Something of an illustration of the Christian's deliverance from the bondage of sin was pressed upon my mind by the narrative of an eagle's escape from its captors.
The eagle, as you know, is called "the royal bird," and lives among mountain peaks, building his nest upon crags where the foot of man can rarely reach. This eagle of which I speak lived among the wild hills of Donegal, on the north-west coast of Ireland. It had somehow been snared, and now was chained by the leg to a heap of stones placed in the grounds of a large mansion, situated in Donegal. He was kept there as an ornament to the place, but did not belong to it. His captors fed him and admired him, but he was not happy, nor loved his captors. He was a free bird of the hills, and pined for his native heights. Their dainties had tempted him down; but they could not satisfy him. Day by day he turned his wistful eyes upwards, and night by night he crouched to rest upon his pile of stones with drooping wings and fallen crest-a despairing captive.
How like the backsliding believer, fitted by the new nature to live above the foggy levels of the world, and to dwell in his high places, but tempted into the enemy's trap, perhaps by some unhallowed companionship, some forbidden practice, some habit of self-indulgence, some worldly pleasure, and now, with joy and liberty gone, dwelling on the world's level, apparently helpless to free himself!
After months of captivity, this eagle, by some means or other managed to free its foot of the chain that held it. He was free, but for some unexplained reason he did not at once take advantage of it. Though he did not rise immediately to his native heights, a change had come over him. When his captors came around as usual to look at and feed him, the eagle had an altered appearance; a new light was shining in his eyes turned upward to the sky, his crest raised, his large wings half spread, quivering with excitement. "How beautiful he looks!" they said-for a wonderful change stirred in his breast. He cared not now for their dainties, he wanted not their company; it was for his lofty home he was yearning. He did not seem able to rise at once, and they sought to lay hold of him again. Then, balanced upon a rock, with a swift stroke of his wings he soared away to his mountain home!
O captive backslider, there is freedom for thee ! Loose thyself from the bands that hold thee; free thyself from the fetters that bind thee; withdraw thy foot from the snare into which thou hast fallen. "Shall the lawful captive be delivered?" questions the prophet (Isa. 49:24). No; but the soul redeemed by the blood of the Lamb cannot be lawfully kept captive by the enemy of Christ and holiness.
O believer, thou art born free! If thou wouldst but act in faith, and through the mighty power of thy Saviour break away from that which now keeps thee down and robs thy pining soul of that which is thine own! Thy freedom, bought by blood, no man, no power, no claim, may keep from thee. Shake thyself from the dust; use the wings of your God-given faith to elevate you above the groveling things of earth. Look up, arise to your native element, your proper home. There dwells the One who loves you and who would have you enjoy the communion that "once you had when first you knew the Lord."
No habit can be too strong, no tie too powerful, no link so binding, but that Christ's grace, "sufficient for thee," is able at once to break it. Own your folly and sin, cry to Him for succor, and He will indeed "make you free." The lost joy may be restored, the interrupted fellowship resumed, the heights of holy blessedness regained. "Return, ye backsliding children, and I will heal your backsliding," says the God of all compassion; and with the call He furnishes the answer; "Behold, we come unto Thee; for Thou art the Lord our God" (Jer. 3:22). Adapted from J. J. J.
'THE WELL IS DEEP'