PRISONERS OF JESUS CHRIST by Theodore L. Cuyler, D.D.

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jun 9, 1890

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 16, No. 22.

PRISONERS OF JESUS CHRIST.

By Theodore L. Cuyler, D.D.

The apostle Paul had a variety of signatures. Sometimes he signs himself "a servant of Christ," sometimes "an apostle," and sometimes "an ambassador in chains." One day he wrote a letter—short and sweet—to his Colossian friend Philemon about his poor brother Onesimus. He looks at the fetters on his wrist and at the Pretorian guard beside him, and begins his epistle with the brave, cheerful words, "Paul, a prisoner of Jesus Christ." He is not in bonds as an evil-doer, but for well-doing. He is the ambassador of a King infinitely greater than all Roman Cæsars, and, like John in Patmos, he is shut up in captivity for the testimony of Jesus. Therefore, as a brilliant preacher has truly said, "he wears his manacles as proudly as a bride might wear the bracelet which her husband had clasped on her arm." It is only his scarred and weather-beaten body that is bound; his imperial soul is free, and no happier man than he can be found within the gates of Rome.

Perhaps these lines may be read by many of God's people who are confined to their houses by chronic sickness or by the infirmities of old age. In my own flock are several devoted Christians who have not been able to enter the house of God for many years; some are too old to venture out, and others are suffering invalids. I am accustomed to call these the "prisoners of Christ;" and when I visit them, it is as much for the good they do to me as for any good that I can do to them. What eloquent sermons they preach to me on the beauty of submissive patience and on the supporting power of the "everlasting arm"! How often have I gone out of these rooms of sickness feeling utterly ashamed of myself that I ever murmur at anything, or ever indulge in any complainings at the providential dealings of a loving God! One of these chronic sufferers is a sweet, refined, and cultured young lady who for long years has never had any other "outing" than to be removed from one room to another in her father's house. But wherever her bed of pain is placed, the blessed Jesus is with her. The Shepherd knoweth all his flock, and just where each one of them is pastured; he calleth them all by name. Another of these prisoners of Christ has been kept from church for twenty years by intense rheumatic sufferings; yet the Lord of the sanctuary visits her, and feeds her with the sweetest of his heavenly manna. Sometimes when I quote some bright passage of consolation, or read some cheering psalm, a happy smile plays across her face,

which is distorted by the agonies of protracted disease. What are any of my poor sermons in comparison with her eloquent and majestic hymn of patience? To speak for Christ or to work for Christ is easy and pleasant; but to bear for Christ either pain or poverty or reproach with courageous patience is a far higher triumph of godly achievement.

Just why the loving Master confines some of his choicest and best in rooms of suffering, and cripples others of them in body or in purse, we cannot always tell. One thing is very clear, and that is that he does not mean to cripple their usefulness. No portion of Paul's wonderful career was productive of more solid results than the years of his imprisonment at Rome. He preached the kingdom of God to those about him until there were many converts in "Cæsar's household." He wrote seven out of his thirteen undisputed epistles while he was the prison chaplain, under the eye of tyrant Nero's jailers; one of these was the letter to Philippi, which is the epistle of gratitude for divine mercies and of exultant joy under sharp afflictions. If the cages of birds are sometimes covered up in order to make them sing, then the old hero was caged to furnish to the world one of its most melodious epics of sublime faith in Jesus. Satan afterward clapped John Bunyan into a prison, and lo! out of the windows of Bedford Jail floated the transcendent allegory of "Pilgrim's Progress."

The service of Jesus Christ is not limited by any stress of circumstances. A sick-chamber has often been made a chosen spot for glorifying God. The celebrated Halyburton, of Scotland, welcomed scores of visitors to that room in St. Andrew's, where they stood around his bedside and listened to words that seemed to be inspired by a glimpse of heaven from the land of Beulah. None of his previous sermons equaled his discoursings from that bed of suffering. "This is the best pulpit," said he, "I was ever in. I am laid on this bed for this very end, that I may commend my Lord." After a night of agonizing pain he said to his wife: "Jesus came to me in the third watch of the night, walking upon the waters; and he said unto me, I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, and I have the keys of death. He stilled the tempest in my soul and there is a sweet calm. I have ripened fast under the bright Sun of Righteousness, and have had brave showers." After his voice failed him in the last moments, he continued to clap his hands in triumph.

It is not only by such joyful testimonies to the sustaining power of divine grace, or by cheerful patience, that the prisoners of Christ have preached and are preaching his precious gospel. There are many ways of doing good open to invalids. During the years that the wife of Mr. Spurgeon was confined to her room, she conceived the plan of providing commentaries and Bible-helps for poor ministers and village preachers. Last summer she told me that over one hundred thousand such volumes had been secured in response to her appeals. Charlotte Elliott composed her richest and sweetest hymns while she was one of Christ's prisoners. A large-hearted lady, shut in from her former activities out-of-doors, spends much of her time in folding and addressing little leaflets of awakening or of consoling truth to those who may be profited by them.

In many a house there is a room whose silent influence is felt all over the dwelling. The other members of the family come in there to inquire after the sick sufferer, to bring some choice fruit or pleasant gift, to read aloud or watch with her through the lonesome night. From that room steals forth an influence that makes everyone gentler and tenderer and more unselfish. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why God permits some of his children to suffer; they not only grow purer by the chastening, but become evangelists of blessings to others. Paul in his prison prompted many besides Onesiphorus to deeds of sympathy for him, and he evoked such gifts of kindness from his spiritual children at Philippi that he writes to them that their love "hath blossomed out afresh." That is the literal rendering of the message sent by the sunny-hearted old prisoner of Jesus Christ. Good friends, it matters little where we are, so long as our inner life is hid with Christ, and we keep it luminous with the joy of his presence.—Theodore L. Cuyler, D.D.