The Lutheran Pioneer St. Louis — 1896, Page 39

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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~<am 0

Thou Shalt not Steal.

‘One day before harvest,’’ says an English
gentleman, ‘\T met a fashionably dressed per-
gon with a large handful of ears of wheat
taken from my fields. I saluted him respect-
fully, and expressed my admiration of the
beauty of the wheat.

‘Yes,’ said he, ‘it is truly a fine sample,

and does great credit to the farmer who
grew it.’

“‘T acknowledged the compliment, and asked
him from which of my fields he took it. After
he had pointed out the place, he assured me
that he always liked to take home a good
sample of grain, as it interested the ladies.

‘Upon this, noticing, with admiration, the
style of his coat, I asked him to allow me to
look at the skirt. He readily did so, and I
quietly. took out my penknife, and cut a large
piece from the tail. .

“The gentleman raged and swore, but I
told him that I always took samples of cloth,
as I found that they greatly interested my
wife. I added that he had no more right to
take my wheat than I to take his coat, and
that I wished the public to bear this truth
in mind.”’

Perhaps it might be well for us to draw a
wholesome moral from the incident, to be
acted upon daily.

——+ +o 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.””