Not Under the Law

by Grace Livingston Hill

“For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.”

“God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Much more, then, being now justified by his blood, we shall be saved from wrath through him.”

“For if the blood of bulls and of goats, and the ashes of an heifer sprinkling the unclean, sanctifieth to the purity of the flesh; how much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without spot to God, purge your conscience from dead works to serve the living God.”

She could remember the very afternoon when she learned that, curled up on the foot of Aunt Mary’s bed while she took a little nap, in the days when Aunt Mary was just beginning to be frail and had to rest more than usual. And how proud she had been to think she had found this wonderful verse all by herself. And now she had an inexpressible longing to take that Bible verse to the minister who had preached that strange dead sermon that morning and show him. Perhaps he didn’t know. Perhaps he never had heard. But of course he must. And he was one of those men they called Modernists, who were taking the heart and life out of the faith of today, who were helping to fulfill the prophecies about the latter days, when men would prefer teachers with strange doctrines.

She was half frightened at the thought. It seemed to her that she must turn and flee back into the safe harbor of Meadow Brook, where dear old Doctor Ballantine preached about the cross of Christ every Sunday, and everybody knew and believed the old doctrines. It seemed as if perhaps she had run away into danger and horror, and the tempter might be preparing a snare for her feet.

She did not feel safe until she had dropped upon her knees and asked for guidance and strength to keep true to Christ, even though she might have to pass through a portion of the world where there was no faith.

As she rose from her knees it occurred to her that Elijah, the prophet, had once got into some such a panic, and thought he was the only loyal prophet left, and the Lord had told him he had yet five thousand other prophets who would not bow the knee to Baal. There were very likely many Christians in this town, and by and by she would go out and find them.

So she got up cheerfully and went about getting some dinner. She hadn’t a great appetite, for she had worn herself out for several days past, and when she had eaten she lay down on the heap of papers and fell asleep. When she awoke she realized that that paper bed was getting pretty hard, and she really must do something about it tomorrow; one could not sleep on newspapers indefinitely. She shook the papers out, and crumpled them anew, until they had some spring in them again, and smoothed it nicely for when she should come back that night, and then, with a couple of crackers and some cheese folded neatly in a bit of wrapping-paper and tucked in her pocket, she started out.

Her first object was to find a church. She wasn’t quite sure how she was going to tell whether it was the right kind of a church from the outside or not, without listening to another sermon, but she prayed in her heart as she went that somehow she might drop into a place where she would find help and comfort to her soul, and might, if possible, find it without having to listen to more words such as she had heard that morning. It seemed to her that it was disloyal to her Lord even to listen to such things.

The day was wonderful, and the spring air was sweet with the breath of flowers. As she walked down the pleasant streets the blueness of the sky and the greenness of the grass made a kind of ecstasy for her spirit. The little lazy clouds floating, the flight of a bird across the blue, the redness of the maple buds on the trees, all gave her joy. There were tulips in some of the yards she passed, red and yellow, pink and white; and hyacinths made delicate the air, and she thought what a wonderful God to make so many beautiful, intricate flowers, each with a different perfume. Little blue crocuses were sticking up their gallant buds from lawns here and there, quaint processions of blue and white and yellow. The town was in its Sunday best, and everything promising a gorgeous summer. One could not help being glad on such a day even though one were all alone.