The Children of Sin

Do you marvel that I wrote, that there is nothing on earth, that is not here also, dictates the Spirit author in Letters from a Spirit.

Shadows and sorrow—need and want. How can it be otherwise, when a great cloud comes hither, not from peaceful and happy homes alone, but from haunts of evil, and places dark with sin. This, she says, rests heavily on my heart.

Always going through these places where all is beautiful, the doubt would come, How with the undeveloped, the untaught but in evil. And it came to pass, that one day my boys took me to the places of the maimed, and sick, where those born, and reared in vicious surroundings, are led, when they are delivered from the flesh.

There are many of these homes, but in this one they were from 5 to 18 years old, in earthly life.

There were no infants. They cannot be other than pure, however vile their environment. But these were children, old enough to learn to steal and deceive, little wretched gamins of the street, whose only word from father or mother was an oath, their only caress, a blow.

The place at which we entered was like a great green lawn, only grass and trees, and afar off the glint of water. About it was a high stone wall, so very high that one could never get over it, and need never think of such a thing.

They are brought to so pleasant a place because no one is said to choose evil, until their earthly years number three times seven.

It is strange to me, though growing less so constantly, how matters that on earth seem accidental, or arbitrary, are founded in Eternal Law. For seven means, all of a series, and three, the whole of a truth, and three times seven, therefore signifies the whole series of truths, which make the measure of a man; that is of an angel.

So these children of less than 21 earthly years are mercifully held to be not deliberately evil.

Oh such a pitiful sight, or series of sights, for as we commenced at the younger ones, we found as we proceeded, the evils, and sinful inclinations of the additional years of experience increased.

Some of them were so fully grown, that on earth they must have seemed like men, but their spirits were, oh, so dwarfed and maimed, for each presents his real and spiritual state.

For instance, they are blind if they look upward.

Their eyes perfectly blank and sightless because in all their earthly lives, they had only looked down in evil, and sensuous things.

Some of them could not unclench their hands, unless they desired what belonged to another, and some deaf and dumb because they are not suffered to say or hear, profane and vile words, and knew no other—poor children.

The wretched and diseased are a shocking sight on earth, and one can perhaps imagine how much more sickening the spirit really maimed must be.

Some were not even light-coloured, and many were perfectly black. But each kind or age were by themselves, for the horror of it was, that all seemed to be alike; the only difference was in age, as there had been more or less time to practice evil in.

The younger ones were the least repulsive. The smallest were like unfortunate little beggars, dirty looking, though they were as clean as the care of others can make them, but their real inward selves was manifested by dirt, and filths. Oh, it was horrible!

I wanted to be satisfied about many questions before I would settle down to my new life, and after I had seen the babies' home, I could not help thinking about the poor children born in sin and conceived in iniquity and what had become of them. For as the kingdom of Heaven is within, there must be purity and holiness before there can be peace.

Well, the grass and trees and flowing water were everywhere, and to begin at the beginning, we went to the younger first. There were huts or hovels, poor looking dwellings, but whole and comfortable. And everywhere. Teachers.

They were pure, bright angels, for only the purest can minister to the highest, and lowest of uses, if there is any difference, for use is the end and aim of all life, and perhaps the leading up of these poor creatures is as precious before the Lord as when, like burning flames of glory, these angels worship before Him in the beauty of Holiness.

But for the space in which they stay among these children, they wear the semblance of powerful but gentle men, and plain pleasant-faced women.

Shall I give you an object lesson that shall serve to show how these wretched ones are taught?

There was a boy who attracted my attention. He seemed about twelve years old, and from his earliest days, had been taught to steal. He literally did not know anything else. Of course, after the first perplexity of his change of worlds, the old nature asserted itself, and he went about trying to steal.

In certain places he would find articles like money, food or clothes. He would look all about, and seeing no one watching, would snatch up the thing, hide it under his poor rags, and fly to secrete it in his hiding place. He had quite a store of odds, and bits, and at last went to his poor home, to enjoy himself with his gains.

He put the food into his mouth, but it was bitter and offensive, and of all he had gathered, he could eat nothing, and finally he threw it away.

Oh, how angry he was, and some of the companions of his earthly life, who were there too, laughed at his trouble until he was furious. Afterward he tried to put on the clothes, but it tore all to bits, though it looked strong and suitable for him. Then he threw that away, and tried to comfort himself counting his money, but that was the worst of all, for it burned his hands, turning to coals of fire, so that he danced and shrieked with pain.

Poor boy, he was full of trouble, and went away by himself, so forlorn and disappointed, that I could not help going after him to see what would come to him next, for it is a part of the blessedness of this outer court of the Temple, that we know that things cannot stay wrong.

He went until he came to the waterside, and sat down there, brooding and sullen.

At length, he saw a bit of board like a shingle, floating along, and then a child appeared by him, a poor looking little one, such as he had been used to on earth.

The child pointed to the board, and seemed to ask him to get it, but he refused, and when the little one begged him to do so, made as if he would strike him.

After a while he yielded to persuasion, and getting up, lumbered along to the water, and picked up a long stick and tried to reach the board, but could not, though he tried for a long time.

He grew so interested that he did not notice that the child was gone, though I saw him disappear. But after many efforts, the poor boy went into the edge of the water, and then farther in until it was up to his waist. Finally the stick caught on the board, and he slowly drew it in, and came on shore.

In the process his anger had abated, and he seemed interested and pleased. He looked about, and said as if he was ashamed, Well, I've got myself wet for that young one, and now he's gone.

Still he held the board, and on it was a loaf of bread. It seemed to come there, and though he thought that he was alone, he had already learned not to touch it. All at once the child came back, and the boy went to him and said, Here's your raft, little fellow, and handed it to him. The child thanked him and they sat down together. The child broke the loaf in two pieces, and gave him one. He ate as if he was hungry, and began to tell how good it tasted, and finally confided to the little one, who talked to him in a childish way, as one of his earth companions might have done, how he had taken food, and it was all bitter, and that he was so hungry because he could not eat it.

The child, in a homely familiar way, told him how everything that was not earned by some good deed, or honest labour, would grow unfit for use, and be a torture, and not a help.

I am yet so bound by the sight of my eyes, that I did not for some time understand, that the helpless coarsely clad child was one of the very purest angelic spirits, clothed for the moment in such fashion, as to reach by the shortest way, to the sense and reason of the outcast.

And then I recalled, how the Blessed Lord had said that even the Highest must serve, even as He had striven to win the lost ones, or the strayed ones, rather, for such love as I see here, will never cease its efforts until all are safe.

It was not a place for raptures, there was too much suggestion of suffering, but I knelt down in earnest thanksgiving, for this sight of the love that seeks and saves.

I have made a long story of this experience, but it is a good showing of the patience, and tenderness, with which the wandering are sought.

Letters from a Spirit [Unknown]