Robert Hardy's Seven Days: A Dream and Its Consequences

"Away with everything that hurts our feelings, that makes us anxious, that sends us to our knees in prayer, that makes us confess Christ and live a life of self-denial and service! for when the judgment seat is prepared and Christ sits down there and we appear before Him, He will receive us just as we come before Him—the pure and the impure; the self-sacrificing and the selfish; the humble and the proud; the believer and the unbeliever; infidels and scoffers and cowards and despisers of God's love on the earth; all the class of men who point to weak and imperfect Christians as an excuse for their own weak lives; the drunkards and the liars and the oppressors of the poor; the people who heard a thousand sermons full of Gospel truth and despised them because of some imperfection in delivery or elocution; all those men who went through life the betrayers of the home; the selfish politicians, who betrayed their country; the men who read the Bible and believed only the parts that didn't hurt their sensitive feelings; the young men who lived fast lives and sowed wild oats because a wicked and false public sentiment made them think it was excusable and perhaps necessary; and all other men and women who lived as they pleased, regardless of God and eternity—when all these shall appear before the judgment seat of Christ He will look upon them all alike, and with a smile of gracious pardon will reach out His almighty arm and sweep them all together into a heaven of eternal bliss, there to reign with Him in glory and power, world without end!

"But is this what Christ taught the world? Suppose what we have said is true: it turns His whole life into a splendid mockery. Foolishness and absurdity could go no further than to create a life like His and to put into His mouth such teachings as we have received, if at the judgment seat all souls, regardless of their acts in this world, are received on an equal footing into eternal life. And where is there any room in the teaching of Christ for a purgatory? Do we believe that there is one? Is it not the plain teaching that after the judgment the destiny of souls is fixed for ever?

"But what could man wish more? Will he not have opportunity enough to accept the mercy of God before that time? Does he not have opportunity? If any soul appears at the judgment and complains that he did not have a fair chance, will that gracious Judge condemn him if his complaint be true? We know He will not. But the facts of the judgment are these: at that time, whenever it is, upon the souls of men will be passed for their acts in the earthly life a verdict that will determine their everlasting destiny; and that verdict will be both just and merciful. For the Crucified One could not pronounce otherwise. Those who have despised and neglected and disbelieved and refused to confess Him, shall be separated from Him for ever; but those who have confessed and believed and tried to live like Him, shall be in His presence continually. There will be a division of souls. It will not be based on wealth or position, or birth or education, or genius, but on Christlikeness—on that divine and eternal thing we call character. Everything else shall go away into destruction, into death, into punishment, into banishment from God. Banishment from God will be hell—a hell not made by God, but by man himself, who had an opportunity—nay, a thousand opportunities—every day of his life to accept the bliss of heaven, but of his own selfish choice rejected every one of them and went to his own place.

"But some soul starts up and says, 'You are not preaching the Gospel; you are preaching fear, hell, torments. Is this your boasted love of God?' Yes; for what am I preaching, if not the love of God, when I say, 'God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life?' Is there no danger of perishing? Why did Christ come then? Why did He say the things He did? Why did He speak of the condemnation of the wicked and unbelieving if that were not a part of the Gospel? The Gospel is glad tidings; but what makes it glad tidings? The danger we are in. What is salvation? It is the opposite of being lost. We cannot have one without the other. So I am preaching the Gospel here to-day when I say, 'We must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ.' There will be no fear to us then if we believe in Him, if we have lived His life here, if the things done in the body are good. And more than that: as long as this earth life continues, God's mercy is with us every moment.

"It is possible some soul is here who for years has lived selfishly within his own little round of pleasure. He looks back on a life of uselessness, of neglect of all that Christ did for him. He this day hears the voice of God. He listens; he repents; he cries out, smiting on his breast, 'God be merciful to me a sinner!' What then will God do? Will He reject him because he is old in sin? because he has wasted beautiful years? When he appears before the judgment seat will Christ say, 'You repented too late on earth! You cannot be saved now'? No! even if after a hundred years of shame and sin a soul with its outgoing breath, in genuine repentance and faith in the Son of God, cries out for mercy, that cry will be answered and he will be saved. What less of glory and power such a soul may experience in the realms of glory, we may not be able to tell. But he himself will be saved.

