More than Conquerors

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 8, 1858

More than Conquerors.

If I rightly remember, the sequel of the famous battle between Christian and Apollyon, it was by opposing his impenetrable shield, the shield of faith, that Christian defended himself from the darts of the enemy, and was able, at the same time, so effectually to disconfit him, that he sped away and was seen no more. What if Christian, instead of putting his enemy to flight, had so effectually conquered him as to compel him, however unwillingly, to aid and accelerate his tedious progress towards the celestial city, would the allegory have been unscriptural?

When Pilate boasted to our Master of the absolute power he held over him, Jesus replied, "Thou couldst have no power at all against me, except it were given thee from above." If our faith were like his, might we not thus answer our enemy, even when his boast is loudest? And if it is indeed so, if Satan's power is given him from above, shall it not assuredly in the end, not only not harm us, but be among the "all things" that shall "work for our good?" But let us never think for a moment that we can conquer the foe by opposing to him an open front, however firm and resolute. It is only by the "shield of faith" that we can "quench the fiery darts of the wicked." If we are "more than conquerors," it is through him that hath loved us.

A writer on holiness says that temptations are the means of making us better acquainted with the various relations Christ sustains to us, and proving to us more and more his all-sufficiency. The young Christian is emphatically a babe in Christ; loving, confiding, guileless as a babe, but with all a babe's ignorance and inexperience. He loves Christ so far as he knows him, with all his heart. But vast as is the debt of gratitude of which he is now conscious, he has scarcely begun to realize what Christ is and will be to him. The more he learns of the artful deceits of his foes, of the weakness of his own heart, and of the powerful love of his divine Friend, the more loudly he will be disposed to sing, "O, to grace how great a debtor!"

There was one upon whose heart, after a long, dark night of bitter anguish, the Day-star of peace, the Sun of righteousness, arose. In the fullness of his joy he thought he could never hesitate, at any sacrifice, for him who had done all for him. And perhaps it would have been so but for the tempter, with whom he was yet unacquainted. Want came upon him as an armed man. Satan, who is ever busiest in the darkest hour, first whispers low doubts of the love which permitted his present trials, and sad forbodings for the future. Not repelled at once, he grew more fierce and clamorous, and he who had lately been so full of holy joy, was now as full of bitter agony, and seemed almost ready to curse God and die. Not quite. The enemy was strong, but the stronger than he was near, forgetting never nor suffering himself to be quite forgotten.

Light came in the darkest hour, deliverance when it was most needed; his dark forebodings were not realized, and the poor sufferer was led to see clearly that his affliction had not sprung from the ground; that his trial was sent in love, and had its precise limits. Humility and penitence struck their roots deeper than ever into the soil of his heart, patience and submission budded and blossomed there, and bore their sweet fruits, and the pilgrim went on his way joyfully singing "more than conqueror!"

A young girl went forth into the world, her heart warm with love to her Saviour. Earth had lost its charms for her, and she wished to live henceforth only to please and love him who had loved her and given himself for her. Gradually and artfully the tempter drew her into this and that slight compliance with the wishes of those about her, till she found herself thickly enclosed in his snares, and could no longer see him whom her soul loved. But she cried to him the more loudly because he seemed so far away, and his kind hand soon parted the cloud of unbelief, and showed himself ever near and ever faithful. Then, with more entire self-distrust than ever, she committed herself to his keeping. He taught her to be less weakly yielding, more firm for the right, and made her "more than conqueror."

A weary woman struggled with a host of trials; frail health, drooping energies, jaded nerves, household cares innumerable, and, worst of all, a seemingly determined propensity to evil in one of those dear children, for whose good she had exhausted herself. When this last bitterness was infused into her cup, she had cried, "O God, I cannot, cannot drink it up!" for the tempter had tauntingly hissed in her ear, "Where is now thy God?" and she could not answer him. Wild and fierce in its agony was her cry for aid. She had not thought to call it prayer; but it had in it all unknown to herself, a feeble element of faith, and impure and imperfect as it was, it was heard in heaven for his dear sake in whose name it was uttered. She was enabled to commit her erring child unreservedly to a wise and righteous God; and very soon—and O! so much beyond her faith!—she saw him "sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed in his right mind." All her other trials, which had been for a time so hard to bear, had seemed light indeed compared with this, the last and heaviest, and now, with the removal of this were given an increase of love and faith which transferred them entirely to him who had been long inviting her to cast them upon him. With free, light step, and song of joy, she hastened on, and the burden of that song was, "More than conqueror!"

O! when the last of the multitude of the redeemed shall have come up out of great tribulation, and washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb, when the whole ransomed church shall stand triumphant on the sea of glass, how full, how glorious shall be the grand chorus which shall roll up to the throne of God from those millions of rejoicing hearts, "More than conquerors through him who hath loved us."—W. & Reflector.