IT is a striking picture that Mr. Mente has given us for our first page. In its background lies the great dark world, with its troubles, its strife, its calamities, its sins, its crimes, its perils. It is not an enticing picture. It does not invite the hunted heart to refuge nor the troubled soul to rest.
Yet how true to life is the picture. War or preparations for war is a business of the nations. Crime in a thousand Protean forms stalks boldly from the slums and dark alleys of the city to the great highways of commerce, industry, and government. Gaunt famine devours her victims in the great populous countries of earth. Manifold diseases prey upon the inhabitants of earth. Fire and tempest, flood and earthquake, calamity and disaster, help to swell the death-roll of earth’s morgue. Religion, which ought to be the stay, the hope, the power of the soul in times like these is weak and listless, or hopelessly apostate.
Yet is there hope. God lives and reigns. Jesus Christ is a risen Saviour, a pitiful, loving, merciful Redeemer, a strong, true, and helpful Friend. Therefore down into the dark world He comes, seeks out the clouded homes, the closed hearts, the gloomy lives; yea, all needy ones; and knocks at the door for entrance. Down into lukewarm, careless Laodicea He comes, and knocks for admittance. In words of infinite love He pleads: ‘Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear My voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with Me.’ Rev. 3:20.
He knows before He knocks the condition within. He knows how unswept, unclean are the rooms; He knows the trash of sensuousness piled within; He knows how the selfish, pleasure-loving, avaricious heart has heaped up rubbish till the door is blocked. Yet He knocks. He would come in and give infinite help in the cleansing and renovation of the rooms. Open the door.
He knows how bare is the cupboard of all that would minister to human need; knows that there is nothing to set before Him but human weakness, and misery, and wretchedness, and sorrow, and wo. Yet would He come in. He would cleanse the heart and heal by the Balm of Heaven every bruise of sin. He would sit down with you, dear soul, at the miserable board you would spread for Him. Seeing it in all its poverty, in all its lack of every good quality, yet would He sit down with you and partake, heartily, helpfully, blessedly. Then you would sup with Him. He would open His treasures and load the table yielded to Him. Then from that board to which you had invited the King, the King would serve you. What delectable food does heaven furnish that He would not set before you in that royal feast? What life-giving viands would be displayed, potent with all the blessings of strength and gladness and rest and joy and blessedness—fruits from the tree of life; draughts from the river of life.
O, let the Royal Pilgrim into the heart and life. Let Him in, not as a wayfaring man who tarries only for a night, but as an abiding Guest, a life Companion.
“Open now to Him your heart,
Let Him in;
If you wait He will depart,
Let Him in;
Let Him in, He is your Friend,
And your soul He will defend,
He will keep you to the end,
Let Him in.”