WHAT IF IT BE ALL TRUE?

JOHN NEWTON had a pious mother, who was taken from him
when he was only seven years old. She taught him, when but an
infant, to pray, and sowed in his young heart the seeds of his future
spiritual life.

When a boy, he was led to think much of God and of eternal things;
but his impressions wore off, and he entered on a course of sin. It
seemed as if he had broken loose from all bonds, and delighted only
in what was evil.

While in this impenitent state he was thrown from a horse, and was
in great danger, but his life was preserved. Then his conscience
awoke once more, and he trembled at the thought of appearing
before God, sinful and unready. Under this dread he forsook his sins
for a while, and gave up his profane living and speaking; but the
reformation was only outward, and did not last long.

At another time, dread of God’s wrath overtook him, and he began
to live, as he thought, a very religious life. He thought to make
himself righteous, and so to win God’s favour. He spent much time
in reading the Scriptures; he prayed; he fasted; he would hardly
trust himself to speak, lest he should utter a vain or sinful word.
Ignorant of God’s righteousness, he was bent on having one of his
own, by which he hoped to pacify his conscience, and get quit of his
fear of coming wrath.

This state of mind lasted a year or two, and then he gave up religion
altogether, and became an infidel. He now rushed into wickedness
of every kind; and yet he only became more wretched. He went to
sea on board a slave ship, and took part in that horrid trade. He was
reduced to utter poverty—starving, and sinning, and blaspheming—
his heart hard and his conscience seared. He was in very deed the
prodigal son, wasting his substance with riotous living, but not yet
“coming to himself,” and saying, “I will arise, and go to my father.”
Once and again he was in peril of his life by sea and land. Halfintoxicated,
and dancing on deck one midnight, his hat went
overboard, and he was throwing himself after it when laid hold of
and dragged back by his comrades. Thus he hurried on in sin, as he
himself in one of his hymns describes it:

“In evil long I took delight,
Unawed by shame or fear.”

Finding one day a religious book on board the vessel, he took it up,
and looking into it, was led to ask the question, “WHAT IF THESE
THINGS SHOULD BE TRUE?” The thought terrified him, and he
closed the book. He went to his hammock that night as usual,
having contrived to put this solemn question out of his mind. In the
dark night he was awakened by the dash of waves. A storm had
risen, a terrible sea had swept over the vessel, and the cabin where
he lay was fast filling. The cry rose, “The ship is sinking!” All was
confusion and terror. He twice made for the deck, but was met upon
the ladder by the captain, who bade him bring a knife. As he was
returning for the knife, a man went up in his place, and was washed
away.

Thoughts of other days began to come back upon him; the
remembrance of those whom he had loved affected him, and his
heart seemed softening. For four weeks the vessel was tossed to and
fro, he being sometimes at the helm and sometimes at the pumps,
wave upon wave breaking over him. Then, in the midst of danger,
day and night his cry went up, “O God, save me, or I perish;” and,
“The God of the Bible forgive me for His Son’s sake;” and, “My
mother’s God, the God of mercy, have mercy upon me.”
That storm was to John Newton what the earthquake was to the
jailer at Philippi: it brought him to his knees. It brought his sins
before him. It brought before him his eternal ruin. It brought him to
the cross and blood of Christ. The hymn of which we have already
quoted the first two lines goes on to tell his experience:

“In evil long I took delight,
Unawed by shame or fear,
Till A NEW OBJECT struck my sight,
And stopped my wild career.”

The “new object” which met his eye, as he stood at the helm or
walked the deck, with the waves dashing over him, was the crucified
Christ. The cross, and the Son of God there bearing our sins, stood
out before him in the brightness of Divine love. For thus he sings:

“I saw one hanging on a tree
In agonies and blood,
Who fixed His languid eyes on me,
As near His cross I stood.”

As it was with Simon Peter when the Lord turned and looked upon
him, so was it with John Newton. In both cases the look of love
melted the sinner down:

“Sure never till my latest breath
Can I forget that look;
It seemed to charge me with His death,
Though not a word He spoke.”

