To the Lonely Ones by John Matteson

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jan 11, 1870

To the Lonely Ones.

By John Matteson

“I WILL never leave thee, nor forsake thee.” Heb. 13:5. What more need I say to the lonely ones? Is not this sufficient in all your privations, trials, and sufferings? Jesus will never leave you, never forsake you.

Oh! yes, that is easy enough for you to say, who are living right among brethren, where you have all the privileges of meetings, and preaching, and Sabbath School; but if you were living as I am, deprived of all these things, you would probably feel as lonesome as I do.

Dear brother or sister, I am also one of the lonely ones. It falls to my lot mostly to live far from those of like precious faith, and whenever such spring up around me, and my heart is bound to them with the tenderest cords of love, I must break all these and seek a new place, where to battle again with a cold and frowning world. Sometimes I don’t see the REVIEW for weeks. Then I truly long to hear from the dear waiting ones.

Well, that must be very tedious, alone, among strangers, far away from home, after meeting with ill success, sometimes sick, with no home conveniences or comforts. You have, indeed, our full sympathy and our prayers.

Thank you, dear brethren. You have also mine. But if you think this is tedious, you are very much mistaken. What! tedious to live for Christ, to suffer with him, to work for him! Lonesome! where I can walk by faith with Jesus every day, enjoy the company of holy angels, hear the heavenly voice of the Holy Spirit, and have that constant, faithful, never-erring companion—God’s word? Oh, no! I am not lonesome. I enjoy myself more here than I ever did in any camp-meeting, or church-gathering. In the path of duty and toil, is the best enjoyment. To learn submission is the sweetest work. Though the descent into the valley of submission may be steep, and rough, and cost many struggles, and prayers, and tears; yet this trouble is richly paid by the beautiful flowers and rich fruit that grows in this valley. Their fragrance seems to be so fresh from Paradise. Hope and joy hang here in rich clusters. And faith views a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. How this can lighten every burden, heal every wound. Jesus is mine. I am his. He will never leave me, nor forsake me.

Yes; the grace of God is sufficient for us all. Very true. But then you are a preacher. That is a different thing.

Lonely brother, now don’t say that a preacher’s way is easier than yours. That awful responsibility that rests upon such, may be you never knew. And the powerful efforts made by the enemy, specially to overthrow them, may be you never experienced. Now don’t think that blessings drop from Heaven upon the preacher, when he is idle and at ease. His are trials more severe, struggles more intense, prayers more agonizing, tears more abundant. Come, now, and let us reason together. If we have any aching void in our soul, any unsatisfied aspirations, any complaint about our lot of any kind, is it not because we are so far destitute of divine grace? Are we not always contented and happy, whatever circumstances may be, sickness, distress, persecution, in proportion as we enjoy an indwelling Saviour? And can he not give us joy unspeakable and full of glory, enough to overbalance all sorrows and troubles of earth?

Lonely ones, look to that dear Lamb of God, who so patiently suffered anguish unspeakable, of mind and body. How lonesome he was when all his disciples left him; when angels of God left him; when the Father himself for a while left him. Then it wrung from him that terrible cry of despair: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” He suffered for our sins. If we should at last come short and be lost, then we would also have to taste such anguish, such deep despair. Lonesome, indeed, left by friends, and angels, and God. Left to wild and frantic despair. Death our eternal portion. But if we overcome, we shall never be as lonesome as Jesus was. Never suffer as he suffered. For he will never, never, no, never leave us. And should our active limbs moulder in a lonely pilgrim’s grave before he comes, never mind; it is only a short night’s rest, soon to be broken by the Archangel’s trumpet, and an everlasting day of glory. Then, whether we die midst a circle of friends, or are left to perish alone, unnoticed, unlamented, oh! let us die at our post. Let us sleep in Jesus. Let it be written by angel hands in heavenly records, “A pilgrim sleeps in Jesus. Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord, from henceforth.”

I believe all this. I know if I have Jesus, I have enough, and he will never leave me. But oh! you don’t know how I have desired, and prayed that some preacher might be sent this way, and yet it seems as though we never should be permitted to see one.

I know that there are some lonely pilgrims who have prayed and wept much for their neighbors, and who would gladly give all their living, could the truth prosper in their neighborhood, who are trying hard to live blameless before God and man. I wish to God that this was true of all my lonely readers. But in every case pray on, toil on, trust in God. It is not possible that God can refuse to answer your prayer if you pray in faith, and it can be done consistently with his plans and glory. If his own good time has come to sound the third angel’s message in your neighborhood, it will be done. Some preacher will be directed that way. Or some silent little messenger will come as an angel wing to patiently toil and convince souls of the truth. Or your own prayers, godly example, and timely words will lead your friends to Christ. Or if it can be done no other way, he will cause the children to help swell the last message, as they did the first message in Sweden, crying: “Fear God, and give glory to him, for the hour of his judgment is come.”

Lonely ones, trust in Jesus. Live for Heaven. Long and suffer, and toil for Jesus. He will never leave you, nor forsake you. Soon a rich, glorious, and eternal reward will be yours.

JOHN MATTESON.

Centerville, Kansas.