Many years ago he was asked
to see a poor boy who was dying in a lonely district in Ireland.
He says: After upwards of an
hour's toilsome walking (for the roads which in some places led over steep
hills were in others scarcely passable on account of the heavy marshes), on
entering the little cottage I looked round me and at first found no sign of any
inhabitant, except an old woman who sat crouching over the embers of a peat
fire. She rose as I entered, and with the natural courtesy of the Irish poor
offered me the low chair or rather stool on which she had been seated.
I thanked her, and passing
on to the object of my visit discovered in one corner of the hut a heap of
straw on which lay the poor sufferer. Some scanty covering, probably his own
wearing apparel, had been thrown over him, but as to bed or bed clothes there
was none discernible in this humble dwelling.
I approached, and saw a
young lad about seventeen or eighteen years of age evidently in a state of
extreme suffering and exhaustion, and it was to be feared in the last stage of
consumption. His eyes were closed, but he opened them on my approach and stared
at me with a kind of wild wonder, like a frightened animal.
I told him as quietly as
possible who I was, and for what purpose I had come, and put a few of the
simplest questions to him respecting his hope of salvation. He answered
nothing, he appeared totally unconscious of my meaning.
On pressing him further, and
speaking to him kindly and affectionately, he looked up, and I ascertained from
the few words he uttered that he had heard something of a God and future
judgment, but he had never been taught to read. The Holy Scriptures were a sealed
book to him, and he was consequently altogether ignorant of the way of
salvation as revealed to us in the gospel. His mind on this subject was truly
an utter blank.
I was struck with dismay and
almost with despair. Here was a fellow creature whose immortal soul, apparently
on the verge of eternity, must be saved or lost for ever; and he lay before me
now, the hand of death close upon him; not a moment was to be lost and what was
I to do? What way was I to take to begin to teach him, as it were at the
eleventh hour, the first rudiments of christianity?
I had scarcely ever before
felt such a sinking within me. I could do nothing, that I knew full well, but
on the other hand God could do all; I therefore raised up my heart and besought
my heavenly Father for Christ's sake to direct me in this most difficult and
trying position, and to open to me by His Spirit of wisdom a way to set forth
the glad tidings of salvation so as to be understood by this poor benighted
wanderer.
I was silent for a few
moments whilst engaged in inward prayer and gazing with deep anxiety on the
melancholy object before me. It struck me that I ought to try to discover how
far his intelligence in other things extended, and whether there might not be
reasonable hope of his understanding me when I should commence to open to him
(as I was bound to do) the gospel message of salvation. I looked down upon him
with an eye of pity, which I most sincerely felt, and I thought he observed
that compassionate look, for he softened towards me as I said: 'My poor boy,
you are very ill, I fear you suffer a great deal!'
'Yes, I have a bad cold; the
cough takes away my breath and hurts me greatly'.
'Have you had this cough
long?' I asked.
'Oh, yes, a long time; near
a year now'.
'And how did you catch it? A
Kerry boy, I should have thought, would have been reared hardily and accustomed
to this sharp air!'
'Ah', he answered, 'and so I
was until that terrible night - it was about this time last year when one of
the sheep went astray. My father keeps a few sheep upon the mountains and this
is the way we live. When he reckoned them that night there was one wanting, and
he sent me to look for it'.
'No doubt', I replied, 'you
felt the change from the warmth of the peat fire in this close little hut, to
the cold mountain blast'.
'Oh! that I did; there was
snow upon the ground, and the wind pierced me through; but I did not mind it
much, as I was so anxious to find father's sheep'.
'And did you find it?' I
asked, with increased interest.
'Oh, yes, I had a long, weary
way to go, but I never stopped until I found it'.
'And how did you get it
home? You had trouble enough with that too, I daresay. Was it willing to follow
back?'
'Well, I did not like to
trust it, and besides, it was dead beat and tired, so I laid it on my shoulders
and carried it home that way'.
'And were they not all at
home rejoiced to see you when you returned with the sheep?'
'Sure enough, and that they
were', he replied. 'Father and mother, and the people round that heard of our
loss, all came in the next morning to ask about the sheep, for the neighbours
in these matters are mighty kind to each other. Sorry they were, too, to hear
that I was kept out the whole dark night; it was morning before I got home, and
the end of it was I caught this cold. Mother says I will never be better now,
God knows best; anyways, I did my best to save the sheep'.
Wonderful! I thought, here
is the whole gospel history. The sheep is lost, the father sends his son to
seek for and recover it. The son goes willingly, suffers all without
complaining, and in the end sacrifices his life to find the sheep, and when
recovered he carries it home on his shoulders to the flock, and rejoices with
his friends and neighbours over the sheep which was lost, but is found again.
My prayer was answered, my way was made plain, and by the grace of God I
availed myself of this happy opening.
I explained to this poor
dying boy the plan of salvation, making use of his own simple and affecting
story. I read to him the few verses in Luke 15, where the care of the shepherd
for the strayed sheep is so beautifully expressed, and he at once perceived the
likeness, and followed me with deep interest while I explained to him the full
meaning of the parable.
The Lord mercifully opened
not only his understanding, but his heart also, to receive the things spoken.
He himself was the lost sheep, Jesus Christ the good Shepherd, who was sent by
the Father to seek for him, and who left all the joys of that Father's heavenly
glory to come down to earth and search for him and other lost ones like
himself; and as the poor boy had borne without murmuring the freezing snowstorm
and the piercing wind, so has the blessed Saviour endured the fierce
contradictions of sinners against Himself, and the bitter scorn and insults
heaped upon Him, without opening His mouth to utter one word of complaint, and
at last laid down His precious life, that we might be rescued from destruction
and brought safe to our everlasting home. Neither will He trust His beloved
ones, when rescued, to tread the perilous path alone, but bears them on His
shoulders rejoicing to the heavenly fold.
My poor sick lad seemed to
drink it all in. He received it all; he understood it all. I never saw a
clearer proof of the power of the divine Spirit to apply the word of God.
He survived our first meeting but a few days. I had
no time to read or expound to him any other portion of the Scripture. At times
we could hear nothing but stifling, rending cough; at times he slumbered
heavily for a little, but whenever he was able to think and listen, these
verses in Luke 15 satisfied and cheered him. He accepted Christ as his Saviour,
he earnestly prayed to be carried home like the lost sheep in the heavenly
Shepherd's arms. He died humbly, peacefully, almost exulting, with the name of
Jesus, my Saviour and my Shepherd, the last upon his lips.