p. 34 | A Faulty Link

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jan 19, 1882

A Faulty Link.

"I CAN'T see it: and it can't be so," said the blacksmith. He was leaning at his ease against his forge chimney, for it was past six o'clock, and he had knocked off work for the day. His shirt sleeves were still tucked up, however, and his arms were folded carelessly over his broad chest. He was strong of limb and voice, and the words he had just uttered had rolled out in firm, deep tones. Parsons the blacksmith, was not by any means an ill-tempered man, but he was positive in a slight degree; perhaps his consciousness of superior power made him peremptory.

"But it is so, Parsons," said the carpenter, who had also finished his work, and had looked in at the blacksmith's shop about a job he wanted done on the morrow; "you can't go against Scripture, anyhow."

"I should think not," interposed the village shoemaker, who had brought in his tea-kettle to boil his water for tea at the unextinguished forge fire, seeing that it was summer-time, and his own kitchen fire was still unlighted. "It would be as bad as being an infidel at once to contradict what the Bible says."

"Ah, but," added Everest, the tailor, who, seeing Wicks the carpenter entering the blacksmith's shop, and Rands the shoemaker, following him, had determined to make one of the party, and nimbly leaping off his board, had stepped across the road in time to join in the good-natured argument. The carpenter set it on foot, and it took its rise from a sermon they had all heard on the previous Sunday. It may be premised that the tailor liked to side with the blacksmith, if possible, in all disputes, as if he had a feeling of security in going with the stout and firm Tom Parsons. "Ah, but," said Everest, "there are different ways of looking at a thing, and various interpretations of Scripture."

"I don't know," rejoined Mr. Wicks, doubtfully; "we are told, you remember, that no Scripture is of private interpretation."

"Which does not mean that we are to have no thoughts about the Bible for ourselves, I suppose, neighbor Wicks; and that we are to leave it all to ministers to put what interpretation they like upon different parts of it, and we are to have ne'er a voice of our own in the matter."

"Well, well, I don't hold with that either," said Mr. Rands, hurriedly, "Free inquiry is every man's birthright—every Englishman's, at any rate."

"And so it brings me back to what I said," continued the blacksmith; "I can't see it in the light that Mr. Gresham does. Why, he made out, or tried to make out, that a man might be next to an angel—"

"Stop, Parsons, he didn't say that a man might be, exactly; he said if it were possible for a man to be so and so," interposed the carpenter.

"It comes to the same thing, Wicks, but, put it in your way, if you will, that if it were possible for a man to be perfect in everything, and yet should commit one sin in all his life, he would be on the same level with the terribest sinner as ever lived and breathed on the earth. Wasn't that it?"

"Yes, pretty near it, Parsons. On the same level, he said, as wanting salvation by grace, and not earning Heaven by works. I think these are nearly Mr. Gresham's own words," replied Wicks.

"Uncommon hard lines, though," cried the tailor; "and so, because a man makes a slip or two as he goes along, he is to be put down with the biggest rogues. This may suit Mr. Gresham, but—"

"But what does the Bible say, Everest?" demanded the shoemaker, in some haste. "You know Mr. Gresham is not the preacher to say anything at random, without having Scripture to back it, and you remember the texts he brought out to prove his words, such as, 'Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things which are written in the book of this law to do them,' and 'Whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, is guilty of all.' You can't say that Mr. Gresham said more than this, anyhow."

"That's all very well, Rands. I know the Bible says that, and I don't mean to go against the Bible; but to my way of thinking, those texts must have a different meaning than he puts upon them. It does not stand to reason that—" and then the blacksmith repeated the objection he had before urged in pretty nearly the same words.

"I don't see, however," said the carpenter, in reply, that it makes much difference to us, Parsons, because I fancy we are not among the almost perfect ones who don't need salvation by grace, as you seem to think. Maybe the whole don't need a physician, but only such as are sick, as the Lord Jesus Christ said; but then we aren't whole, you know."

"That's neither here nor there, Wicks. I am standing up for the principle of the thing, and according to my views there is a hitch somewhere."

"And what is the hitch, friend Parsons?" The voice was a grave, pleasant voice; and when the disputant looked around, behold, Mr. Gresham himself was at the open door. The men looked rather confused at first; they did not know, while they were engrossed with their dispute, that the living subject of it was so near them.

"Maybe you heard what we were talking about, sir," said the blacksmith, rather suspiciously. "Not a word of it, my friend, till you said, 'There is a hitch.' I should not have heard that but for your strong voice, friend Parsons."

"I beg your pardon, I am sure, sir," returned the blacksmith apologetically; "I did not suppose that you had been intentionally listening."

"Thank you for your good opinion of me. I certainly was not listening; I came about my well chain. Shall you be able to make a job of it?"

"Yes, sir there is very little the matter with it; there is only one link defective. It will be ready to-morrow, sir."

"And quite safe, then, you think, for the man going down the well to venture his life upon it?"

"I'll warrant it to bear the weight of three men when that link is set right," replied the blacksmith. "But about this hitch, sir; if you would not mind spending five minutes," added Parsons, who was after all, partial to his minister, and knew that though he was rector of the parish, Mr. Gresham had no pride about him, as he often said, and would as readily stop to give a word of counsel, or advice, or comfort, or instruction to a poor man or woman, or even a child on the highway, as to a squire or a lady in their drawing room.

