February 27

"For why will ye die, O house of Israel?"—Ezekiel 18:31.

WHY will ye die? my pleading, expostulating, yearning God inquires of me.

Shall I tell Him that my sin is a sweet morsel to my taste, and that I cannot bear to part with it? But He answers me that it is a fruit of the Dead Sea shore, full of dust and nothingness; a nauseous thing; a cup of poison which will destroy me at last; a draught of hell.

Shall I tell Him that I am well content with myself, and that I see no cause for undue solicitude? But He warns me that Self "hath preyed more cruelly upon human lives than Moloch or Minotaur." And He assures my careless heart that He has probed my real condition, and knows that I am sick unto death, and is full of pity for my grievous peril.

Shall I tell Him that there is no hope for me, so long I have gone after my iniquities, so deep I have sunk in the mire where there is no standing? But He makes reply that Christ's grace will travel down and down to my foulest evil, to throw its strong and tender arms round me and to lift me up.

Shall I tell Him that I never can live the godly life, never can conquer the world and the flesh and the devil, never can be His servant and His soldier? The dread of subsequent defeat and shame frightens me, and I dare not enlist under His red-cross flag. But He whispers, My strength will be perfected in thy weakness; on Me be the burden.

So He rebuts all my arguments. Why will ye die? He asks; and I have no valid reason to give. Let my response be, "My gracious Lord, I will not die. 'Tis life, not death, for which I pant."