"Is not God merciful, then? Let no man depart from this house of God fearful or despairing. The earthly life is full from beginning to end with the love of an Almighty Father. Shall men complain because they cannot have all of this life and all of the other too in which to repent and be forgiven? 'Now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation.' 'To-day if ye will hear His voice, harden not your hearts.'

"Men of Barton, you have heard the word of God proclaimed from this desk to-day. Young men, will you wait until you are old in sin and shame before you will repent and be saved? How do you know you will live to be old men? And what a life to live, even if you were sure of a hundred years, to pour out the dregs at last as an offering to Christ just to escape hell! O all men, hear ye this day the message of Christ! He is a Saviour of sinners. It is not necessary that any man go away from this service unsaved. You may believe here and now. Won't you do it? 'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.' Then go home and pray, rejoicing. And if the Almighty call you out and away from this prison of clay into His resplendent presence this very night, what will you have to fear? Not one thing. You have put your trust in Him. Your sins are all forgiven. You can appear before His judgment seat and await your verdict with a calm and joyful soul. For you know as you gaze into the loving countenance of your Redeemer and Judge that when He turns and speaks to you He will say, 'Come, ye blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.' Truly God is love!"

The prayer that followed the sermon seemed to bring all the souls in the church very close to God. The events of the past week had stirred the town deeply. The awful disaster so near them; the speech of Mr. Hardy in the town hall; rumours of the experience he was having—all these had prepared the audience for just such a sermon on Sunday morning. Men bowed their heads and prayed in that house who had not done such a thing sincerely in many years.

Robert had many inquiries concerning himself and Clara to answer at the close of the service. He finally went up and thanked the minister for what he had said, and spoke as he never had spoken before in encouragement of his pastor's work. But it seemed to him that he must hasten homewards. The time was growing short; he must have the rest of it with the dear ones in the home.

What need to describe the details of the afternoon? Robert Hardy had the joy of knowing that all his children were with him, and at dark James came over and asked if he might join the circle. He did not know all that Mr. Hardy had gone through, but the children had told him enough to make him want to be with the family.

"Why, come right in and join the circle, James! You're one of us," cried Mr. Hardy cheerfully. So James drew up his chair, and conversation was continued. They were sitting in the room upstairs, where Clara lay facing an open fire. The doctor had called in the middle of the afternoon, and brought two other skilled surgeons and physicians at Mr. Hardy's request. It was a singular case, and nothing special could be done. This was the unanimous opinion after deep consultation, and after remaining some time the doctors had withdrawn.

When it grew dark, Alice started to turn on the lights, but her father said: "Let us sit in the firelight." So they drew close together, and in an awe looked upon him who seemed so sure that. God would call him away at midnight. Who shall recount the words that were uttered? the exact sentences spoken? the fears and hopes and petitions and tears of the wife? the commands of the father to his boys to grow up into the perfect manhood in Jesus Christ? the sweet words of love and courage that passed between him and his wife and daughters? These things cannot be described; they can only be imagined.

So the night passed. It was after eleven o'clock; the conversation had almost ceased and all were sitting hushed in a growing silence, when Clara spoke again, so suddenly and clearly that they were all startled and awed by it:

"Father! mother! where have I been? I have had such a dream! Where are you? Where am I?"

Mrs. Hardy arose, and with tears streaming down her face kneeled beside the bed and in a few words recalled Clara to her surroundings. The girl had come out of her strange unconsciousness with all her faculties intact. Gradually she recalled the past, the accident, the dream of her father. She smiled happily on them all, and they for a while forgot the approach of midnight and its possible meaning to Mr. Hardy—all but himself. He kneeled by the bed, at the side of his wife, and thanked God that his dear one was restored. Suddenly he rose to his feet and spoke aloud, quietly, but clearly: "Did you not hear someone calling?" His face was pale but peaceful. He bent down and kissed Clara, embraced his sons, drew his wife to him, and placed his hand on Bessie's head; then, as if in answer to a command, he gently kneeled down again by his chair and as his lips moved in prayer the clock struck once more the hour of twelve. He continued kneeling there, nearer God than he had ever been in all his life before.

Thus Robert Hardy's Seven Days came to an end.