearly beloved Son of the Living God.
Dr. Rosvally became aware that tears were on his face. Consternation filled his heart. He would not risk wiping them away lest that call attention of those about him to the fact. He was miserable. As he tried to leave the building unnoticed immediately upon the end of the message a lady laid hold of his coat. "You evidently do not know the Savior, sir. May I pray for you?”
Haughtily he replied, "Madam, I am a Jew.”
“That doesn't make a whit of difference to the Lord Jesus Christ, nor to me. He died for every sinner, Jew and Gentile. If you will just kneel down here with me we can pray.”
“I have never knelt to pray, Madam, and I never intend to. I will pray tonight to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob but I will not pray to your impostor Jesus now or ever. And I will not kneel. Good night.”
Unabashed, the lady responded, "Bless your heart, sir, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob IS my Christ, and your Messiah. And I'll pray for you anyway.”
He went out into the night with his thoughts in a turmoil. Could these Christians be right? Had his father and mother and all the teachers of his youth been wrong? Was Jesus really the Son of God? Could He be the Messiah God had promised His people? Had the entire nation of Israel made a mistake in rejecting Him? It did not seem possible. One resolution crystallized out of his jumbled thoughts: if Jesus really were the Messiah he would find out.
He was so distraught that when he arrived at his own home he did not think of his long absence and his wife's patient waiting for his homecoming. He greeted her in a rather absent-minded way and headed straight for his study. She sensed his disturbed state of mind and asked in alarm, "Max, what is the matter?”
“Please do not question me now, Wife," (he always called her "Wife"), "I have some important business to attend to and do not wish to be disturbed for any reason." Saying this, he closed the door of his study and locked it. Mrs. Rosvally looked at him in bewilderment but gave him his desired privacy.
Dr. Rosvally went to the window of his study. Here, facing east and the city of his ancestors, was where he always prayed. He began to pray as he had always done, but his prayers gave his heart no satisfaction. He could not feel God's presence. Prophecies from the Holy Scripture came flooding into his mind. What did they mean? He felt that his soul was adrift on a sea of uncertainty. He took his phylacteries in his hands. They were small leather cases attached to narrow strips of leather. Inside were kept quotations from the scriptures: the first sixteen verses of Ex. 13 and two passages from Deuteronomy— Deut. 6:4-9 and Deut. 11:13-21. These contained Jehovah's special promises to His ancient people with instructions that these words were to be worn as frontlets between the eyes and as signs upon the hands. Since his Bar Mitzvah when he was thirteen years old, there had never been a day except Sabbaths and feast days when he had not worn them when he prayed. He loved them dearly and reverenced them with awe. As he looked at them now some prophecies from the Scriptures flashed again into his mind. "The scepter shall not depart from Judah, nor a law giver from between his feet until Shiloh come, and unto Him shall the gathering of the people be." "But thou, Bethlehem Ephratah, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall he come forth unto Me who is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting." "The Lord Himself shall give you a sign: behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a Son, and shall call His name Immanuel." The Christians claimed all these prophecies were fulfilled in Jesus. Was it true? Were they?
With his face lifted to the night sky he cried, "Oh, Lord God, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Thou knowest I am sincere in searching. If Jesus Christ is really Thy Son, if He is the Messiah, reveal Him to me tonight.”
He threw his phylacteries to the floor—an act of terrible blasphemy for a Jew—and paced the floor. Such agitation he had never known. Suddenly he kneeled on the floor beside the desecrated phylacteries and tried again to pray—this time to Jesus Christ. That prayer he never forgot. He cried, "Oh, Jesus Christ, if Thou art truly the Son of God; if Thou art the Savior of the world; if Thou art the true Messiah for whom we have waited; and if Thou canst convert sinners as Christians say Thou canst, convert me tonight for I am indeed a sinner. If Thou wilt do this, I will serve Thee faithfully all the days of my life.”
He stayed on his knees for a long time. Perspiration dripped from his brow although the room was cold. Still no peace came to his troubled heart. He arose and paced the floor again. Why had he gone to his knees? Why had he humbled himself before a Messiah in whom he did not believe? Or, did he really believe that Jesus was the Messiah? He did not know.
