Two Kinds of Inquirers

Fn the Acts of the Apostles we read of a -*- certain man that “he went on his way rejoicing.” In the Gospel by Matthew we read of another man that “he went away sorrowful.” There were certain resemblances between these two persons. They were both men of high social rank — one of them being a Jewish ruler, and the other the treasurer or chamberlain of Candace, the Queen of the Ethiopians. Each of these persons appears but once upon the sacred page, and then vanishes away. That the young ruler was Lazarus is an ingenious theory; but not sufficiently well supported by facts to make it very plausible. Both these two men were sincere inquirers after salvation. The one consulted Christ himself; the other conversed with an inspired evangelist or ambassador of Jesus. Up to this point there was a marked resemblance between the young ruler and the Ethiopian treasurer.

The difference was still more marked and vital. The traveller from Africa who had been up to Jerusalem goes back with a copy of the Hebrew Scriptures in his hand. As he sits in his chariot, he occupies his time in Bible study. The passage of the Word which he had reached was that pathetic description of the Messiah which Isaiah drew when he depicted him as a sheep led to the slaughter, and as a lamb silent under its shearers. “Of whom speaketh the prophet this?” inquires the Ethiopian of Philip, whom he had taken up to a seat beside him in the chariot. Here is an “inquiry-meeting” extemporized on the spot. Philip, full of the new Gospel, opens his mouth and explains the passage in Isaiah as referring to that Divine Redeemer who had been lately crucified at Jerusalem. An immediate blessing attends the faithful preaching of Christ Jesus; for the soil was mellow in the lord-treasurer’s heart, and the evangelist let fall the only seed that can sprout into a true regeneration. The Holy Spirit blesses his own truth. And the first evidence of conversion which we detect in the Ethiopian is a desire to be baptized. The prompt acceptance of Christ is followed by an equally prompt confession of Christ. Having given his heart to the Saviour, the new convert gives him his hand also in open alliance. He has done his duty, and therefore he “goes on his way rejoicing.” The tradition mentioned by Eusebius that this African nobleman became a proclaimer of the Gospel in Arabia and Ethiopia has some grounds of probability. At any rate, he became a clear, distinct light on the sacred page to guide others to the cross, and the example of his prompt confession of Christ is bright and beautiful.

The other inquirer was a light also; but only a beacon-lantern hung up over a sunken wreck, to warn off others from the dangerous spot. That young ruler who came to Jesus, with the inquiry on his lips, “Good Master, what good thing shall I do that I may have eternal life?” has always been to me an object of intense interest and sympathy. We are taken with his frankness, and our highest expectations are excited that he will, like Matthew and Nathanael, promptly grasp the boon that is offered him. There is something exceedingly touching in the artless naivete with which he says to Jesus: “All these commandments have I kept from my youth up. What lack I yet?77 Scores of just such persons are to be found in our modern congregations, and in nearly every inquiry-meeting we encounter them. They desire to be saved. They have a large “invoice” of good works to exhibit. They have rather fattened their self-esteem by feeding on the rich morsels of their own merits. Having done so much for themselves and by themselves, they stand ready to do more yet, provided they can do it in their own way.

The Omniscient Saviour read that self-righteous youth to the very bottom; and he thrust the probe into him until it touched the quick. He knew perfectly well what the ruler’s besetting sin was, and just what amputation was required in order to save his soul. Selfishness was that sin. The knife must cut that out, or there was no hope of a life eternal. The prize was magnificent, and the sacrifice must be proportionate. Give up your possessions and take up a cross for me! That was Christ’s close and searching test. Nothing less than that. “Follow me, and thou shalt be rich in Heaven.” A glorious offer; but Heaven was a great way off, and the wealth of this world was just at hand and had possession of the young ruler’s heart. He did not so much own them as they owned him. If he had been willing to part with them, and to cast in his lot with the lowly, persecuted Son of God, he might have been immortal in the same illustrious bead-roll with Peter, the fisher of men, and Matthew, the gatherer of tribute for the King. But alas! he clings to his besetting sin and goes away sorrowful. As the original Greek has it, “he went away frowning.1’ Disgust at the hard terms and disgust with himself clouded his brow. The frown which lowered there was a type and a precursor of the heavier frown which is likely to meet him when he stands before that rejected Saviour, as his rejecting Judge. Dante, in his “Inferno,” pictures this unhappy young man as blown about like a withered leaf in the regions of the lost — “the shade of him who made, through cowardice, the great refusal.’’1

This phrase describes exactly the condition of thousands. They are offered a great salvation on the simple terms of quitting their own favorite sins and their own self-righteousness, and of doing God’s will. The issue is sharp and distinct. It is yes or no. “Either you must give up your bottle or give up your soul,77 said a pastor to a drinking man in his parish, who was under deep conviction. Like the young ruler, he clung to his besetting sin and went away frowning.

Felix felt the probe going in very deep when Paul preached to him about chastity, while he was sitting with his adulteress by his side. He clung to his lusts, and tells his best friend to “Go away for this time. When it is convenient, I will send for thee.”

Perhaps this paragraph may fall under the eye of some one who is awakened by God’s Spirit and is exceeding anxious about his soul. The pressure of that Divine Spirit upon your conscience is to let go your sin and cleave to Christ. One or the other you must give up. You can not keep both. The young ruler could not serve Christ and Mammon. What your besetting sin is God knoweth; but the root of it is in your heart. That heart must become Christ’s, and then you too may go on your way rejoicing. To shut Christ out of the heart is to shut him out of your life and yourself out of heaven. The loving Spirit is pressing you. Yield! Jesus calls you: “Follow me!” On your own decision hangs the alternative either to “go rejoicing” into Heaven’s glory, at the last, or to “go away frowning,” into endless self-torture and despair.