That look of love, holy love, went through and through his
conscience, making him feel his sin in all its vileness. Sin, which
had hitherto been treated by him as a mere trifle, or been altogether
overlooked, now presented itself in all its terrors. He was doomed;
he was lost: what shall he do?

“My conscience felt and owned the guilt,
And plunged me in despair;
I saw my sins His blood had spilt,
And helped to nail Him there.”

He is overwhelmed; he is in despair. That look of holy love has
smitten him through and through. It says to him: “Thou art the
man; thou didst it all; thou hast nailed Me to the tree; had it not
been for thy sins, I had not been here.” But as he looks, he sees
something more in that look, and hears the voice of pardon coming
from the cross:

“A second look He gave, which said,
I freely all forgive:
This blood is for thy ransom paid:
I die that thou may’st live.”

This second look speaks of peace. He reads forgiveness in it—free
forgiveness to the chief of sinners—forgiveness to “the old African
blasphemer,” and his troubled conscience is pacified. “I have found
a ransom,” is the message which removes his terror; and this
ransom is by the blood and death of the Son of God. That ransom
suffices. God looks at it and is satisfied; He says it is enough. The
sinner looks at it and is satisfied; he says it is enough. The burden of
guilt is unloosed, and falls from his shoulders. He is set free from
guilt, from terror, from bondage. He knows the blessedness of the
man whose transgression is forgiven and whose sin is covered. He
has believed, and he is saved; nay, and he knows that he is saved, for
he credits the heavenly record concerning Him to whom he is
looking:

“Thus, while His death my sin displays
In all its blackest hue,
Such is the mystery of grace,
It seals my pardon too.”

Forgiveness through the blood of the Lamb—forgiveness through
the belief of the Holy Spirit’s testimony to the finished work of
Immanuel—this is now his resting-place; and his whole life is
changed, That holy pardon has made him a holy man.
And now let us come back to the first thought that struck him—
“WHAT IF ALL THIS BE TRUE?”

Here is a question for us, no less than for him.

If eternity be a reality, then it becomes me to prepare for it, for
endless terror or endless joy can be no trifle. If I must live for ever,
then I must seek so to live here as to make that everlasting living a
happy one. Otherwise it had been good for me that I had never been
born.

If sin be a fact, then I must not trifle with it; and if God hates it
utterly, then I must hate it too, and I must get quit of it. And I must
get quit of it in God’s way, for no other way of deliverance will avail.
That which is so awfully real and powerful as sin is, can only be
taken away by something as real and as powerful as itself.

If the cross of Christ be true, then I must deal with it accordingly. It
is meant to be the death of sin and the life of righteousness. It is
meant to be the fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness. It is
meant to be the place where all sin is borne by another for us, so
that we live by the death of another, and are pardoned by the
condemnation of another. My acceptance of the great work done
there is my deliverance from wrath, and sin, and death. I am not
bidden to work for pardon: I get it freely, and without desert. I am
not bidden to wait for pardon: I get it at once as a finished and
provided gift, bestowed upon every one who will go to God for it,
and take it in His appointed way.

If all these things be true, then I must be in earnest. Everything
connected with God and Christ, with sin and pardon, with life and
death, with wrath and favour, with time and eternity, is so
unspeakably momentous, that I must be up and minding these
things without delay. If I am not in earnest, I am a fool; for what
shall it profit me to gain the whole world and to lose my soul? I
must seek the right thing. I must seek it at the right time. I must
seek it in the right way, I must go straight to God for all I want; and
I must meet Him at the cross.

I knew one who was all his life seeking, and yet he never seemed to
find. He was trying to be happy, but knew not how. He was rich, and
had everything that this world could give him. He went about from
place to place in search of pleasure. He lived a long life, and spent it
in the midst of luxury, eating and drinking and making merry. He
had broad lands; he had many friends; and his house was filled with
pictures, and statues, and everything that art could provide for him.