Again he knelt and tried to pray but could not. Again he arose and paced the floor. More than four hours had passed since he had entered the room, four hours of the deepest agony a Jewish mind could know. Then suddenly there came into the midst of his suffering a firm and unaltering conviction that Jesus was indeed the Messiah, He was the fulfillment of all the prophecies of the Scriptures, the Savior of all men who would believe.
Again he knelt. This time his heart was quiet. He did not try to bargain with God; he praised Him. Joy and peace flooded his soul, such peace and joy as he had never known before. His sins were gone, gone forever; he knew it. He had a new relationship with the God of his fathers, an acceptance they had never known. It was now about two o'clock in the morning. Mrs. Rosvally had long since retired. Her husband rushed into the bedroom to share the wonderful news with his beloved. He leaned over her as she slept and kissed her. As she opened her eyes he exclaimed joyfully, "Wife, I have found our Messiah!”
She pushed him from her and asked coldly, "Found whom?”
“Our Messiah! Jesus Christ, my Messiah, my Savior!”
Without another word to him she arose and dressed hastily. Within five minutes she had left the house and was knocking at the door of her parents' home across the street.
He did not follow her. Instead he knelt beside their bed and implored his newly-found Savior to reveal Himself to his wife also. Then with peace in his heart he went to bed.
Mrs. Rosvally's parents were awakened and alarmed by the frantic knocking on their door. It was two o'clock in the morning. Her father arose and called through the closed door, "Who's there?”
"It is I—Jessie, Father. Let me in.”
Astonished, her father hastened to unlock the door and admit his daughter. Her mother hastily joined them and asked in alarm, "Jessie, whatever is the matter?”
“It is Max," replied Mrs. Rosvally in a cold, hard voice. "He is meshumed! He has become a Christian!”
Exclamations of sorrow arose from both parents. After a little while of bitter wailing the mother asked, "What have we done to deserve this? You must never call him husband again. You shall not share his disgrace. Otherwise you will cease to be our daughter. You will be put out of the synagogue. And your poor children! Jessie, you must get them out of that man's clutches before they, too, are ruined. Bring them here. You shall all live with us.”
“He will do nothing to them until the morning," said Mrs. Rosvally. "I will send for them early in the morning.”
And so she did. Hardly had Dr. Rosvally arisen when some servants from across the street came for the daughter and son, and for all Mrs. Rosvally's belongings. Without waiting to see what the servants were assembling to remove from his house, Dr. Rosvally went immediately across the street. He must talk with his wife. The only response he got to his vigorous knocking was the order, "Go away! Never come back! You shall not enter this house." When he tried to open the door to walk in he found it locked.
Sadly he returned to his own house. He allowed the servants to take what they desired. Knowing full well the attitude of the orthodox Jewish mind toward a defector from the faith, he made no attempt to detain his children, nor to tell them the reason for the strange things which were happening. He went into his study, closed the door, and fell upon his knees, then changed his posture and prostrated himself on the floor. Out of the depths of a suffering heart he called upon his God to help.
Day after day passed with no word from his wife or children. Then just five days after he had arrived home he received orders from the Surgeon-General at Washington to travel west on government business. He must depart at once. Before he left he tried in every way he could think of to communicate with his wife. It was of no avail. The only notice she took of all his efforts was to ask a neighbor to inform him that she never wished to see him again; she no longer considered him her husband. With a heavy heart he started west.
As he traveled the long miles his thoughts were divided between joy and pain—joy when he thought of his Messiah, his Savior, and as he read the Scriptures with new understanding. How plain they all were now! How could the truth have escaped him so long? But it was with deep, terrible suffering that he thought of his wife and children. Then came the thought of his mother, still living back in Germany. He wrote her a long, loving letter telling her that he had at last found their Messiah, Jesus Christ the Son of God. He had started the letter with a verse from the Scriptures which he knew was a favorite of his mother's. It was from the Psalms and said, "Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what He hath done for my soul." He thought surely this would reach her heart. This would put into the right perspective the thrilling news which he was telling her of his discovery of the Messiah, and keep it from being so much of a shock to her. He tried to calculate the length of time before he could expect a reply.
