Rensselaer Republican, Volume 27, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 January 1896 — THE JAILER’S QUERY. [ARTICLE]

THE JAILER’S QUERY.

*‘SIRS, WHAT MUST I DO TO BE SAVED?” . ’ ' !r ' .. ... Rev. Br. Talmage on verted Sheriff—A Question of Incomparable Importance-The Cry of an Agitated jSoul—A Call to the Uncoil ver.'.ei. Onr Weekly Sermon. For the closing discourse of the year Rev. Dr. TaTmage chose a subject which ■appeal* to ike unconverted everywhere—viz., "The Phttippftffl Jailer.” The test selected was, “Kirs, what must I do to be saved':''—Acts-xvi., 30. —— ,: --t —reincarcerated in a Philippian penitentiary. a place, cold and dark and damp find loathsome and hideous, umlluminod save by the torch of the otlicial who comes to see if they arc alive yet, are two ministers of Christ, their feet fast in instruments of torture, their shoulders dripping from the stroke of leathern thongs, their mouths hot with inflammation of thirst, their heads faint because they may not lie down? In a comfortable room of that same building aud amid pleasant suv-, roundings is a paid officer of the Government whose business if is to supervise the prison. It is night, and all is still in the corridors of the dungeon save as some murderer struggles with a horrid dream, or a ruffian turns ovcir in his chains, cr there is the cough of a dyiug consumptive amid the dampness, but suddenly crash go the walls! The two elorgymen pass out free. The jail keeper, although familiar with the darkness and - the horrors Inn oring it round the dungeon, is startled beyond all bounds, and, llniijr bean in hand, he rushes through amid the falling walls, shouting at the top of his voice, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved'.'” I stand now among those who are asking the same question with more or less earnestness, and I accost you in this crisis of your soul with a message from heaven. There are those in this audience who might lie more skillful in argument than 1 am; there are those here who can dive into deeper depths of science, or have larger knowledge; there arc in this audience those before whom .l would willingly bow as the inferior to the superior, hut I yield to no one in this assemblage in a desire to have all the people saved by the power of an omnipotent gospel. The Freeing of Paul and Silas. 1 shall proceed to characterize the question of the agitated jail keeper. And, first, I characterize the question as courteous. He might have rushed in and said: “Paul and Silas, you vagabonds, are you tearing down this prison? Aren't you satisfied with disturbing the peace of the city by your infamous doctrines? And are you now going to destroy public property V Back with you to your "places, yotT vagabonds!” He said no such tiling. The word of four letters, “sirs,” equivalent to “lords,” recognized the majesty* and the honor of tlieir mission. Sirs! ' If <i man with a captious spirit tries to find the way to heaven he will miss it. If a man comes out and pronounces all Christians as hypocrites, aud the religion of Jesus Christ as a fraud, and asks irritating questions about the mysterious and the inscrutable, saying. “Come, my wise man, explain this and explain that; if this be true, how'can that be true?” no such man finds the way to heaven. The question of the text was decent, courteous, gentlemanly, deferential. Sirs! Again, I characterize this question of the agitated jail keeper by saying that it was a practical question. lie did not ask -why Godletsm eome into the world, he did not ask how Christ could be God aui\| man in the same person, he did not ask ' tlic doctrine of the decrees explained pr want to know whom Cain married, or what was the cause of the earthquake. , His present and everlasting welfare was involved in the question, and was not that practical? But I know multitudes of people who are bothering Themselves about the nonessentials of religion. What would you think of a man who should, while discussing the question of the light and heat of the sun, spend his time down in n coal cellar When he might come out and see the one and feel the other? Yet there are multitudes of men who, in dis•cussiug the chemistry of the gospel, spend their time down in the dungeon of their unbelief when God ail the while stands tolling them to eoine out Into the noonday tight and warmth of the suit of rlgliteous3icss. The question for you, my brother, „ta, ffiscuss is not whether Calvin or Arminhis was right, not whether a handful of water in holy baptism or a baptistry is the better, aot whether foreordination and free agency can be harmonized. The practical question for you to discuss and for me to discuss is, “Where will I spend eternity ?” __ _ A Personal Question. Again, I characterize this