This is true in some cases—or, let it be admitted, in many cases, chiefly among those favoured ones who have been reared from childhood within the paradise of a truly Christian home,—still, why should we deny the reality of many conversions on the mere ground of their suddenness?
We shall not appeal to authentic historical facts to refute the objection, but simply remind our readers of such sudden conversions as those of Paul the apostle, the jailer at Philippi, or the thousands on the day of Pentecost at Jerusalem. Would we be warranted in rejecting those, because a few days or hours only marked a transition from death to life, from darkness to light, from their serving Satan to serving God, from being enemies to their being friends of Jesus?
But apart from this evidence, what, we would ask, is there in the nature of conversion inconsistent with its alleged suddenness? There may indeed be a preparedness for it that may occupy much time, as dawn ushers in the sunrise, or as months of travail precede the "child born into the world;" and there maybe results whose character may require time to determine. Nevertheless, why should not conversion itself, apart from its antecedents or consequents, be sudden? Let us consider briefly what conversion is.
It is not, for example, the attainment of good habits nor even the doing of good works, though it leads to and must end in this, if genuine. These are the results of conversion. Nor, again, does it imply anything like a full or accurate knowledge of the Christian scheme, far less of its "evidences;" for how little could have been thus known by the converted jailer of Philippi, who was one day a heathen, and the next day a baptized Christian—or by the converted thief on the cross—or by the three thousand converts on the day of Pentecost!
But in conversions there must be thorough earnestness about the salvation of the soul, or of our relationship to God. And why should not this feeling be suddenly kindled? Men can be easily roused to sudden earnestness, in order to save their bodies, when they realise present danger; and why not to save their souls? If, indeed, the soul can never be in such danger, or if a man can never be ignorant or forgetful of the fact, or if in no circumstances or by any means he can be roused to a sense of his danger, then may such sudden earnestness be impossible; but if his danger is real, and deliverance near, surely all this is possible, and even probable, and of infinite importance, seeing that the day of grace ends with life, and life may end in any moment. If this night a man's soul may be required to give its account, surely on this day conversion is required to make that account one of joy, and not of sorrow.
Conversion implies also faith in what God has revealed to us. And why should we not at once believe God? Do we think it necessary to hesitate for months and years ere we believe the word of an honourable, truthful man, in matters of fact about which he cannot possibly be mistaken? And shall we think it strange to believe God's Word the moment we hear it? Now, that Word tells us many things which, if true, cannot be believed without producing immediate results. It tells us that we are lost sinners "condemned already;" that God, in love, has had pity on us, and sent His Son to save us; that He died on the cross for sinners, so that "whosoever believeth in Him shall never perish;" that He lives to quicken and sanctify through His Spirit all who will receive Him; that there is "no other name given under heaven whereby a man can be saved;" and that "he who believeth not shall be damned." Now, is it really impossible for a man at once to believe all this, or even thus far to understand his danger, and believe the gospel as the only deliverance? Does it seem strange that men should have at once believed Christ, or any of His apostles, when they preached? Or, does it not seem more strange that some were "fools, and slow of heart to believe?" And why should it seem incredible that a sincere and earnest man should now believe the moment he hears the same gospel, and say, "I have been a great sinner in hitherto treating this message with so much neglect! By my disbelief I have made God a liar; I shall do so no more: Thy Word is truth. Lord, I believe; help mine unbelief!"
Conversion implies a "yielding ourselves to God," because thus believing in His love manifested through Jesus Christ and Him crucified. Such a state of mind might be thus expressed: "Lord, I shall fight against Thee no more! I believe in Thee, and yield myself to Thee for time and eternity, to have the good pleasure of Thy righteous will done in me and by me; to be pardoned, sanctified, and governed wholly by Thyself, and in Thine own way. I am Thine—save me!" Surely this attitude of soul may be assumed at once towards God the very moment the gospel of His goodwill to us, and of His desire to possess our hearts, is heard.