Having arrived at his destination, many hundreds of miles from home, he immediately wrote his wife a letter filled with expressions of his love for her and their children, and explaining to her the many things which had led to the light of the knowledge of salvation through the Lord Jesus Christ. He told her how much he longed for them to share this joy with him. The letter was returned to him unopened with the words, "Return to sender" written across the front of it in his wife's handwriting. Every day for fifty-four days he wrote such a letter, always hoping that one of them would not come back to him, and in each one he set forth evidence from the Holy Scripture that Jesus was indeed the Messiah. There was some relief for his aching heart in just writing such letters, even if they should not be read. As he wrote and as he searched the Scriptures his own convictions became stronger.
The night after the fifty-third letter had come and had been returned unopened Sarah Rosvally dreamed that she saw her father dying. She was so shaken by the vivid dream that she determined that if another letter arrived and she could obtain possession of it she would read and answer it. She was fully aware of the command of her mother and her grandparents that she was to have no further communication with her father, she was not to consider him her father; her father was God. She had been reared to strict obedience, yet her love for her father called loudly to her heart. For this she dared to disobey.
She waited anxiously for the postman to come. No one else was around when he handed her the letter addressed to her mother. She knew it was from her father. With trembling hands she took it and slipped it inside her dress. With her heart pounding violently she hurried to her room, entered and locked the door. She must not be discovered in what she intended to do. She could hardly hold the letter to read it, but when she did the tears streamed down her face. Three times she read it through before she laid it down. This had not been written by a wicked man, as she had been told her father had become. It was tender and loving and patient and kind. How he must love them all to persist in his pleas when he had been so often repulsed! The sorrow which had been bottled up in her heart for nearly two months broke out in a flood of weeping.
When, after a long time, she went downstairs again, her eyes were red and swollen and her face was very, very sad.
“Sarah!" exclaimed her mother, "What is the matter?”
“Oh, Mother, if I tell you I am sure you will be angry at me.”
“I will not be angry, my child. What is it?”
Then Sarah told her of the dream she had dreamed, and of the letter she had read. "I cannot believe that my father is a bad man. No bad man could have written such a letter. Please read it, Mother. Please.”
Mrs. Rosvally took the letter without a word. She looked at it a long time. The longing in her own heart was almost overwhelming. She carried it in silence into her own room and put it resolutely into the drawer of her desk and locked the drawer. She could think of nothing else but the letter as the hours passed. In the afternoon she carefully locked her door and took the letter from the desk. She looked at it for a long time. Dare she read it? Was she prepared to face the consequences it might bring into her life? Slowly she drew the pages from the envelope. As with Sarah, when she read it the tears streamed down her cheeks. She could not see the words until the tears had been wiped away. Five times she read that letter through. Five times her heart told her to believe it and five times all her early training told her to reject it. What could she do? She felt absolutely ill with the necessity to make the decision.
As she came from her room Sarah saw her face and asked of her the same question she had been asked, "Mother, what is the matter?" She knew her mother had read the letter.
“I feel so ill," replied her mother. "Please ask Julia to make me some tea." She lay upon the couch and moaned. The tea brought her no relief and later in the day her mother sent a message to the family doctor that Mrs. Rosvally needed his attention. His ministrations brought no more relief than the tea. Her difficulty could not be healed by food or drink or medicine. She longed for her mother to quit trying to do something for her and return to her own house. She desired only to be left alone so she could settle the distressing matter.
Finally her mother, having done all she could think of for her daughter's relief, left after saying that if she were needed in the night for them not to hesitate to call her. The rest of the family retired and Mrs. Rosvally was left alone in the presence of her God. She kneeled down beside her bed as her husband had asked her to do. Again she read the letter. The Scriptures cited there made the way of salvation so plain. They proved so conclusively that Jesus Christ was truly the Son of God; He was indeed the Messiah for whom the nation of Israel had so long waited: He was the only way of access into God's presence. She believed it.
The next day Dr. Rosvally received a telegram from his wife. The message was a very long one for a telegram but the news was so important that it could not wait to be delivered by mail. The telegram read: "My dear husband, Come home at once. I truly thought you were wrong and I was right, but I have found out that I was wrong. Your Christ is now my Messiah, also; your Jesus is my Savior. At nineteen minutes after eleven last night I bowed my knees to Him and trusted in His blood to save my soul. It is all so clear now. With all my love, Jessie.”