question of •the agitated jail keeper as one personal to himself., I have no doubt he had many friends, and he was interested in their welfare. I have no doubt lie found that there were persons in that prison who, if the earthquake had destroyed them, would have found their ease desperate, lie is not questioning .about them. The whole weight of his question turns on the pronoun “I.” “WhaWshnll I do?" Of course, when a man betimes 4 Christian, he immediately becomes anxiouS for. the salvation of other people, but jiutil tlpit point is reached the most important-ques-tion is about your own salvation. “What Is to be my destiny?” “What are my prospects for the future?” “Where am I going?” “What shall I do?” The trouble is wo shuttle the responsibility off upon others. Wo prophesy a bad end to thnt Inebriate and terrific exposure to that defaulter and aViul catastrophe to that profligate. We arc 30 busy in weighing ■other people* we forget ourselves to get io-“ to the scales.' We are So busy watching the poor gardens of other people that \vc let our own doorynrtl go to weeds. We are so busy sending off other people into the lifeboat we sink in the wave. ,Wc cry “Fire!” because our neighbor's house is burning down and seem to be uninterested, although our own house is In the conflagration. O wandering thougths, disappear to-day. Blot out this entire audience, except yourself. Your sin, is it pardoned? Your death, is it provided for? Your hen von, is it secured? A mightier enrthqnnkc Than that which demolished -the- Flttlipptan penhentiary will rinrrblfr about your ears. Thefoundatioiis of the earth wifi give way. Tlio earth by one ■{ tremor will lling all the American cities into the dust. Cathedrals and palaces and prisons which have stood for thourrihls of years will topple Hke;a child’s block-house. The surges of the sea will Submerge the land, and the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans nbovo the Alps and the Andes clap their hands. What then will become of me? What then will bccomo of you? I do no.t wonder at the anxiety «f this my text, for ha was not

only anxious about the falling of the prison, but the failing of a world. Qh, what a question—what an important question! Is there any question that compands with it in importance?- What is it now to Napoleon 111. whether he triumphed or surrendered at Sedan, whether he died at the Tuileries or Chiselhnrst, whether he was emperor or exile? - ' Because he was laid out in the coffin in the dress of a field marshal did that give him any better chance for the future than if he had been laid out in a plain shroud? What difference will it soon make to you or to me whetheb in this world we walked or rode, whether we were bowed to or maltreated, whether we were applauded ?£, h . isscd welcoiactl in or kicked out? While laying hold of every moment of the future and burning in every splendor or every grief and overarching or undergirding all time arid all eternity will, be the plain, startling, infinite^ 1 stupendous question of the text, “What must I do to be saved?” The Philippian Jailer. Again, I characterize tins question of the agitated-jail keeper as one crushed out by his misfortunes, pressed out by his misfortunes. The falling of the penitentiary, his occupation was gone. Besides that the flight of a prisoner was ordinarily the death of the jailer. He was held responsible. If all had gone well; if the prison walls had not been shaken of the earthquake; if the prisoners had all staid quiet in the.stocks; if the morning sunlight had calmly dropped on the jailer's pillow, do you think he would have hurled this red-lmt question from his soul info the ear of his apostolic prisoners? Ah, no! You know as well as Ido it was the earthquake that roused him up. ArfdTF is trouble that starts a great many people so with a multitude of you. Your apparel is not as bright as it once was. Why have you changed the garb? Do you not T like solferlno and crimson and purple as well as once? Yes, but you say: “While I was prospered and happy those colors were accordant with my feelings. Now they would be discord to my soul.” And so you have plaited up the shadows into your apparel. The world is a very different place from what is was once for yon! Once yon said, “Oh, if I could only •have it quiet a little while!” It is too quiet. l.Somc pgpplo say that-they would not bring back their departed friends from heaven even if they had the opportunity, but if you,had the opportunity you wouldbring back your loved ones, and soon their feejt would be sounding in the hail, and soon their voices would be heard in the family, and the old times would come back just as the festal days of Christmas and Thanksgiving—days gone forever. Oh, it is the earthquake