“Holy Reality! We believe in Thee that thou art EVERYWHERE present. We really believe it. Blessed Reality we do not pretend to believe, think we believe, believe that we believe. We believe. Believing that thou art everywhere present, we believe that Thou art in this patient’s stomach, in every fibre, in every cell, in every atom, that Thou art the soul, only Reality of that stomach. Heavenly, Holy Reality, we will try not be such hypocrites and infidels, as every day of our lives to affirm our faith in Thee and then immediately begin to tell how sick we are, forgetting that Thou art everything and that Thou art not sick, and therefore that nothing in this universe was ever sick, is now sick, or can be sick. Forgive us our sins in that we have this day talked about our backaches, that we have told our neighbors that our food hurts us, that we mentioned to a visitor that there was a lump in our stomach, that we have wasted our valuable time which should have been spent in thy service, in worrying for fear that our stomach would grow worse, in that we disobeyed Thy blessed law, in thinking that some kind of medicine would help us. We know, Father and Mother of us all, that there is no such a thing as a really diseased stomach, that the disease is the CARNAL MORTAL MIND given over to the WORLD, the Flesh, and the Devil; that the mortal mind is a twist, a distortion, a false attitude, the HARMATIA of Thought, Shining and Glorious Verity, we recognize the great and splendid FACT that the moment we really believe the truth, disease ceases to trouble us, that the truth is, there is no disease in either real body or mind; that in the mind there seems to be a disease is a false belief, a parasite, a hateful excrescence, and that what happens in the body is the shadow of the LIE in the SOUL. Lord, help us to believe that ALL EVIL is utterly unreal; that it is silly to be sick, absurd to be ailing, wicked to be wailing, atheism and denial of God to say ‘I am sick.’ Help us to stoutly affirm with our hand in Your hand, with our eyes fixed on Thee that we have no dyspepsia, that we will never have dyspepsia, that there is no such thing, that there never was any such thing, that there never will be any such thing Amen.”—Hazzard.
Mrs. Eddy of Chicago, and others, have written much on “Christian Science.” In some of her writings she disclaims affinity with Spiritualism; but according to my knowledge of the matter, it was evolved from that source. Some thirty-five years since, I sat with them in a seance, where a lady, almost gone with consumption was operated upon by the same treatment that the “Christian scientists” practice to-day. From a helpless, speechless condition she revived so that she was able to dress herself and walk about the yard. She continued to improve for about three months, then suddenly relapsed, and died.
Where disease has been located simply in the mind, which is often the case, some marvelous cures have been effected by this class of doctors; and because they found a supposed mental cause adequate to a cure in a few cases, leaped to a wild conclusion that all causes were mental, and would yield to the same treatment. They claim that our bodies are sensationless; they do not suffer, they have no pain, that all suffering is in the mind; then to work up a belief, that we do not suffer, and some are really made to believe that doctrine.
Whatever pretensions the teachers of this “Science,” present to the public, as a curative power; and however much they may claim sympathy for the sick and suffering, the real gist of the matter seems to be, they are after cash. They charge enormously for teaching the “Science,” and the same for helping the sick; as I have been informed, they do not teach, or give aid to the sick, without pay in advance. How unlike Jesus, is all such operations, who, went everywhere doing good, without money, and without price. Whoever heard, of a real child of God, asking pay, for going to pray to God, through Jesus Christ our Lord, for a sick brother, or sister, or the wickedest person on earth? We come to this conclusion, that, their foundation is on the sand; and not on the merits of the precious blood of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
XI.
A Double Cure.
Hark! a light step—followed by a heavy tread—is approaching my study. What does it mean? It is a cold, freezing day in February, and it is Saturday—a very busy day for me. Well, I should think wife would entertain company in the parlor. But here she comes, followed by a person right from the State lunatic asylum—one that I had met with before. I must confess that I felt a little strange with such company; but I immediately arose and gave the brother my hand, and said—“Good morning, Mr. Van Benschoten; how do you do?” “I am well, bless God! I called, Brother Osborne, to tell you what great things the Lord has done for me.” He then gave me his experience, which is as follows:
I have been in the New York Asylum for two years, and have been growing worse, so that for several months I have not been outside these prison walls. Recently, Mr. Gray, the superintendent, wrote my wife that I was an incurable case. Of course, I expected to remain incarcerated within those prison walls; but what was still worse, I expected my reason to remain dethroned; which in the past had been periodically. But I was growing worse; my body was quite emaciated: I had lost my appetite, and in fact, I was full of fearful forebodings, a wretched man. My case was a sad one. Here I must suffer out this brief existence, in misery—pain—sorrow—shame and remorse—and then an eternity with devils and damned spirits; and all this brought on by my own licentiousness. “O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?” A companion in tribulation said to me, the Lord can heal you, soul and body, and gave me this passage of Scripture: “And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he has committed sins, they shall be forgiven him.” I thought, that just covers my case—but how, to make it available? I was told by my comrade in distress, that I must fast and pray; which I did, until I wore my knees sore. I was then watched very narrowly, and prohibited from getting upon my knees; and finally, I was shut up at night in a crib, in order to prevent, as I suppose the doctors viewed it, a further development of my new phase of insanity. The crib is something like a large cradle, without rocker,—with a cover of slats that shut over the top, and is locked down when occupied by any one. While in this condition, I was led to think of God’s goodness to me in sparing my life so long, and I a rebel against him.
I thought of the effort I had been making to get to Him; my sins had appeared in dreadful array, which I loathed with all my heart. I felt that there was real godly sorrow in me. I had besought the Lord to pardon my sins, and heal my body. I believed that he was able to do it; yea, I thought that he was willing to do it; I thought of the promise,—“The prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he has committed sins, they shall be forgiven him.” I said O Lord, why not now! they have locked me up to prevent my getting upon my knees; but can’t the Lord bless me lying on my back? Can’t the Almighty come right through these slats?
I heard a voice saying, yes! He can. The next moment I was believing in God with all my heart. Something said, why not believe that God will do his work, and do it now! I said Lord, thou wilt do it now! Just then I felt a very strange sensation going all through my body; and with it a conviction that the work was done. I felt glory to God! all through my soul and body. It flowed from my heart, like oil from a flowing well; and continued to bubble up just as Jesus promised it should do. “The water that I give you, shall be in you a well of water, springing up unto everlasting life.” Praise our God forever! The next morning, soon after coming out of the crib, I met the head physician. He said good morning Van; how are you? I am well, I replied,—glory to God! Van, what do you mean? I mean that the good Lord came right down into the crib last night and healed my soul and body—glory to God! glory! glory! glory! forever and ever! amen! amen! The doctor looked wild, and said: Van be careful, or we shall put you up in No. “11.” (The hall where the incurable cases were kept.) The brother constantly affirmed that God had made him whole, every whit. Within four weeks from the time the superintendent wrote this brother’s wife that her husband was incurable, he wrote her that he was so much better that she could come after him; but did not state how he was cured.
Three years after, I met this Brother on the cars. His first utterances were, as I approached him, Glory to God! Brother Osborne, the Lord saves me soul and body. He said that he had not had a symptom of his old disease since his last night in the crib. Our God is mighty to save!