THERE is a vast difference between longing to be better, and resolving in God’s strength to become better. The gamester may go home after midnight from the scene of his insane excitements, cut to the heart with remorse. He may make the most piteous confessions to his heart-broken wife. But he does not burn up his pack of cards, or set his face like a flint against that door which is to him the gateway to the pit.
The inebriate, waking out of his debauch, curses his bottle and curses himself. He envies his temperate and prosperous neighbor, and says in bitterness of spirit, “Would that I were a sober man again!”
But this longing is not enough. This sighing after reform does not bring it. The gamester must stop gambling, or else he is not saved. The inebriate must stop drinking—must quit the company of drinkers, and must pledge himself before his Maker to touch not or taste not the sparkling poison. The almost reformed are not reformed. They are still on the Devil’s side of the dividing line between right and wrong. It is well for them that they come back toward that line; but they must cross it, and have their feet planted firmly on the side of virtue, before they are safe.
Precisely so is it with the impenitent soul. The almost Christian is not a Christian. He is not where Christ bids him be; he is not where he confesses himself that he ought to be. There is a clear, distinct line of difference between the believer in Christ and the unbeliever; between him that serveth God, and him that serveth him not. On one side the heart is alienated from God. The affections are now money-getting, or pleasure-seeking, or some sort of sin and selfishness —perhaps with a somewhat loosened grasp, but still on something lower than God. There is no faith in Jesus, or loathing of sin, or crucifixion of self. And to all those who are on the wrong side of that dividing line, the grieved Saviour says: “He that is not with me is against me; and he that gathereth not with me scattereth abroad.” Mat 12:30
Perhaps the reader of this article is one of the almost Christians. Many a time he has melted under a moving sermon, or trembled when the truth threw its broad glare into the very depths of his soul. He was troubled. He went home thoughtful, and wondered how others around him could seem so frivolous and trifling. He did not care to speak to any one; he sought retirement; he opened his Bible, and perhaps attempted to pray for forgiveness, and for help to lead a better life. But he did not repent and forsake his favorite sins. He did not flee to Jesus. He did not give his heart to the Saviour. He did not run as Christian ran from the City of Destruction, stopping his ears with his fingers, and crying out, “Life—life–eternal life!” The seriousness ended with the setting of the Sabbath sun. The week rose on him and found him just as worldly as ever, and the world just as clamorous as before. His business demanded all his thoughts, and would have them, and he let it have them. He gave way to his old tempters, his old thoughts, his old habits of carelessness, unbelief, and sin. He was almost persuaded to become a Christian; but if he were to die to-night he would meet the doom of a rejecter of Christ.
Every community is full of almost Christians. They know their duty. They intend at some day to do their duty. They often reproach themselves bitterly for their neglect; but there they are. Some of them are fathers, and confess that they are not setting the right example to their children. Some of them are mothers, and have often heard how beautiful and blessed it is for a mother to call her little ones around her and teach them the way to Jesus. But alas! they have not gone to Jesus for themselves. And so they linger. Conscience says, Go to Jesus; go now; give Him thy heart.
But the world-love within says, “Not yet, not yet; it will not do to incur the ridicule of being ‘pious;’ live close enough to the world to enjoy it, and yet close enough to the church to step in when you hear the footsteps of approaching death.” Conscience says, “Now is the accepted time.” Sloth says,”Time enough yet; you can flee to Christ any day you choose.” And so the soul floats along through the daily mercies of God, floats through Sabbaths innumerable, floats past the light-houses which God has kindled to guide sinners to heaven—floats on, almost, but not entirely, persuaded to become a Christian. The Devil makes no objections to this. It is precisely what he wants. The world makes no objections. It is not likely to give itself any uneasiness if every one of its devotees went down to perdition.
Good friend! there is no promise to you in the Bible while you remain only an almost Christian. God offers everything to the true believer and the follower of Christ; but not one iota for this world or the next to the mere intender to become a Christian. Nor will it mitigate your condemnation in eternity in the slightest degree that you were once almost within the kingdom of heaven. It will increase your remorse, and the intensity of your self-torment. Oh, that almost! To be realizing that you were almost within the gates of glory—almost among the happy bands of the white- robed and the rejoicing ones—almost before the throne of God and the Lamb—almost saved—oh ! will not that word “almost” bite you like a serpent and sting you like an adder? Friend, heaven was not reared for the almost Christian. If you never become more than that, be assured that you can never reach it. And if you miss heaven, where, in the name of a dying Saviour, where will you go?—Cuyler.
The Advent Review and Herald Sept. 1, 1863