The Angel Adjutant of "Twice Born Men" Part 16

his mother may have written.

As he reads, his poor face brightens as he murmurs to himself, 'Yes, I will try, I will risk all; I will chance the consequences.'

Let us look at him a moment. Here is vileness indeed, a very type of impurity; and here we see how sin looks in the eyes of G.o.d.

His limbs swollen, his hair white, tumours appear on his jaws, his breath noisome, and his whole person fitted to inspire loathing.

Leprosy is infectious and of slow progress. It begins within the body, and throws out a moisture which corrupts the outside, and covers it with a kind of white scale. It is said that the body becomes so hot that a fresh apple held but an hour in the hand will be withered and wrinkled. The parts of the body infected become insensible, and in time fall off.

The leper is conscious that he is vile. He wears the leper's garment, and day by day from his lips comes the mournful cry, 'Unclean, unclean!'

Then, the leper is not only conscious of his vileness, and acknowledges it, but he despairs of cleansing. He knows that unless some Supreme Power intervenes death will ensue.

It was, perhaps, his desperate condition which led this leper, of whom we speak, to break, with heroic courage, through the ceremonial law, and to expose himself to the risk of being stoned to death that he might cast himself at the Saviour's feet.

See him venturing through the gate into the city to find Jesus. And when at last he approaches the place where he expected to see Jesus, he discovers to his great disappointment that the Lord has gone up the mountain side.

I fancy I see the leper crouching, waiting, and watching for Jesus. At last, that wonderful Form appears, and comes down the mountain with a great crowd following.

How can he get to Jesus? is the leper's first thought. With a dash and the cry,' Unclean!' which causes the crowd to make way and shrink back in horror, he rushes forward and prostrates himself at the feet of Jesus. 'Lord, if Thou wilt,' he cries, 'Thou canst make me clean.'

Here we see the vast difference between curiosity and need. The crowd follow out of curiosity. The leper flings himself in abandon at Jesus'

feet because of his need. _Need_ alone will make a man really come to Jesus. The soul that feels its need, and realizes its sin, will make an effort--a dash to get to G.o.d.

Listen to the leper's prayer! 'Lord.' He owns Jesus as his Lord. He makes a complete, unconditional, and unreserved surrender, and feels his helplessness! Only G.o.d can save him! That is the way to come to Jesus!

His was a model prayer--simple, short, direct. It was grounded in a glorious faith in the power of Christ to heal; a prayer that did not limit G.o.d; believed, indeed, that with Him nothing was impossible.

It is well to recollect that G.o.d has never failed with a case yet.

Those who have wandered the farthest away from Him, those who have sunk the lowest, He can restore, and will never turn His ear from a prayer fashioned like that of the leper's.

I fancy I see the breathless crowd shrinking back in horror! I fancy, too, that I hear those clear, beautiful words ring forth: 'I will; be thou clean.' But Jesus not only speaks; to the astonishment of the crowd, He puts forth His hand and _touches_ the leper. That touch may have been a violation of the letter of the law, but not of the spirit. Jesus knew His touch would give healing to the leper, and not pollution to Himself.

At the cry of the leper, Jesus touched him immediately, true figure of G.o.d's readiness to forgive and cleanse sin.

Jesus is the same to-day. He deals with sin and the sinner in the same way. If you will come in the same spirit as the leper, His hand will be immediately stretched forth to save.

When Jesus touched the leper I can picture the crowd drawing nearer.

They watch the wonderful change take place. A flush pa.s.ses over the leper's pale face, the despairing look gives way to an overwhelming look of joy. The cringing stoop and feeble gait change to an upright att.i.tude and a firm tread. See him going to show himself to the priest. He is commanded to 'tell no one,' but as he goes he meets an old friend. The temptation is too great; he tells him what has happened, and then another and another. He cannot keep the truth in, but blazes it abroad.

Oh! If you would find Christ you must push through the difficulties and the hindrances that would keep you away from Him. If, in the spirit of the leper, you come as you are, conscious of your sin, confessing it with faith in G.o.d's power to cleanse you, you will hear the selfsame words from those gracious lips: 'I will; be thou clean,' and immediately your leprosy, your sin, will leave you.

I see the new creation rise, I hear the speaking Blood; It speaks! Polluted nature dies, Sinks 'neath the cleansing Flood.

The cleansing Stream I see, I see, I plunge, and, Oh it cleanseth me!

Oh, praise the Lord, it cleanseth me!

It cleanseth me, yes, cleanseth me!

HARVESTS: JOY AND SORROW _'The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few'_ (Matthew ix. 37)

As we read these words of the Master we fancy we can see His benign and majestic Presence as He stops and, turning round, looks not upon the beautiful harvest fields, with waving corn, but upon the vast field of the world, with its teeming ma.s.ses of humanity.

So many are ready to look upon the cornfields of gain, to look for something to fill their baskets and store, but hearts like the Master's are wanted that see the great harvest fields of humanity, all ripe and ready to be gathered in. Hearts are wanted that will not only go out in sentimental sympathy, but that will give a helping hand, where it is required, leaving the fields of gain, and toiling for love amidst human need. There seem to be two thoughts in the mind of the Master. As He speaks He strikes two notes--one of joy, and one of sorrow.

