TWICE-BORN MEN
REMARKABLE CONVERSIONS OF WELL-KNOWN MEN
IN DIFFERENT AGES AND IN VARIED RANKS OF LIFE
Compiled by HY. PICKERING
A Sinful Sea Rover
FRANK T. BULLEN, author of “The Cruise of the Cachalot,” “Log of a Sea Waif,” etc., after telling of his humble origin, running away to sea, many daring and godless adventures at sea, thus relates his second birth, in his remarkable book, “With Christ at Sea.” Arriving in Port Chalmers, N.Z., he relates how: “My shipmate and myself were strolling along the pier townwards with that leisurely swagger peculiar to sailors, and had reached the open space in front of a warehouse, when a burst of melody floated overhead on the evening air brought me up all standing. It was so sweet, so unearthly, that all sorts of queer sensations chased one another over my body, and when my companion said, ‘Come along,’ I waved him off with an impatient gesture. I could not bear to be interrupted in my exquisite enjoyment of those celestial sounds. They ceased, and my chum said quietly, ‘I know what it is; it’s a meetin’. I ben to ’em before: Let’s go in.’ ‘ Not me,’ I answered. ‘I don’t go shoving my nose where it isn’t wanted. Maybe it’s a few friends having a few hymns for their own pleasure on a Sunday night.
‘While I stood anxiously waiting for the music to begin again, my companion murmured, ‘Hold on a bit. I’ll go and see if we can get in,’ and hurried towards the building. In a few minutes he returned triumphantly, saying, ‘I told ye so; they begged me to call you in, saying that we was hearty welcome; it was got up for the likes of us.’ All right, go ahead,’ I replied, more gratified than I could express, but I was somewhat surprised still, to find such an affair under way in a sail loft, an immense bare room with naked rafters overhead and brick walls just whitewashed. The seats were rough wooden forms, with the exception of a few chairs on the platform, where was also a small table. Gathered close to the platform was a little company of well-dressed men and women intent upon the words of a thick-set, dark-visaged man, who was addressing them volubly, with a book in his hand. Suddenly I heard him say, ‘Now then, one, two,’ and with a sweep of his arm he launched them into another burst of song, quite unaccompanied, but wonderfully sweet.
“I sat spellbound. What with my unfamiliar surroundings, the delightful sounds, and my wonder at what would come next, the time flew past so rapidly that although we were almost the first arrivals and the preliminary singing lasted an hour we did not appear to have been there more than five minutes before there was an expectant hush. Three gentlemen, including the dark little choir leader, mounted the platform, and the latter, stepping forward, said, ‘Friends, we will commence our meeting to-night by singing with all our hearts that beautiful prayer, “Jesu, lover of my soul.” number — in the books you have. And will you all remember that it is a prayer? Although written in rhyme and sung to music, it is as much a prayer as “Our Father,” and I hope that all who sing it will not for one moment allow the fact to be forgotten. So will you certainly he blessed in your singing.’
“I listened eagerly, reverently, but when. the large audience which had now gathered rose to their feet, and at the signal from the leader the choir burst into the opening bars of ‘Hollingside,’ I was reduced to blind dumbness. The pent-up feelings of years broke loose, scalding tears ran down, and something stuck in my throat like a ball. I knew that tune so well, and I had not heard it sung since those happy days in the Old Lock Chapel, which seemed to belong to another life. But by a strong effort I recovered my composure, and then, how I did sing! I just abandoned myself to an ecstasy of pure joy. The singing ceased and we sat down. Then a gentleman on the platform prayed. He offered up a prayer that, allowing for the different diction, sent my mind flying back to poor black Jem of the ‘Arabella.’ For it was a prayer, not a formula.
“Then more singing, I could not get enough of that—followed by another novelty to me, a solo from the choir-leader, ‘The Ninety and Nine.’ Oh, what pathos, what a depth of yearning love for the souls of men he did impart to that simple little poem with its bald tune! I could have melted in tears, but with tightly-shut lips and hardly breathing, I managed to maintain control of myself. Then one of the two other gentlemen spoke, quite nicely, I thought, but not sufficiently clear and direct to hold my attention. At its close the energetic leader of the choir, who had charmed me so much by his reading, advanced to the verge of the platform and began to speak. I was all attention now, for the Gospel was being unfolded in all its simplicity and directness. I felt as if there was only one person there for whom those words were meant—me. I listened with all my soul, every syllable coming with such force to my heart and understanding as I have never since heard. There were no tricks of oratory, no declamation, no attempt to frighten; indeed, it was a tender appeal from a heart overflowing with loving desire to help a fellow wayfarer out of darkness into the Lightened Way of Life.