Yet his weary eye told you that he was not happy. Life seemed to
have no joy in it; and yet every day, from morning to night, he was
going about in quest of joy. “Who will show me any good?” was his
cry. But the good never came. He passed through life weary and
unhappy, though apparently possessing all its pleasures. He died
about the age of fourscore, and he did not seem ever to have known
a happy day. He lived in vain, both for himself and others.

My friend, would you be happy? You must go to God for His love
and joy. This world, with riches and pleasures to the full, will do
nothing for you. It cannot give you peace. But the God who made
you can give you peace—His own satisfying peace. Go immediately,
and get it from Him. He giveth to all liberally, and upbraideth not.
Would you be safe? You must seek your safety in the Son of God,
and beneath the protection of His cross. In Him only you are safe.

His cross is a shield and hiding-place for time and eternity. Time
will soon pass away: the last trumpet may soon sound, and you
must stand before the judgment-seat of Christ, to give account of
the deeds done in the body. Seek immediate safety in Christ Jesus,
the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sin of the world. He is able to
save to the uttermost them that come unto God by Him. He waits to
welcome the guilty. He loves to bless the sinner. Go to Him now,
and deal with Him fully, and fervently, and honestly, about that soul
of yours. He will not send you empty away.

Horatius Bonar, How Shall I Go to God?

Earthly Prospects Deceitful

Oft in vain the voice of truth,
Solemnly and loudly warns;
Thoughtless, inexperienced youth,
Though it hears, the warning scorns:
Youth in fancy’s glass surveys
Life prolonged to distant years;
While the vast, imagined space,
Filled with sweets and joys appears.

Aweful disappointment, soon
Overclouds the prospect gay!
Some their sun goes down at noon,
Torn by death’s strong hand away:
Where are then their pleasing schemes?
Where the joys they hoped to find?
Gone for ever, like their dreams,
Leaving not a trace behind.

Others, who are spared awhile,
Live to weep o’er fancy’s cheat;
Find distress, and pain, and toil,
Bitter things instead of sweet:
Sin has spread a curse around,
Poisoned all things here below;
On this base polluted ground,
Peace and joy can never grow.

Grace alone can cure our ills,
Sweeten life, with all its cares;
Regulate our stubborn wills,
Save us from surrounding snares
Though you oft have heard in vain,
Former years in folly spent;
Grace invites you yet again,
Once more calls you to repent.

Called again, at length, beware,
Hear the Savior’s voice, and live;
Lest he in his wrath should swear,
He no more will warning give:
Pray, that you may hear and feel,
Ere the day of grace be past;
Lest your hearts grow hard as steel,
Or this year should prove your last.

John Newton, The Olney Hymns

All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. Isaiah 53:6

All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.
Isaiah 53:6

Here a confession of sin common to all the elect people of God. They have all fallen, and therefore, in common chorus, they all say, from the first who entered heaven to the last who shall enter there, “All we like sheep have gone astray.” The confession, while thus unanimous, is also special and particular: “We have turned every one to his own way.” There is a peculiar sinfulness about every one of the individuals; all are sinful, but each one with some special aggravation not found in his fellow. It is the mark of genuine repentance that while it naturally associates itself with other penitents, it also takes up a position of loneliness. “We have turned every one to his own way,” is a confession that each man had sinned against light peculiar to himself, or sinned with an aggravation which he could not perceive in others. This confession is unreserved; there is not a word to detract from its force, nor a syllable by way of excuse. The confession is a giving up of all pleas
of self-righteousness. It is the declaration of men who are consciously guilty–guilty with aggravations, guilty without excuse: they stand with their weapons of rebellion broken in pieces, and cry, “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way.” Yet we hear no dolorous wailings attending this confession of sin; for the next sentence makes it almost a song. “The Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.” It is the most grievous sentence of the three, but it overflows with comfort. Strange is it that where misery was concentrated mercy reigned; where sorrow reached her climax weary souls find rest. The Saviour bruised is the healing of bruised hearts. See how the lowliest penitence gives place to assured confidence through simply gazing at Christ on the cross!

Charles H. Spurgeon, Morning and Evening