# The Lutheran Pioneer_St. Louis_1896_S39 # Machine transcription, uncorrected — CHI Digital Archive (demonstration) The Lutheran Pioneer. 39 The Dying Monk. Ferrero was a monk who, by secretly read- ing the Bible, had come to know the Gospel. His friend Egidio was an inmate of the same cloister, and with him he now and then spoke of the Gospel way of salvation which he had fearned from the Bible. Of his friend’s death Ferrero gives the following account: A narrow cell, the only furniture of which is a rough table; on which are placed a crucifix and a human skull, on the brow of which is written, ‘‘ Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return’’; a few books of theology and church history; a bedstead with a litter of straw, on which lies a young monk in the last stage of consumption—such is the picture presented to you. : The dying man was possessed of a noble intellect, naturally kind, frank, and straight- forward, of gentle manners, of superior edu- cation, and to the last simple as a little child. He was considered blameless in life, according to the standard of the convent, and was held up to the young clergy as a model of holiness. The people confided in him, and the Superior saw in Egidio the promise of an eloquent ad- vocate of the Romish church. He was but twenty-two years of age, but his last- hour was rapidly approaching. At noon of a beautiful June day, the monk appointed by the superior of the convent to attend on the sick, called out hastily at the door of my cell, ‘‘Father Egidio is dying! Make haste, please; you are just in time to give him the holy absolution.’’ I ran hastily into the cell of my young fellow-monk. I was not his confessor, and was surprised to learn that he wished for me. So soon as he saw me, he said eagerly, ‘‘Please shut the door.’’? I did so. He asked if all was secured. I replied, ‘‘Yes, my brother, fear not; no one listens to us but God, the searcher of all hearts.’’ ‘‘O dear Ferrero! my only friend on earth,’’ he exclaimed, ‘‘not for me are such precautions. I have nothing now to fear from man; but I feel anxious for your security. Oh! tell me again of, that sweet comfort, that peace with God, of which you spoke three days ago, when I asked you why you read the Bible so often. Tell me frankly, before God, are we saved by our own works, or by grace only? Have all my prayers, fast- ings, and penances no merit before God? Oh! I'see that all my boasted works, on the bal- ance of God’s Word, weigh less than nothing. There is no salvation there. Unless grace take the place of God’s terrible justice, I am damned. ‘If ‘Thou, Lord, shouldst mark in- iquities, who shall stand?’ ”’ “No one, my dear Egidio,’’ I replied. ‘‘But let me read the psalm from which you quote. There is forgiveness with God ; there is mercy with the Lord, and with Him is plenteous re- demption.”” “Yes, yes,”? he exclaimed, ‘‘I want God’s Mercy, God's forgivencss.’’ ‘Then, looking at the crucifix, he continued, ‘That blood, the blood of Jesus, of which you told me—speak, Ferrero, speak again.’’ He would have said more, but exhaustion closed his faltering lips. Yet, with his eyes fixed on mine, he waited anxiously for a word of peace. ‘‘‘By grace ye are saved,’ I said, ‘through faith’ —faith in what Jesus has done for sinners. Oh, how haye we been deceived, foolishly trusting in our works, when God has said, ‘By the works of the law shall no flesh be justified.’ But hearken, ‘Being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.’ It is not written that our fastings or prayers can save us from wrath or cleanse us from sins. No, no! Only the precious blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin. My dear Egidio, you are convinced that you are a sinner; then be convinced, that what the Bible says is true indeed. Only be- lieve God’s Word. Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ; rest in the value of Christ’s perfect sacrifice, in His precious blood, and soon you will be with Christ in Paradise.’’ As the thirsty one drinks from the spring suddenly discovered in the desert, so my dear friend drank joyfully of the living water. Being now speechless, he gave me one glance from his eye, so sweet and smiling, that it told me more than words could have done. At this moment there was a knock at the door. I opened, and the superior, accom- panied by the doctor, entered. Seeing the sweat of death upon the sick man, the superior sprinkled him with ‘‘holy water.’’ Egidio shook his head. And so, when extreme unction was administered to him, he seemed to protest against the ceremony. At last, collecting all his strength, he cried out with distinct voice, his countenance beaming with heavenly peace: “Precious Jesus! Thy wounds are my merits. Yes, yes, mine, O Jesus!” And with eyes uplifted to heaven, he fell asleep. Such was the dying confession of Egidio. Thé aetion and words of his dying moments were attributed to delirium, and a circular was sent to the other convents announcing his death and commending his holy life. But, dear reader, though Egidio was considered spotless by man, his religion gave no rest to his soul, no peace, no assurance of salvation. At Jast he found all that he had done to gain the favor of God—all his own righteousness —to be as filthy rags; and then he found pardon, peace, eternal life, by faith in the precious blood of Christ. In what are you trusting? _—_—=»—~ o~ Sought and Found. Under this head, Mrs. Simpson gives a graphic account of how a Chinese woman found the Lord. About a year previous Mr. Simpson had preached in the village of Chib-li, where the woman and her husband lived. Within six months the husband fell ill and died, but as his end drew near he said to his wife, ‘‘When I am gone you must go and visit them (the missionaries), and inquire more fully about this doctrine. It is too late for me; I can not go, and I can not find the way.’’ ‘As time went on the woman became more and more desirous of further informa- tion and instruction, and when nearly a year had passed from the time of the missionary’s visit, she made her way to the station. There she found what she sought, an abundance of the bread of life, of which a few morsels had been so precious to her soul. Simple and child- like in her faith, she sought to know Jesus’ own words, and when she got them she stuck to them, and made them her pillow on which to rest. Her joy in the Lord continues to be very great. ‘‘People think me crazy,’’ she says; ‘‘but they do not know the precious Mediator I have got.” What Trials are. An old divine says: ‘‘Trials are sharp pruning-knives, to lop and trim us, that we may bring forth plentiful fruits of godliness ; they are spurs, to prick us forward in the Christian race; and hedges, to keep us from wandering out of the way. They are the wormwood whereby the Lord weans us from the love of the world, whose pleasing delights we would ever seek without weariness if our mouths were not distasted with some afilic- tion.””