that startled you to asking this question—the earthquake of domestic misfortune. Death is so cruel, so devouring, so relentless, that wheu it swallows up our loved ones we must have some one to whom we enn carry our torn and bleeding hearts. We need a balsam better than anything that ever exuded from earthly tree to heal the pang of the soul. It is pleasant to have our friends gather around us and tel! us how sorry they are aud try to break up the loneliness, but nothing blip the hand of Jesus Christ enti take the Sruiscd soul and put it in his bosom, hushing it with the lullaby of heaven. O brother! O sister! The gravestone will never be lifted from your heart until Christ lifts it. Was it not the loss of your friends, or the persecution of your enemies, or the overthrow of yofir worldly estate—was it not an earthquake that started you out to ask this stupendous question of my text? How to Get an Answer. But ! remark again, I characterize this question of the agitated jail keeper as hasty, urgent and immediate. Ho put it on the run. By the light of his torch as he goes to look for the apostles behold his face, see the startled look and see the earnestness. No one can doubt by that look that the man is in earnest. He must have that question answered before the earth stops rocking, or perhaps he will never have it answered at all. Is that the way, my brother, ray sister, you are putting this question? Is it on the run? Is it hasty? Is it urgent? Is it immediate? If it is not, it will not be answered. That Is the ojily kind of question that is answered. It is the urgent and the immediate question of the gospel Christ answers. A great many are asking this question, but they drawl it out, and there is indifference in their manner as if they do not mean it. Make it an urgent quos- 6 tion, and their you will have it answered before an hour passes. AVBen a man with all the earnestness of his soul cries out'l'or God, he finds him, and finds him right away.

Oh, are there not in this house to-day those who, are postponing until the last hour of living the attending to the things of the soul? ,1 give it as my opinion th«£-ninety-nine out of the hundred deatidied repentances amount to nothing. Of all ■-sasp-OTSWFfrf- persons nWMftS®>B as dying in the Bible, of how many do you read that they successfully repented in the last hour? Of 50? N'p. Of 40? No. Of 30? No. Of 20? No. Of 10? No. Of r>? No. Of 1 -only 1. barely 1, as if. to demonstrate the fact that there is a bare possibility of repenting in the last hour. But that is" improbable, awfully improbable, terrifically improbable. One hundred to one against the uinn. If, my brother, my sister, you have ever seen a man try to repent in the Inst hour, you have seen.something very sad. Ido not know anything on earth sad a 3 to see a man try to repent on a denthbed. There is not from the moment that life begins ,to brenthc in infancy to the last gasp such nil unfavorable, completely unfavorable, liour for repentance ns the death hour, the last hour. There are the doctors standing with the medicines. There is the lawyer standing with the half written will. There is tlie family in consternation as to what is to. become of them. All the bells of eternity ringing the soul out of the body. All tlie past rising before us and nil the future. Oh, that man is an infinite fool who procrastinates to the deathbed his repentance!’ : Twelve Open Gates. My text docs not answer the question. •It only rtsks it, with deep and importunate pariiestnoss asks jt, and, according to the rules of sermonizing, you would say, “Adjourn that to some other time.” But I dare not. What are the rules of sermonizing to me when I am after Souls? . Whnt other time could I have, when perhaps this is the only time? This might dm my-last'Time Tor preaching. This rrright be yaur last time for iirnring. After my friend in Philadelphia died his children gnvo his church Bible to me, and I read it; looked over it with much interest. I saw in<fho margin written in lead pencil, “Mr. Tulmago said this morning that the most useless thing in oil God’s universe is that any sinner should perish.” I did liot remember saying it, but it is true, aud I say it now, whether I said it then or not. The most useless thing in all God's universe that rtny sinner should perish. Twelve gates wide Uave you not heard how Christ

