July 10

"He stretched himself upon the child three times, and cried unto the Lord."—1 Kings 17:21.

IF I would be used in quickening the dead, what requisites must I possess?

Life is one. I must stretch myself, so to speak, on the soul I would fain see new-born. I must breathe my own breath into it, or, let me rather say, God's breath in me. The dying will never bless the dying. If I would be a good physician, the life of heaven must be pulsing and coursing through my own veins.

Love is another. I must take the dead child into my arms and carry him into my chamber. Round him the embrace of my compassion and affection must be thrown. There is a cold and statuesque and patronising way of dealing with sinful hearts which never can benefit them. May God keep me far from it.

Prayer is needed too—the energised prayer of a righteous man which is of great force. I must besiege heaven with my cries. I must call in the omnipotence of God the Holy Spirit. I must believe and be sure that there is no problem too difficult for my Lord. I must seek and expect His intervention.

And perseverance is essential. The answer I crave may be delayed. For a while there is no change on the soul so dear to me. For a while I spend my strength for naught. Then I must return again and again and again to the throne of the King. I must refuse to accept a denial. I must enmesh God, as it were, in His own promises. I must have power and prevail.

That is how the dead are raised to newness of life. The miracle is not obsolete to a heart of this calibre.