Saved as by Fire! CHAPTER 16.
Back to Saved as by Fire!
Still in the very prime of manhood, the springs of action were yet strong. An orderly life soon restored Granger to a measure of the old vigor, and it was not long before cases of importance began to come into his hands. And now my concern for him began to grow again. If the engrossing cares of his profession, and the worldliness that creeps in so easily through the door that prosperity opens, should draw him into religious indifference, and inspire him with self-confidence, would not the old peril return?
One thing gave me much assurance. Granger had identified himself with the cause of temperance, and made frequent public addresses. He took an active part in all the movements designed to effect restrictive legislation, and was the author of several able articles in which the magnitude of the liquor traffic, and its attendant evils, were set forth with startling boldness.
Had the family altar been set up? Yes. I put the question directly to him about six months after he had left the Institution in Locust Street. He laid his hand quietly but firmly on my arm as he replied, "In my home — and in my heart."
His countenance softened, and his eyes grew tender. I learned then for the first time, that he had become much interested in church work, and had been chiefly instrumental in the establishment of a mission school in a destitute part of the city; and that he did not confine his efforts alone to the poor children who were gathered into this school, but endeavored to reach with good influences their parents, many of whom were sadly degraded, and most of them intemperate. On expressing my gratification, he merely said: "I would make a poor return for all the good I have received — if I did not try to do something for others. The heart that closes itself to gratitude, closes itself to higher and diviner things. If the love of God is in a man, it must prompt him to help and save others; and his love is spurious — of himself and selfish — call it by what name he may, if it does not do this."
"What about that old appetite?" I asked on another occasion. It was six months later. "Does it trouble you?"
"No."
"Has it been extirpated?"
He looked at me for a few moments, a serious expression gathering on his face, and then replied: "It would be about as safe for me to put a pistol to my head — as a glass to my lips. Appetite for alcohol is not dead; it has only been removed from the seat of power, and made passive and subordinate. I give it no opportunity. I resist its slightest effort to rise, and hold its indulgence as a sin which I dare not commit."
"When its motions are felt, how do you resist them?"
"As I would resist a temptation to steal or commit murder or any other sin against God. I turn my thought from the image or allurement, and hold myself free from action. If temptation presses, I lift my heart and say, 'Lord, deliver me from evil!' and He does deliver me."
"Do you often have these temptations?" I asked.
"Their assaults are growing less and less frequent, and less and less violent. But I make it a rule to keep away as far from the enemy's ground, as possible. Invitations to public dinners, where liquor is served, I rarely, if ever, accept. And I am as watchful of private entertainments, where wine is too often more freely dispensed than water. Nothing would tempt me to go inside of a drinking saloon, unless it were in order to save some fallen brother, and then my good purpose would be a armor of defense."
"Do you never expect to have this appetite wholly removed?"
"What may come in the future, is more than I can say. But safe abiding to the end is what I desire, and I do not mean to fail through any excessive confidence in the utter extinction of this appetite."
"Do you not believe that God will take it away, in answer to prayer — take it away by an act of grace, and without any resistance to the demands of appetite, or cooperation of any kind on your part?"
"No, I do not believe anything of the kind. I have met with some who held such a view, and who spoke confidently as to themselves; but I have always regarded them as being in more danger than others. I cannot understand how it is possible for God to save a man — who makes no effort to save himself. I have seen quite a number of cases in the last year, where men professed to be cleansed from all sin, drunkenness included, in a moment of time, and simply in answer to prayer. It did not take a great while to make it manifest that the old Adam was about as strong in them as before. Some of them led better lives, and were able to keep free from drunkenness; but it was not because their evil inclinations had been removed in answer to prayer and faith, but because they began fighting them, and looking to God as they fought, and overcoming through the Divine power that is given to all who will take it. Renewal is a slow and gradual work; not the sudden creation of a new spiritual man with all of his affection in Heaven. This higher life is not attained suddenly through faith and prayer, but through combat against the evils that are in the human heart.
"'Must I be carried to the skies
On flowery beds of ease,
While others fought to win the prize,
Or sailed through bloody seas?
'Sure I must fight, if I would reign;
Increase my courage, Lord.
I'll bear the cross, endure the pain,
Supported by Your Word.'
"Fight against what? The world, the flesh and the devil. Where? In our hearts; for nowhere else can they assail or do us harm; and with God on one side, and the Divine power of His Word from which to take sword and shield — we may be invincible if we will — Christian soldiers, fighting our way to Heaven; not weak spiritual babes, borne there in supporting arms, and of little use when we get there."
