Noah's Carpenters

Pacific Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Oakland, California · Apr 20, 1876

Noah's Carpenters.

It was a late hour at night. The city of N., with its many turrets and spires, was sleeping under the shadow of those rocky sentinels which have guarded the plain since the flood. Two persons were leaving the city and passing along the water-side to a beautiful valley, where one was a resident and the other a guest. The taller, the elder of the two, was actively engaged in a work of benevolence. The work was too heavy for him, and he had invited his young friend, a thoughtless lad, of whom we will speak as Henry, to aid him. Together they had spent many a weary day in supplying the Christian laborers who co-operated with them, with the choicest means of usefulness, as they crowded the depository of truth. Exhausted by their toils, they were now returning for a night's repose. Hitherto not a word had been addressed to the obliging boy about his soul. The proper occasion seemed to have arrived. A quaint but fitting manner was chosen.

“Henry,” asked the elder, “do you know what became of Noah's carpenters?”

“Noah's carpenters!” exclaimed Henry; “I did not know that Noah had any carpenters.”

“Certainly he must have had help in building one of the largest and best proportioned ships ever put upon the stocks. There must have been many ship carpenters at work for a long time to have constructed such a vessel in such an age. What became of them, think you, when all the fountains of the great deep were broken up and the windows of Heaven were opened?”

“What do you mean by such a queer question?” Henry replied.

“No matter what, just now. Please answer the inquiry. And you may also tell me, if you will, what you would have done in that dreadful hour, when the storm came in its fury, and Noah's prophecies were all fulfilled, and all but the family of the preacher of righteousness were ready to be engulfed in those black waters.”

“I do not know,” said Henry, in a half-thoughtful, half-trifling manner. “Perhaps I should have got on the rudder.”

“This is human nature exactly, Henry. It would ‘climb up some other way,’ rather than enter the fold by the only door; it would ‘get on the rudder,’ in its pride and short-sightedness, rather than go into the ark of safety; it would ‘save itself,’ by hanging on at the hazard of being swept into the gulf of despair, instead of being saved by the provisions of infinite love. But I will tell you plainly what I mean, Henry, by Noah's carpenters. You have kindly and generously given me your aid, day after day, in building an ark in N., by which many, I trust, will be saved. I feel grateful for your help. But I greatly fear that, while others will be rejoicing in the fruits of our labors, you will be swept away in the storm of wrath which will, by-and-by, beat on the heads of those who enter not the ark of Jesus Christ. No human device will avail for you. ‘Getting on the rudder’ will not answer; you must be in Christ, or you are lost. Remember Noah's carpenters, and flee to the ark without delay.”

Though Noah's carpenters were all drowned, there are a great many of the same stock now alive; of those who contribute to promote the spiritual good of others, and aid in the upbuilding of the Redeemer's kingdom, but personally neglect the great salvation.

Sabbath-school children, who gather in the poor, or contribute their money to send tracts and books to the destitute, or to aid the work of missions, and yet remain unconverted, are like Noah's carpenters.

Teachers in Bible-classes and Sabbath-schools, who point their pupils to the Lamb of God, but do not lead the way, are like guide-boards that tell the road, but are not travelers on it; or like Noah's carpenters, who built an ark, and were overwhelmed in the waters that bore it aloft in safety.

Careless parents, who instruct their children and servants, as every parent should, in the great doctrines of the gospel, yet fail to illustrate these doctrines in their lives, and seek not a personal interest in the blood of Christ, are like Noah's carpenters, and must expect their doom.

Printers, sewers, folders, and binders, engaged in making Bibles and religious books, booksellers and publishers of religious newspapers, who are doing much to increase the knowledge of the gospel and to save souls, but so many of whom are careless about their own salvation, will have the mortification of knowing that, while their toils have been instrumental of spiritual good to thousands, they were only like the pack mules, that carried a load to market without tasting it, or like Noah's carpenters, who built a ship in which they never sailed.

Wealthy and liberal, but unconverted men, who help to build churches and sustain the institutions of the gospel, but who “will not come to Christ that they may have life,” are hewing the timbers and driving the nails of the ark which they are too proud or too careless to enter. Perhaps they think they will be safer on the “rudder,” but they may find too late that when they would ride they must swim; that when they would float they must sink, with all their good deeds, unmixed with faith, as a millstone about their necks.