A plentiful harvest always brings joy. Another harvest of the earth is being gathered, and as I write I am looking upon the golden cornfields, and see the men all busily engaged. Thank G.o.d for plenty!

Do we praise G.o.d sufficiently for His mercies? Do we always value them? Sometimes we do not fully appreciate them until they are withdrawn.

It seems to me that if the Master walked our crowded cities, He would repeat again those words, 'Truly the harvest is plenteous.' Plenty to reap; only labourers are wanted to go out. The ma.s.ses are still there; the need is for some one to go to the ma.s.ses.

Then the note of sorrow seems to drown and spoil the note of joy. 'The harvest is plenteous'--rejoice! 'But the labourers are few'--cause for sorrow. The ma.s.ses are there--the opportunity--but so few to take hold of it. Corn to be gathered in, but few reapers.

The harvest was plenteous in the time of Christ, but it is even more so now. The people are waiting for us, they expect us and look to us, who are the followers of Christ, to go to their help!

Oh, the open doors! Was the door of the public ear ever more ready to listen to us than at the present time? Those who once turned a deaf ear, and did not believe in us, now say, 'Yes, you are right. You have got the right thing, and are doing the right thing.'

Were people ever more ready to open their doors to us than they are now? How they appreciate the visit of the Salvationist! The doors, too, of the workhouses, the prisons, the hospitals are opening more widely to us.

Yes, the people are ready to open their hearts to us. The poor drunkard, as he rolls from one side of the road to the other, exclaims when he sees a Salvationist, 'G.o.d--bless--General--Booth!'

The ma.s.ses may not always rush as excitedly after us as they once did --there are so many counter-attractions now--but they are there. We must go to them; they need us.

I have heard the story of a little boy who lost his mother, and was found lying upon her grave weeping and praying. Some one who had felt moved to do something for the motherless boy discovered him in this position. 'Jesus has sent me to you!' said the lady. 'I am going to love you as my own little boy.' 'Oh,' he said, through his tears as he looked up as though he had been expecting her, 'so Jesus has sent you! You have been a long time coming though, haven't you?'

Do the sinners and drunkards feel we are a long time coming, because the labourers are too few, and you have kept back from becoming one?

Above the note of joy, above the plentiful harvest, rings out so loudly the note of sorrow--'But the labourers are few!' How few in comparison to the ma.s.ses! So few labourers who will put off the coat of formality, who will pull up the sleeve of ease! Few who will work by the sweat of their brow and make a sacrifice for souls! Sacrifice is needed in G.o.d's service to-day as much as ever, and never was there a more urgent call for men and women who, like our precious General, can say, 'I am never out of it; I sleep in it; I shall die in it.' Nothing worth anything can be accomplished without sacrifice.

How many are there in G.o.d's service who merely look on? More are wanted who will work. The success of The Army has been because of its willingness to come down to the level of the people--to strive to save them. A reckless dying to self is what is needed. Was it not dying made the harvest? The dying is part of the success. The grain was dropped into the ground, and died before it could spring forth and produce living results. There must be the dying to sin, and to self, and self-interests.

Men and women of heart are wanted--men and women, who in seeking souls will give themselves up in the spirit of the champion aviator who said, 'If I had not succeeded I should not have been here. I was determined to win, or die in the attempt.'

Labourers are wanted who will dig right deep down into the heart of sorrow, and find those desires and longings after purity and goodness which even the heart itself scarcely realizes are there.

In the man of the world, though one would hardly believe it as one sees the cynical look and sneer and hears him say, 'I don't want your church--your Army!' there is underneath, in spite of his apparent indifference, a longing after G.o.d and a disgust of the world.

Men and women are wanted to grapple with the vast harvest--this great opportunity--and to gather in G.o.d's sheaves. Oh, to leave the world of vice and folly as naked as the earth is after the harvest! Empty public-houses! Empty gambling dens! Empty abodes of impurity! Empty slums! Empty all places where G.o.d is not! But thanksgiving in the home; the House of G.o.d filled with rejoicing people, telling out of hearts of gladness that labourers came into the fields of sin and gathered them in.

Many letters, folded and handled until almost worn to pieces, but treasured above gold, lie before me. They are addressed to Kate Lee's spiritual children, to the sick, the discouraged, or those living far from an Army hall and rarely able to get to the meetings. These letters are short, often mere notes of one page, rarely running into more than two or three folios; and they are not clever. Kate had little imagination in her make up; she did not see pictures wherever her eyes lit, and never had time to give to studied composition. The value of these letters to us is that any ordinary girl, anyone with a heart 'at leisure from itself'

could write such letters. Over and over again in The Army Founder's life we find him saying, 'It is _heart_ work we want. HEART work.' It is because Kate Lee's letters came from a heart full of love that they reached hearts and never failed to bless them.

She had a delightful way of remembering the anniversary of some of her trophies' conversion. She called them birthdays. Here is a little sc.r.a.p to a man battling bravely against ill health and other adversities:--

I am enclosing a Money Order for five shillings so that you can get some little thing for yourself or your wife. Just a little birthday gift for _your twelfth birthday_. G.o.d bless you! Keep near to Jesus and do all in your power to lead those around you to Him.

Praise Him that He has kept you all these years. He is a wonderful Saviour and worthy of our praise.

No work of art was so beautiful in the eyes of Kate Lee as the photographs of men and women to whom G.o.d had given 'beauty for ashes.'