Granger had been thinking, living and growing more than I had thought. I saw in clearer light, the ground of his safety. He was not a mere professor, trusting for salvation in some ideal purification, or resting satisfied in simple church-membership; but an earnest inner-living and outer-working Christian man, who could give a reason which other men's reason might apprehend for the hope that was in him.
From this time my concern for Granger decreased; for I understood better wherein his strength lay. He was living a new life, obedient to Divine laws, in the higher and more interior regions of his mind; and this new life, or new spiritual man, born from above — was ruling over the old natural life and holding it in orderly subjection. With him, reasonand faith had become harmonized. He was not walking blindly, nor in any false security, trusting in some dogma he could not understand; but in a clear spiritual light — athinking as well as a believing Christian. With him, faith was the "evidence of things not seen;" and this faith, or evidence, had two foundations to rest upon, the Divine Law, and the reason which God had given him for the apprehension of that Law. "A blind faith is worth nothing — is no faith at all," he would say. "Is, in fact, spiritual blindness. But Christ came to open the eyes of the spiritually blind, that they might see, and discern the weightier things of His law — justice, mercy and faith — in the keeping of which salvation is alone to be found."
"The whole theory of religion is embraced in this simple precept," he once said to me: "Cease to do evil because it is sin, and therefore contrary to the Divine Law. When a man does this, he makes an effort to obey God; and obedience is higher than faith and more effectual than sacrifice. Just as soon as a man begins to shun the evils to which he is inclined, because to do them would be sin — God begins in him the work of purification, and gives him strength for still further resistance. This is true saving faith; for it is the faith of obedience — the faith that looks humbly to God, trusts in Him and seeks to do His will. The first effort may be very feeble, but if it is a true effort, Divine strength will flow into it; and then he will have an almost immediate sense of deliverance, followed by a season of rest and peace. The dangers of this first state are many. In the parable of the Sower, our Lord has declared them. Only those 'who, in an honest and good heart, having heard the Word, keep it, and bring forth fruit with patience' — the fruit of right living — can attain to the kingdom. Too many err in mistaking this first delight, when the springing blade feels the refreshing airs and warm sunshine of Heaven, for the later harvest time. With them the good seed has fallen in stony places or among thorns. Alas! that we have so many of these."
Mr. Granger's interest in the cause of temperance grew as he continued to devote all the time he could spare from his profession, to the work of its extension. When, two years after his reformation, that remarkable movement known as the "Woman's Crusade," began in Ohio, and spread with the rapidity of a prairie fire from town to town and State to State, until it reached almost every city and hamlet in the land, he gave it such aid and approval as lay in his power. I was surprised at this, and said so frankly.
"It is a mere outbreak of wild enthusiasm," I remarked, "and will die as suddenly as it has flamed up. And, moreover, those who are engaged in it are acting in violation of law, and order, and the sacredness of individual rights."
He waited for a little while before answering me, and then said: "I have watched this movement, and thought about it a great deal, and I must own that it has stirred my heart profoundly. There in something deeper in it than I am yet able clearly to comprehend. That its effects are marvelous, no one can deny — and good as well as marvelous. If praying with and for saloon-keepers, in or out of their bar-rooms, will induce them to abandon their deadly traffic, then I say 'God-speed!' to those who see in this way of fighting the common enemy, their line of duty. If praying will shut the doors of all the saloons in a town, by all means let prayer be tried."
"But is it really prayer which does the work?"
"Prayer is certainly the chief agency. No one can question that."
"You believe, then, that because a praying band of women kneel down in a saloon and pray to God to turn the heart of the keeper away from his evil work and lead him to abandon it, that God answers their prayers and converts the saloon-keeper?"
"You have the facts of such conversions before you; and they are not a few. How will you explain them?"
"I confess myself at fault. But I do not believe that God was any the less inclined to convert the saloon-keeper, and lead him to abandon his work of destroying men, soul and body, before the women prayed, than He was afterwards."
"Perhaps not. Indeed, I am sure He was not, God's love for the human race is infinite, and cannot therefore gain any increase through man's intercession. If He waits to be entreated, it is for the entreaty that shall change man's attitude towards Him, not His attitude to man. And herein I take it, lies the value and the power of prayer."
"But how can the prayers of a band of women change a saloon-keeper's attitude towards God?" I asked. "He doesn't pray, but actually sets himself against prayer. Instead of looking to God, he rejects Him."
"All that is effected by prayer, we cannot know," Granger replied; "for its influence is in the region of things invisible to mortal eyes. We understand but little of the laws which govern spiritual forces; but that they are as unerring in their operations as any law of nature, we may safely conclude."
Back to Saved as by Fire!