WE met. I asked him the question, ―
“Are you going to heaven?”
“I hope so,” said he.
“But I know that I am, thank God,” I replied.
“Oh, well, I am working for it,” he continued, in order, doubtless to show me that his hope was based on some real foundation, and that it was not a mere illusion.
“Then I’m not,” I quickly rejoined.
“What!” he said, “you’re not working for it; then are you an infidel?”
“No,” I replied; “I am neither working for it, nor am I an infidel.”
This fairly perplexed him. He could see no mean between works and infidelity,― between doing your best to merit God’s favor, and throwing the whole thing overboard as so much folly. That is, he was totally ignorant of the way of salvation.
I may say that we met casually and were total strangers, but that we thus conversed together.
But, then, I feel persuaded that the state of this man’s mind is the state of many who, though they might hardly speak so openly, yet can see no via media between these two extremes.
The natural thought is, ― “If I don’t do my best there can be no other way; it is that or infidelity.”
It is neither. Very clearly infidelity cannot save; but neither can works. Granted the two principles are opposites; but while infidelity rejects revelation, the principle of works ignores, though professing to own it. Both of those evil fruits grow upon the same bad tree, ― they both low from the same wicked heart; both are absolutely fatal. No more can works―the most laborious―take you to heaven, than did the splendid offering of Cain meet with God’s approval. They are utterly vain.
“Then how do you know you are going to heaven?” he again asked me.
“By Christ alone, for He is ‘the way, the truth, and the life,’” I said.
Yes, dear reader, by Him alone, for “there is no other name given whereby we must be saved.” The acceptance of that blessed name implies faith indeed, as opposed to infidelity, but it also signifies the repudiation of all confidence in your own good works.
It demolishes both principles, and saves you on another. Yes, it saves, and gives you the knowledge of salvation, ―not the mere hope. It leads you to build on the death and resurrection of the Lamb of God,― it causes you to acknowledge your personal guilt and the demerit, too, of all your fancied good works, but it points out to you a sacrifice better than Abel’s,―better than those that lay on Jewish altars,― a sacrifice than which none could be better; for “the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin,”― one that God has provided, so that love has given all that light demanded, and grace supplied all that justice claimed. What heavenly harmonies, ―what divine consistencies! “Mercy and truth are met together, righteousness and peace have kissed each other.”
He that builds on his own works can never get beyond a hope; and did he but know it, his hope is false.
He that builds on the finished work of Christ builds on a certainty, and should always live in the enjoyment of it. He is saved.
The one is human, the other divine; the one of man, the other of God.
If a friend paid your debt in your stead, how much would you pay? Nothing. Salvation, as to its basis, is wrought out apart from me altogether. Faith claims it as graciously presented under the character of a “gift.”
Then “good works” follow as a sequence. Oh! how plain, how simple, ―all plain to him that understandeth. The sorrow is that the many close their eyes and harden their hearts, and will not be charmed.
Infidelity awaits its doom, and “works” their curse,—for the refusal of God’s way must be fatal. The Christian awaits the coming of the Lord, ―when He shall see the travail of His soul and be satisfied.
Reader, what is your prospect? J. W. S.