“I do not know how long the address lasted. I only knew that something was being offered to me that I felt I must have. I felt like one who after long wandering in a gloomy labyrinth, so long that he had grown to accept the gloom and the maze as the settled conditions of his life, from which there was no hope of escape, had suddenly seen open before him a door leading into sunlighted meadows with a delightful prospect stretching beyond into infinity. Any words, however, can only feebly express the intense longing of my being, for an experience of this personal, loving acquaintance with the sympathetic Man Christ Jesus, so earnestly set forth by the speaker.
“Presently all was quiet, and I sat with my face buried in my hands just waiting for—I knew not what. My mind was a confused whirl of thoughts, out of which nothing definite emerged but that deep sense of heart-hunger. While I thus sat in painful expectation of the performance of some miracle a hand was gently laid upon my shoulder. Looking up, I saw a man whom I had not noticed before. He sat down by my side and began to ask me questions, such as, ‘Did I want to be saved? What was my difficulty? Why did I not come to the Lord now?’ and so on, questions which I felt utterly incapable of answering. I did not know what I wanted—I did not know anything, except that I was trembling with eager anticipation of a possible blessed setting free from a life I hated, and being placed in intimate relationship with this intensely lovable personal Friend of whom I had been hearing.
“While in this sad frame, oblivious of all that was passing around me, another hand touched me. Now, it may seem difficult to believe, but I declare that the touch of that hand gave me a thrill of hope. Why, I do not profess to explain, but the fact I know and record gratefully. Looking up, I saw the face of the dark little man who had so moved me by his earnest commendation to his hearers of the brother-love of the sorrowful Man. Meeting my dim, stupid gaze with a look full of sympathy, he held out his hand, and when I took it he did not let it go, but drew himself down by it, as it were to a seat by my side.
“‘ My dear boy,” he said, ‘I am not going to ask you (Mr. W. B. Falconer, of the Seamen’s Bethel, known to the Editor) what your difficulties are. I have no right to do so, but I am going to tell you that He who has removed mine is ready to remove yours. Ready, yes, and eager to take that despairing look from your eyes, to show you the delights of His unchangeable love. Listen, “He that believeth on Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live, and he that liveth and believeth on Me shall never die. Believest thou this?”‘ (John 11. 25, 26). As he looked inquirrngly I replied, ‘Yes, I believe; I dare not say I do not believe. I have always believed, even when through hearing my shipmates denying His existence, I have been tempted to agree with them.’ Then you have entered upon everlasting life,’ he said triumphantly. I sorrowfully shook my head, saying, ‘Oh, no, I can’t, I dare not say that; it wouldn’t be true! I haven’t the slightest feeling of the kind, and it would be a lie to say that I have.’
“‘Oh, I see he answered. ‘Very well, then, let me put a case. Supposing that you were worrying dreadfully about a debt which you could not pay. You know me as a very wealthy man, who is not only fond of doing kind deeds, but whose trustworthiness is beyond suspicion. It comes to my knowledge that you are in trouble, and I tell you that I have paid your debt. You say that you believe me because you feel that I deserve to be believed; you profess entire faith in me, but you still go on worrying about that debt. Instead of going about with a light heart rejoicing in your freedom, you are bowed down with care. Would that not prove that you did not really believe what I said, but that you were waiting for some other proof of my truth to produce the feeling of safety you longed for?’
“‘Yes, it would,’ I replied. ‘Well, then, listen to me, or, rather, listen to the Lord Jesus: “He that heareth My Word, and believeth on Him that sent Me hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation, but is passed from death unto life” (John 5. 24). Do you believe this?’ ‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘Then you have passed from death unto life, you are in the timeless state of eternal life, are you not?’ ‘No,’ I answered doggedly. ‘ Ah I see how it is, friend, You are waiting for the witness of your feelings to the truth of Him who is the Truth. You dare not take Him at His word unless your feelings, which are subject to a thousand changes a day, corroborate it. Do believe Him in spite of your feelings, and act accordingly.’
“Every word spoken by the earnest little man went right to my heart and when he ceased there was an appeal in his eyes that was even more eloquent than his words. But beyond the words and the look was the interpretation of them to me by some mysterious agency beyond all my comprehension. For in a moment the hidden mystery was made clear to me, and I said quietly, ‘ I see, sir; it is the credibility of God against the witness of my feelings. Then I believe God.’ Let us thank God,’ answered the little man, and together we knelt down by the bench.
“I love that description of conversion as the ‘new birth.’ No other definition touches the truth of the process at all. So helpless, so utterly knowledgeless, possessing nothing but the consciousness of Life just begun is the new-born Christian.”