In a gloomy little temple in India lived a gloomy little old woman. All her life she had been very religious, living on the poorest food, with scarcely a ray of sunshine or a breath of fresh air in her dark prison temple. She never ate meat or fish, and she never killed anything, not even a fly or a mosquito! She had chosen this life herself in order to gain merit, and win a better place in the next world.
As you may imagine, the temple was foul with mice, rats, snakes, bats and many another pest. But the poor old woman spent long hours reciting prayers to a big cruel looking image, and hoped that all her wretchedness would bring her into great favor with that god.
Her visitors were few and unwelcome. One day, however, a man came to the temple, and she agreed to speak with him through the opening which served as a window. His face was happy, and his words were of the blessed Lord Jesus, who had filled his young life with joy, so that he longed. to tell the poor old woman of the joy he had found in the Saviour’s love.
The woman listened curiously. She had studied religion all her life, and had often wondered about the white man’s God. The story of the Saviour’s agony and death on Calvary was wonderful to her, and she believed every word of it, until he began to say that the precious blood which flowed from His wounded side was shed to save sinners. He told her that it had cleansed his sins away, and he longed that it might do the same for her.
“Do you mean to say,” cried the poor woman, “that I may go straight to heaven if I believe that Jesus died for me?”
“Yes,” answered the man.
“Then all my life of privation and prayer is worth nothing?”
“Nothing before God,” answered the Christian.
“Then I will not, have it,” she cried. She disappeared from the little window, back to her life of vain prayers and wretchedness. The missionary went on his way, hut he prayed often for the woman whose wrinkled face of deep wretchedness he could not forget.
Meanwhile, the mice began to disappear from the old temple, for a very active young cat took up her abode there. Many a battle took place before the poor old lady’s eyes, and she prayed often to that cruel unanswering god, that he might understand that this destruction was not her deed.
The cat soon added a small family of kittens to her lonely home. The old lady took a real interest in the tiny creatures, until one day, in the half darkness, she accidentally stepped upon one of them. There was no doubt about it—the kitten was dead. For the first time in all her superstitious years, she had taken the life of a living creature, and her grief knew no bounds. She thought that her sin was beyond forgiveness, and her wails of grief could be heard all through the village.
The missionary heard of this when he came again, and he went straight to the temple. The poor sad face was thinner than ever, but her proud spirit was broken now. She sobbed out her longing to hear more of the One who could forgive such a sinner as she. The young man gladly told her again of the One whom our God sent into this world in order that God in all His righteousness and holiness, might have forgiven sinners at home with Himself.
It was different now. The poor proud woman learned to say “for me—He died for me.” She left her lonely temple, for our God who loves us also says, “Love one another.”
All her Christless years (and yours too) are barren, fit for burning, but God in His mercy saved her in her old age.
Are you saved? Have you learned to say, “He died for me,” or are you still clinging to what you yourself have done? May God in His mercy break your proud spirit before it is forever too late.
ML 10/22/1950