So, in short, Mr. Gresham stepped freely into the blacksmith's shed, and heard all about the "hitch" plainly and manfully stated by the doubter.

"You have done me great honor and kindness by speaking so freely to me about my sermon," said Mr. Gresham, when the explanation was finished. "If hearers would do that oftener, and in the kind spirit you have shown, ministers would often be the better for it, and they would very likely preach better sermons into the bargain. Well, now about this 'hitch.' But first of all I want a few words with you respecting my well-chain. Business first, you know," and he smiled pleasantly.

The blacksmith was all attention.

"You say you examined it, Parsons?"

"Yes, sir, link by link."

"You see it is necessary for Diver to go down the well to clean it out; and as he is a reckless sort of a man, I determined to have the chain well examined before he ventures his life upon it."

"A good thing you thought of it, sir, for the faulty link was almost asunder, and the weight of such a man as Diver would have finished it."

"And only one link in the whole chain is faulty, you say, Mr. Parsons."

"Only one, sir; I'll warrant all the rest to be sound."

"Is it not singular, though?"

"There is no accounting for such things, sir," said the blacksmith, speaking confidently on a matter connected with his daily calling: "It is seldom that a chain like this"—and he put his foot on a huge coil on the floor—"is of the same quality throughout. There are mostly some links weaker than others, and that wear out first, or maybe break when there is too much stress. The wonder is, that in a chain of this length there are not more faulty links than one."

"True, it is a long chain, and my well is a very deep one."

"Two hundred feet or more, sir. I ought to know, for I plumbed it, and have been down to the bottom of it before now, sir, into the bargain."

"And how many links to a foot, Parsons," asked Mr. Gresham.

The blacksmith took out his foot rule and measured. "Eight, sir," said he.

"There will be sixteen hundred links in the chain, then," rejoined Mr. Gresham, who seemed absorbed by this matter of business with the blacksmith, while the other three men stood looking on.

"Over sixteen hundred, sir; nearer eighteen, reckoning the overplus."

"True, I had forgotten. Well, and every one of those sixteen or eighteen hundred is perfect, Mr. Parsons? You are quite sure."

"All but one, sir, as I said before. Yes, sir, as sure as can be."

"You will be kind enough, then, to send the chain back to-morrow."

"Yes, sir, as soon as I have taken out the faulty link, and made the chain safe."

"Oh, never mind about one link being faulty, Parsons," said Mr. Gresham.

"Sir!"

"What is one link? What can it signify that one link in sixteen or eighteen hundred is wrong, if all the rest are right?"

The blacksmith rubbed his head. He saw the drift of Mr. Gresham's question, but he did not like to own it. "I should think it would make all the difference, sir, if I were in Diver's place, and had to trust my life to the chain."

"Do you mean that you would not go down my well at the end of a chain that had, let us say, seventeen hundred and ninety-nine strong, sound, and trustworthy links in it, capable, as you said just now, of bearing the weight of three such men as you

in perfect safety?"

"Not if there was one weak link in, sir, that I felt sure, would not bear half of my own weight; as well all be faulty, as one, every bit as well, sir, for any safety there would be in the chain."

"If you really think so—"

"I certainly do, sir; I am sure of it."

"Well, being sure of it, perhaps you may as well set the chain to rights after all. And now, to change the subject, we will go back to this 'hitch' of yours, my friend, if you please."

The carpenter smiled; the shoemaker rubbed his hands; the tailor put his in his pocket; the blacksmith rubbed his forehead, and then he said in a subdued tone, "You have beat me, sir. I see what you mean; and looking at it in the light you put it in, there's not any hitch, sir, that I can see."

"Ah, I fancied you would say so," replied Mr. Gresham kindly; "and I think you can understand how it must be that though we may keep the whole law of God—the good and perfect law—seventeen hundred and ninety-nine times, or seventeen million times, and fail only once, we can no longer depend on our uniform obedience for eternal safety; but if we are saved, must be saved by grace alone, as much as though every link in the chain of obedience were rotten throughout."

"I see it, sir—I see it now," said the blacksmith frankly.

"And yet," said Mr. Gresham, after a moment's thought, "the two cases do not agree in all points, as generally happens when people try to illustrate great truths in figurative language. Do you see where the difference is, any of you?"

"I think I do partly, sir; but I would rather you should say where it is," said the carpenter.

"Well, our friend Parsons can repair the defect in my well-chain, and make it as good and serviceable as ever; but one single transgression of the divine law cannot be repaired. The link is broken, and the poor soul depending on that faithless chain, is already falling—falling."

"I see, sir, I see," said the blacksmith almost with a shudder, as the idea presented itself to his mind of a man falling down a well. He had been down a well, and could realize the horror of such a situation.

"But then the almighty arm of divine mercy plunges down, reaches to the lowest depths of human misery and hopelessness, and—But perhaps you would not lay hold on that gracious hand, my friend, seeing that only one link had broken, while all the rest were sound?"

"Wouldn't I, sir? wouldn't I grip it? Yes, sir; and you have beat me out and out," said the honest, hearty blacksmith; "and I see now that salvation must be of grace."

"And not of works, lest any man should boast," added Mr. Gresham; and then the little group thoughtfully dispersed.—British Workman.