When he read that telegram nothing else mattered in his life. Joy unspeakable flooded his soul, and he dropped to his knees to pour out his heart in thanksgiving and praise to God. Then he decided government business or not, he must go home at once. Sending a message to his superior that he had been called home with great urgency, he caught the first train going to Washington.
Mrs. Rosvally saw him coming and met him at the bottom of the steps. Her face was beaming with joy as they embraced each other affectionately and she kissed him, saying, "Oh, Max!" Meanwhile from across the street where her parents also had seen him coming came screamed curses which reached the entire neighborhood. But nothing could destroy the joy of Dr. Rosvally and his wife in that moment of reunion. They were truly united now—united in Christ. They had so much talking to do. Almost two months had passed since they had communicated with each other and there was so much to tell and so much joy to share.
A few days later Sarah, too, trusted the Lord Jesus Christ and acknowledged Him as Messiah and Savior. Not so with Jacob, her brother. Their grandparents promised him that if he would remain true to his Jewish faith and renounce the apostacy of his parents and sister he would be sole heir to their fortune which was considerable. This he agreed to do. He would never call these heretics, "father, mother or sister," again. What grief this caused cannot be told. How often the family prayed for the stony-hearted son but he would have nothing to do with them. If they happened to meet upon the street he passed them by without a word or glance of recognition. They were to him as though they had died.
One morning the postman brought Dr. Rosvally the long-awaited letter from Germany. Eagerly he slit the envelope saying, "It has come, Wife! The letter from my mother." As he read the enclosure his face grew pale and the joy fled from it. As a stricken man he handed it silently to his wife. There was no endearing salutation such as the elder Mrs. Rosvally generally used in addressing this dear son who was the oldest of her fourteen children. Instead it said: "Max: You are no longer my son; we have buried you in effigy; we mourn you as dead. May the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob strike you blind, deaf and dumb while you live, and damn your soul forever. You have left the religion of your fathers and the Jewish synagogue for Jesus the "Impostor". So take your mother's curse. Clara.”
Dr. Rosvally thought he had fully counted the cost of his stand for Jesus Christ, the Messiah and Savior, but he was hardly prepared for such a letter from his mother. A deep sob shook his body and as his wife's arms went around his neck their tears mingled. Both had been cursed by the parents they loved and respected. Surely it was not a light thing for a Jew to become a Christian. Yet in that hour of sorrow the comfort of the Lord reached their hearts like healing balm. He was to them the "God of all comfort." And the joy of being together flooded their souls.
The Rosvallys found happy Christian fellowship and the following years were happy and peaceful except for the underlying sorrow about Jacob and their parents. But once again sorrow was in store for them. Mrs. Rosvally became seriously ill and in spite of all that the best doctors could do, she wasted away with disease. She longed to see Jacob again to tell him how much she loved him and to implore him to accept the Lord Jesus Christ so the entire family would have the prospect of eternity together in the "House of the Lord!" Time and again Dr. Rosvally sent word to him of his mother's condition and begged him to grant her dying request. He ignored them all. Finally a pastor and his wife confronted the young man face to face and told him in no uncertain words what he was doing to his mother. His only reply was, "Let her die. And may God curse her soul! She is no mother of mine.”
These heartless words were never repeated.
One morning Mrs. Rosvally asked her husband to invite all the Christians with whom they had fellowshipped to come to their home that day to bid her farewell. She knew her earthly life would soon be over. Thirty-eight friends were able to come. She wished them all to come into her room at the same time and they did so although the room was crowded. She then asked them all to join hands with her husband and herself and together to sing "Jesus, Lover of my Soul." She was too weak to sing, but her heart was filled with joy. When they reached the line which says, "Thou, oh Christ, art all I want," she interrupted the singing by saying, "Yes, oh Christ, Thou art all I want. Please come, Lord Jesus, and take me home." Without another word she closed her eyes and departed "to be with Christ, which is far better.”
Jacob took no notice of her death and did not attend the funeral. He was entirely engrossed in his grandparents' religion and their wealth. Sarah was a great comfort to Dr. Rosvally in his loneliness. How he thanked God for her and for her salvation.
