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There are many questions of great importance, but there is one question that comes before all others, and that is — "What must I do to be saved?" When Esther stood before Ahasuerus, her request was, "Let my life be given to me at my petition, and my people at my request." Had she asked anything else than this she might as well not have asked at all. It is even so with the human soul. There are many blessings to be enjoyed, and acquisitions to be made, but these are only possible when this great question has been set at rest.

I. THE QUESTION. It suggests the thought of present danger. If I were to exclaim with apparent solicitude, "My friend, allow me to save you!" would you not look astonished, and reply, "My dear sir, what do you mean? I am in no danger." But suppose I were to offer the same proposal when you were in peril of drowning, you would understand the proposal. The danger from which Christ proposes to save the soul is threefold.

1. There is a moral danger. Sin is to the soul what disease is to the body. We value our natural life sufficiently to take measures to counteract disease when we recognise its presence. Oh, that men were equally wise about the soul! But it is not always the most startling form of disease that is the most fatal. There is a disease that sweeps off its victims by hundreds, where smallpox slays its tens — consumption. Some forms of sin are loathsome. It is not to be wondered at that the drunkard should be described as in danger, but all seems a contrast between his life and the very respectable life you live. Yet though your sins excite no fears, remember they are sins, and a disease of the soul all the more perilous because they excite so little apprehension.

2. There is a spiritual danger. There are certain mysterious intelligences of evil who waylay us, with the object of compassing our ruin. We pity the man whose footsteps are dogged by the assassin. Have we no commiseration for those who are exposed to a more murderous foe? You would tremble if you woke up to find your greatest enemy standing over your bed, dagger in hand; but a more terrible than any human enemy has you at present in his power.

3. Judicial danger. Here is a man in the condemned cell: no man will say that he is not in terrible danger. Why? Because he is condemned already. Even so judgment has been already pronounced upon every sinner. It used to be fabled of the ostrich that when pressed hard by the pursuer, it buried its head in the sand, and endeavoured to persuade itself that it was safe because it ceased to see the danger. But the bird of the desert is too wise to do anything of the kind; yet sinners are not. Whether, however, they forget it or not, it is there. "He that believeth not is condemned already." Now with these thoughts before us we shall be better able to understand the story from which our text is taken. Why did the jailer tremble? He was no coward, nor were earthquakes unusual in that part of the world. He had shown a moment before how little he feared death. Paul and Silas had created no small stir in that town, and the damsel had borne witness to them as "servants of the most high God," etc. The jailer must have known all about this, and now when he awakes in the darkness of night and hears their singing amid the terrible rumble of the earthquake shock, and sees them full of solicitude for the man that had so cruelly wronged them, the thought rushes into his mind, "They are what they profess to be; and have come to show us the way of salvation." Another moment and this mighty God, whose majesty I have defied in the persons of His servants, may hurl me to the flames of Tartarus. "Sirs, what shall I do to be saved?" Now we understand what the inquiry meant. The man felt what it was to be in the hands of a justly indignant God. It is this that brings a similar inquiry to our lips, and until you reach this point nothing is gained.

II. THE ANSWER — "Believe," etc. It does not sound so very much, does it? It sets forth salvation as centred in a Person. That Person then is represented as in a position to deliver us from the forms of danger to which we are exposed.

1. The last danger is the greatest of all; for what can be more terrible than to have God against us? Here most of all, I find myself in need of a Saviour; for in this respect more than any ether my case is hopeless. When I contemplate sin as a moral disease, I may flatter myself with the hope that I may get the better of it; or I may flatter myself that I may escape the malignant influence of the intelligences of darkness by care, and watchfulness, and determined resistance. But how shall I escape from the sentence of the righteous Judge? I am directed to raise my eyes to the Cross, and there I see One who has vindicated His Father's law in His own person by suffering such a penalty as sin has merited, and by doing so has rendered it no longer necessary that God's judgment should be vindicated by my doom.

2. Being thus saved from the judgment of God, I am also saved from the power of Satan. St. Paul was sent to the Gentiles "to turn them from the power of Satan unto God." In forsaking God man turned his back on the only power sufficiently strong to enable him to rise above the tyranny of the destroyer; and thus we came under the yoke of Apollyon. But "the Son of God has been manifested that He might destroy the works of the devil." He rescues us from Satan by bringing us back to God. The Son has made us free, and now are we free indeed.

3. From sin, as a fatal moral disease, Jesus proves Himself our Saviour. In curing bodily diseases He illustrated to us His willingness and His ability to cure our spiritual diseases. There is a balm in Gilead, there is a Physician there, and your "hurt" may yet be recovered. "Wilt thou be made whole?" Surely Jesus is passing through this our Bethsaida tonight with this question on His lips. Which of us shall be the first to claim His healing touch?

III. THE SUBJECTIVE CONDITION UPON WHICH THE ENJOYMENT OF THESE BENEFITS DEPENDS. What is it to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ? In endeavouring to understand these words, we have to guard against the danger of making them mean too little, or too much. Those who fall into the first error would represent faith as the mere mental acceptance of a certain number of facts or doctrines, and those who fall into the latter would represent it as something so mysterious and unintelligible that none can be assured that they really possess it. This faith is —

1. An intellectual conviction or apprehension by which I take in the object proposed to me, assuring myself of its character and trustworthiness. Many fail here, because they do not even intellectually apprehend the true character of the provision made in Christ to meet their case.

2. Next comes the decision of the will — the moral act by which I repose my simple confidence upon the object so apprehended. Now it is here that most people are found wanting. The child that you set on a table and bid spring into your arms is as apt an illustration as you could wish. There it stands hesitating, not because it has any real doubt in its mind of its parent's ability to catch it, but rather because it allows its will to be influenced by its feelings instead of being affected by its reasonable conviction. Now you believe with your mind that Jesus is the sinner's Saviour, and therefore yours. Why allow any feeling of misgiving to prevent you from committing yourself with a distinct and decisive act of will into His arms, trusting Him to save you now?

3. But next, when the mind has apprehended the object, and the will decides to trust itself to it, there will naturally follow a rest of the soul, in the assurance that all is well, and this may be described as the emotional element in a true faith, the presence of which crowns and completes the whole, and brings the inward uneasiness and disquiet to an end. One of you is drowning. I swim out to save you. As I approach you know and believe that I have the power and the will to save you. Then comes the act of will as you trust yourself to me. But still, there is only one arm between you and destruction. Yet you reflect, "What have I to fear? he is able and willing to save me, and I am trusted into his hands." At once the inward tumult begins to subside, and a wonderful reaction of relief and oven of calm happiness sets in, although you have not yet reached the shore.

(W. Hay Aitken, M. A.)

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KJV: And brought them out, and said, Sirs, what must I do to be saved?

WEB: and brought them out and said, "Sirs, what must I do to be saved?"