boro our sorrows and how sympathetic he is with all our woes? Have you not heard ho\v that with all the sorrows of the heart and all the agonies of hell upon him he tried: “Father, forgive them. They know not what they do?” By his feet blistered of the mountain way, by his back whipped until the skin came off, by his death couch of four spikes, two for the hands and two-for the feet, by his' sepulcher, in which for the first timo for thirty-three years the cruel World let him alone, and by the heavens from which he now bends in compassion, offering pardon and peace and life eternal to all your souls, I beg of you put down your all at hise feet. I saw one banging -ion a tree - In agony and blood, Who fixed his languid eyas on mo - As uear his cross I stood. 7 — 77 Oh, never tiU my latest breath Will I forget that look. It seemed to charge me with his death, Though not a word he spoke. Condemned to Heath. In the troubled times 'pf Scotland Sir John Cochrane was condemned to death by the king. The death warrant was on the way. Sir John Cochrane was bidding farewell to his daughter Grizel at the prison door. He said: “Farewell, my darling child. I must die.” JR* daughter said, *‘No, father, you shall not die.” “But,” lie said, “the king is against me, and the law is after me, and the death warrant is on its way, and I must die. Do not deceive yourself, my dear child,’ 1 The daughter said, “Father, you shall not die,” as she left the prison gate. At .night, on the moors of Scotland, a disguised wayfarer stood waiting for the horseman carrying the mailbags containing the death warrant. The disguised wayfarer, ns the horse came by, clutched the bridle and shouted to the rider—to the Tnan who carried the mailbags, “Dis-* mount!” He felt for his arms and was about to shoot, but the wayfarer jerked him from his saddle, and x/e fell fiat. The-wayfarer picked up the mailbags, put them on his shoulder and vanished in the darkness, and fourteen days were thus gained for the prisoner’s life, during which the father confessor was pleading for the pardon of Sir John Cochrane. The second time the death warrant is on its way. The disguised.wayfarer conies along and asks for a little bread .-.ml a little wine, starts pn across the moors, and they say: “Foor man, to have to go out on such a stormy night. It is dark, and you will lose yourself on th« moors." “Oh, no,” lie says, “I will not!” He trudged on and stopped amid the brambles and waited for the horseman to come carrying the mailbags containing the death warrant of Sir John Cochrane. The mail carrier .spurred on his steed, for he was fearful-beeause of what had occurred on the former journey, spurred on his steed, when suddenly through tlio storm and through the darkness there was a flash of firearms, and the horse became unmanageable, and as the mail carrier discharged his pistol, in responso the horse flung him, and the disguised wayfarer put his foot on the breast of the overtlirown rider and said, “Surrender now!” The mail carrier surrendered his arms, and the disguised wayfarer put upon his shoulders the mailbags, leaped upon the horse and sped away into the darkness, gaining fourteen more days for the poor prisoner, Sir John Cochrane, and before the fourteen days had expired pardon had come from the king. The door of the prison swung open', and Sir John Cochrane was free. One day when he was standing amid his friends, they congratulating him, the disguised wayfarer appeared at the gate, and lie said, “Admit him right away.” Pardon from the Throne. The disguised Wayfarer came in and said: “Here are two letters. Bead them,sir, and east them into the fire.” Sir John Cochrane read fltem. They were his two death warrants, and he threw them into the fire. Then said Sir John Cochrane: “To whom am I indebted? Who is this poor wayfarer that saved icy life? Who is it?” And the wayfarer pulled aside and pulled off the jerkin and cloak and the hat, and, lo» it was Grizel, the daughter of Sir John Cochrane. “Gracious heaven,” he cried, “my child, my savior, my own Grizel!” But a more thrilling story. The dentil warrant had come forth from the King of heaven and earth. The death warrant read, “The soul that sinneth, it shall die.” Tlio death warrant coming on tlio black horse of eternal night. We must die. We must die. But breasting' the storm and putting out through the darkness was a disguised wayfarer who gripped by the bridle the oncoming doom and thing it back -and put his wounded and bleeding foot on the overthrown rider. Meanwhile pardon flashed from the throne, and, Go ■free! Open the gate! Strike off the chain! Go free! And to-day your liberated soul stands in the presence of the disguised wnyfiftor; and as he pulls off fho disguise of his earthly humiliation, and the disguise of his thorns, and the disguise of the senmless robe, you find he is bone of JtQUr bone, flesh of your flesh, your Brother, your Christ, your pardon, your eternal life. Let all earth an.l heaven break forth in vociferation. Vieroay through onr Lord Jesus Christ! A guilty, weak and helpless worm, On thy kind arm I fall. Be thou my strength nud righteousness, My Jesus and my all.