Conversion implies some degree at least of peace with God. Many seem to think it almost presumptuous to look for peace or to expect joy in God. "It betokens," they say, "a want of humility." Love and humility are one. Both are a going out of ourselves, and finding our good, strength, peace—all in God. It is surely a poor compliment to pay a friend, if we rebuke those who dare to be happy in his presence or to find peace in his society. What hard thoughts have men of God when they do not see how He must ever rejoice in the good and peace of His children! Oh, shame upon us that we do not "rejoice in the Lord always," and possess the "love which casteth out fear, for fear hath torment." Why, then, should it seem impossible for a man to have peace, the moment he can say with the apostle John, "We have known and believed the love that God hath to us?" Cannot that love be seen in its own light when revealed? And if so, why should the possession of immediate peace, in a degree corresponding to faith in God, seem to be so wonderful? Would not its absence be more so? The very hope, methinks, of pardon, when first entertained by the condemned criminal—or of deliverance and return to home, when first realised by the shipwrecked sailor—or of life and health, when first deemed probable even, by the hitherto despairing invalid—or of meeting his long-injured, but still patient and loving father, by the miserable prodigal—may well kindle sudden joy and peace. Much, no doubt, may have been done before any hope could dawn to the captive, to the shipwrecked, to the invalid, or the prodigal; yet the hope itself may suddenly flash on each, as the message enters the cell to assure the criminal of his safety, or the signal is seen on the distant horizon that promises succour to the mariner, or the smile plays on the countenance of the physician, telling that the dread crisis is over and that progress towards recovery has begun, or the remembrance of a father's love is rekindled in the heart of the wanderer. And thus a man who has been roused to see his moral guilt, as well as moral depravity—to see his dread and terrible danger—may well find unutterable peace the very moment he believes that there is for him deliverance from the evil, and forgiveness with God, "that He may be feared"—or even when the maybe dawns upon him that he, the hitherto dead, careless, presumptuous sinner, has not been so shut out of his Father's heart and home, but that there is yet grace omnipotent to save him, to take away his sins, renew his whole being, and make him and keep him a child of God. When the prodigal in the far country was planning only his return, he resolved to say to his father, "Make me one of thy hired servants!" To be for a time a very slave in his father's house, seemed in prospect as a very paradise when compared with his present wretchedness; but to be received at once as a son—that he would not be so presumptuous as to dream of. Ah! he had forgot his father's character in the far country. Unbelief had done its work, and "cut off his hope." But however dark and dim his views were, he nevertheless returned, was met afar off, and was at last received in his father's arms. There he poured forth the confession which relieved his choking heart, "I am no more worthy to be called thy son!" True. But did he add, "Make me a hired servant?" No, he could not, for he had already been received as a son.
Our Lord tells us how some hearers may receive the Word immediately with joy, and yet give up when it is the occasion of their being brought into outward perils or difficulties. Paul complained that Demas had forsaken him, and John of many who, he says, "went out from us." We must not think it strange, moreover, if the visible Church should ever and anon disclose to us how much evil as well as good it contains. Our Lord never contemplated a Church on earth as possible—owing to the sinful offences which must needs come—which should be otherwise than a mixture of good and bad. There was one in twelve of His own pure apostolic Church a traitor. Among the members of the pentecostal Church, two were struck down dead for falsehood of the blackest kind. Among the earliest professed converts in Samaria was Simon Magus, in the bonds of iniquity. And so it will ever be. The field will contain tares as well as wheat, and both must grow together till the harvest; the net must gather into it bad fish as well as good, until the great day of final separation comes at the end of the world. But, nevertheless, the field may now contain a glorious crop of wheat, and the net, after a night of toil, be sometimes full of good fish, so as to excite the wonder and praise of the "fishers of men." Those converts who fall away have probably misunderstood the true idea of the redemption which is in Christ Jesus. They looked for safety from punishment apart from salvation from sin; upon Jesus as a deliverer from guilt and hell only, and not also a deliverer from sin, by giving that life which is heaven; they looked for that life hereafter, and not now; or they imagined faith as an act done once for all—a coming to Christ once only for what was required, instead of as a state which receives at once pardon and acceptance through the merits of Christ, and abides in Christ for ever as the only source of life.
We have dwelt upon this point longer than we had at first intended; for the doubt so often expressed, of the possibility of one who is lost finding immediate peace when he finds his God—and so has found himself—betrays great unbelief or great ignorance of God. Pride is at its root;—a desire to find something wherewith to commend ourselves to God—some evidence of a good character first—some work done as a hired servant, in order to entitle us with any hope to call God father and be at peace with Him; instead of our beginning all work by first being at peace—by our being reconciled at once to God through faith in His love to us, revealed in the atonement of Jesus Christ. We may just add, what every true man knows, and rejoices to know, that the hour which begins his peace with God necessarily begins also war with all sin in his own heart. His friendship with God implies enmity to all in himself which is opposed to God.