When I was a boy, I heard a Northern Ireland preacher relate the following story, which he declared to be absolutely authentic. It is a striking illustration of the lack of understanding of spiritual problems prevalent in some quarters, even in our enlightened days.
In a Scottish home the younger son, a lad in his late teens, named Robert, (generally “Robbie” in the family) became troubled about his soul. Realizing he was a lost sinner, he sought in vain for some one who could make plain to him the way of peace with God. His father, though a religious man and an esteemed office-bearer in the local kirk, could not understand why a lad brought up as his son had been should think himself lost and in need of salvation.
In his distress the boy sought out the minister, who after a long talk with him told him he should put away such gloomy thoughts and try to get his mind on brighter things. As the youth was musically inclined, the pastor suggested to the father to purchase a fiddle for his son and have him take violin lessons. This was done, but although Robbie tried to forget his “gloomy ideas” (as the minister called them) and resolutely set himself to learn to play the fiddle, he at last gave up in despair. “I cannot fiddle,” he exclaimed, “when I am lost in my sins and may die any moment and go into hell because I cannot find how to be saved.”
A physician was called in, who, after examining the boy, advised that he be sent to a sanitarium for mental cases, as he felt sure he was losing his mind, and if not properly treated, might do something desperate.
So to the asylum the poor lad was taken. There for weeks he paced a narrow room in anguish of soul, as he exclaimed again and again, “Oh, that I knew how to get rid o’ my sins!”
One day, a lady who knew Christ came to that institution in order to help and comfort a friend of hers who had suffered a nervous breakdown. As she passed the room of poor Robbie she heard his sobs and wondered if it was a case of conviction of sin rather than incipient insanity. She was given an opportunity to speak with him and, after hearing his story, she pointed him to Christ and left with him a New Testament, marking several passages, which she asked him to read carefully. As he pondered these verses, telling of Christ’s finished work and the blood that cleanseth from all sin, light from heaven shone into his darkened soul and soon he was rejoicing in God’s salvation.
The change in his behavior was so notable that the attending alienist decided he was cured by the treatment received, and he notified the father that Robbie might now safely be taken home. His brother James came for him and was delighted to find Robbie so calm and peaceful. Little was said until he arrived at home, when, in response to his anxious father’s question, “Are ye a’ right noo, Robbie?” he exclaimed, “Aye, feyther, I’m a’right noo, for my sins are gone an’ my soul is saved!” The shocked father cried out aghast, “Jamie, gang for the meenister. Tell him Robbie’s had a relapse, and to come at once.”
When the minister reached the house, Robbie greeted him somewhat sternly, “Meenister, Meenister,” he exclaimed, “why did ye set me trying to fiddle my sins awa’? Why did ye no tell me o’ the bluid o’ Jesus that cleanses frae a’ sin. What the fiddlin could no’ do, the Lord Jesus has done for me.”
The embarrassed minister soon realized a work of God had taken place in the soul of the young man. Though he did not fathom it all, he understood enough to know it was what the Bible calls being “born again,” and so he assured the father he need not worry about his son’s mentality. As the time went on, all knew that Robbie had indeed passed from death unto life and many were won to Christ through his testimony.
It is to be feared there are many in our days who are as unable to help a troubled soul as was Robbie’s pastor. Yet every one who professes to be a minister of God should be an expert at dealing with anxious men and women and showing them the only way of life and peace — through the gospel of His grace.