After his wife's death Dr. Rosvally became very interested in mission work in the large cities which he frequently visited. One evening he walked into one in Brooklyn, New York. It was testimony time and after several others had spoken, an elderly lady arose to speak. "My dear friends," she said, "this may be the last time I will have an opportunity to publicly testify to the goodness of my Savior. The doctor has told me that I have not much longer to live. At that news I rejoice. I long to see my Savior who bore my judgment and died to redeem my soul. And I long also to see my dear son once more. Charlie has been in Heaven a long time already." She seemed to forget where she was and went on speaking about her son as if she were just talking to a friend. "You know," she said, "he was wounded at Gettysburg—wounded real badly. They had to amputate his arm and his leg. And he was only seventeen years old! A Jewish doctor did the amputations and the chaplain who wrote to me about it said that while he was doing those amputations Charlie prayed for him, and later, before he died, Charlie told him about the Lord Jesus Christ and asked him to trust in Him. That was the kind of a boy Charlie was and soon I'll see him again. He lived only five days after that operation but he died trusting the Lord. I thank God for that." Then as she looked again at the crowd of people around her she added, "If any of you don't know the Lord Jesus Christ as your own personal Savior, you had better trust Him tonight while you still have the chance.”
Dr. Rosvally's mind went back to that scene in the hospital at Gettysburg many years before.
This must be Charlie Coulson's mother! It could not be otherwise. Hurriedly he made his way to the lady's side. Grasping her hand, he said, "My dear sister, God bless you! Your Charlie's prayer has been answered. I am that Jewish doctor for whom he prayed, and I have trusted the Savior. I, too, will meet your Charlie in Heaven." What joy they shared and how their hearts thrilled at the goodness of God in bringing them together in this way!
Jacob Rosvally, rich and prosperous, went to Germany on business and decided to remain there to live. There was nothing to tie him to the United States. His grandparents were dead and he had inherited all their wealth. He had no other family. Many times his father had written to him but he never answered. Three times Dr. Rosvally had crossed the Atlantic and had endeavored to see his son but Jacob always refused to see him. As the years passed the burden on the good doctor's heart seemed to increase rather than decrease. He longed for the salvation of his son. He longed for their relationship as father and son to be restored. He prayed constantly for these things. Some years after his wife's death, he married again and with his new wife he decided to take a long trip which would include a visit to Germany, to contact his son. To his boundless delight he received a reply from Jacob, suggesting that they meet at a certain place and time.
It was a touching reunion. Many years had passed since they had seen each other. Jacob greeted him with the one word, "Father," and it was music to his ears. They had a long visit and Jacob wept as he asked forgiveness for the way he had treated his mother. He expressed a desire to see his sister Sarah again. Dr. Rosvally assured him she would receive him with open arms. Sarah had married a young preacher and they were busy and happy proclaiming the Word of God.
The next few days were happy ones for father and son. Together with Mrs. Rosvally they toured all the beauty spots of Germany, and together they talked for hours at a time. Dr. Rosvally's cup of joy was running over. Only one thing remained for which he had prayed, that was Jacob's salvation, and he was assured in his heart that God would grant that request also.
He did. It happened in America, at his mother's grave.
While Dr. Rosvally and his wife continued their trip through Europe Jacob came to the United States and visited his sister Sarah. Sarah wrote to her father: "Dear Father, it was such a joy to us to hear from Jacob. How excited we were! And he has come to visit us. He and Gerald became friends instantly. We have had such a good time.
“On Friday Jacob asked me to take him out to Mother's grave. Oh, Father, we do thank the Lord for all His goodness to us. I am sure Jacob is under deep conviction of sin. He realized how he has failed in his duty to you and to Mother; how stubborn and rebellious he has been to God. We are all praying for him that he will soon find peace and forgiveness through trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ, our Savior and Messiah. Many Christian friends are praying with us and I feel sure God will answer soon. Your loving daughter, Sarah.”
Two weeks later Jacob again visited his mother's grave, this time alone. There he knelt and acknowledged her Lord and Savior as his own. Tears of repentance fell upon the grass but joy flooded his soul as he realized all his sins were forever blotted out. The blood of Jesus Christ, God's Son, had cleansed him from them all. If only his mother could know. Perhaps she did. He found real joy in the possibility of that.
Not only Dr. Rosvally, but his entire family as well, will one day see in the glory of Heaven the drummer-boy, whose prayer and whose faith and loyalty to his Savior, God had used to start the chain of events which had brought salvation to them all. "O the depths of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments, and His ways past finding out!" Rom. 11:33.
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