173 Sermon Illustrations on Character of a Believer

In the early days of the history of the children of Israel the people were ruled by judges, and it was not until they saw the nations round about them under the leadership of kings that they desired a king of their own. In spite of the warnings of the old prophet Samuel, they demanded a king, and Samuel chose a young man, afterwards King Saul, to be their ruler. But when the people came together to make Saul King they could not find him. They searched a long while, and finally God told them that Saul had hidden himself amongst the baggage. There they looked, and sure enough, as the old story says, there was a king "hid in the stuff." That was many hundreds of years ago, and kings are no longer made in that way. But the story has a meaning still for every boy. There is still a king hid in the stuff that goes to make up every boy. A great many things about a boy in which he hides his kingship seem no better than the worthless stuff in which Saul hid. There are mistakes, outbursts of temper, laziness, selfishness, impatience, deceit, and cruelty. But hidden beneath all that, God would have you remember that there is still a king hid in the stuff. A story is told of the son of Louis XVI of France, whose father and mother were put to death by the people. He was thus left an orphan, and was sent to live with a wicked man and woman who tried to teach him all manner of wrongdoing. But when they tried to persuade him to do wrong, he would refuse, and say that he was a king's son, and would some day be king himself, therefore he could not stoop so low. I wish every boy, when he is tempted to do some unmanly thing, would remember his kingship, too. You are not the son of an earthly king, but you are each the son of a Heavenly King, and you, too, have the making of a king in you. You are too great to do mean things. There is an old hymn which runs like this: "My Father is rich in houses and lands, He holdeth the wealth of the world in His hands; Of rubies and diamonds, of silver and gold He has gone to prepare us a mansion untold. I'm the child of a King, the child of a King, With Jesus my Saviour, I'm the child of a King." And when you would do a mean thing, ask yourself if that is worthy of your kingship. Remember also that only those who live Kingly lives are worthy to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

In most quarrels there is a fault on both sides. A quarrel may be compared to a spark, which cannot be produced without a flint as well as a steel; either of them may hammer on wood for ever, no fire will follow.— South.

It was the custom of the primitive Romans to preserve in the halls of their houses the images of all the illustrious men whom their families had produced. These images are supposed to have consisted of a mask exactly representing the countenance of each deceased individual, accompanied with habiliments of like fashion with those worn in his time, and with the armor, badges, and insignia of his offices and exploits; all so disposed around the sides of the hall as to present, in the attitude of living men, the long succession of the departed; and thus to set before the Roman citizen, whenever he entered or left the house, the venerable array of his ancestors revived in this imposing similitude. Whenever, by a death in the family, another distinguished member of it was gathered to his fathers, a strange and awful procession was formed. The ancestral masks, including that of the newly deceased, were fitted upon the servants of the family, selected of the size and appearance of those whom they were intended to represent, and drawn up in solemn array to follow the funeral train of the living mourners, first to the market-place, where the public eulogium was pronounced, and then to the tomb. As he thus moved along, with all the great fathers of his name quickening, as it were, from their urns, to enkindle his emulation, the virtuous Roman renewed his vows of respect to their memory, and his resolution to imitate their fortitude, frugality, and patriotism.

— EDWARD EVERETT

The Hon. W. P. Fessenden unintentionally made a remark against Seward, which was considered to be highly insulting. When Fessenden was informed of the construction placed upon it, he went frankly to Seward, and said, “Mr. Seward, I have insulted you, but I did not mean it.” Mr. Seward was so delighted with the frank apology that he exclaimed, “God bless you, Fessenden! I wish you would insult me again.”--JAMES T. WHITE, “Character Lessons.”

See JUDGING FROM FACTS.

APPEAL, A LIVING

Dr. Bernardo, of London, the great philanthropist, was standing at his front door one bitter day, when a ragged urchin came up to him and asked to be admitted to the Orphans’ Home. “How do I know what you tell me is true? Have you any friends to speak for you?” asked Dr. Bernardo, assuming a tone of severity. “Friends!” echoed the little fellow--“friends! No, I ain’t got no friends. But if these ere rags,” holding up his tattered garments, “if these ere rags won’t speak for me, nothing else will.” (Text.)

Does not every man at times feel the aspiration to realize the man he “might have been”:

Across the fields of long ago He sometimes comes to me, A little lad with face aglow-- The lad I used to be.

And yet he smiles so wistfully, Once he has crept within-- I think that he still hopes to see The man I might have been!

Any good quality needs backbone to make it effective. The little boy who read aloud, “Now Daniel had an excellent spine in him,” when the letters spelled “spirit,” was not so far from the truth after all. All of God’s servants need spine.--JAMES M. STIFLER, “The Fighting Saint.”

See DAILY CHARACTER WORK.

CHARACTER CONDITIONED BY THE PHYSICAL

A news item from Toledo, Ohio, reads:

Skilled surgeons at St. Vincent’s hospital have transformed Harold Hurley, the bad boy, into Harold Hurley, the good boy.

A few days ago, Harold, aged twelve, who was slated for the Lancaster reform school, was taken to the hospital. To-day he was taken home, a changed boy, different in thought, acts, and even appearance.

Harold has been a problem to his mother and to the juvenile court officers for some time. Probation Officer Dilgart got a look at Harold recently and discovered a peculiar scar on the boy’s forehead. Inquiry developed that when five years of age Harold stumbled, and striking his head upon a stone, sustained a fracture of the skull. Gradually he became bad; but instead of being sent to Lancaster, he was removed to the hospital, where the pressure of a broken bone on his brain was removed.

After the operation the lad’s faculties gathered slowly. Dr. James Donnelly states that the pressure of the piece of bone upon the brain had gradually dulled all the higher sensibilities, and if it had gone on Harold would in time have become an utter degenerate. (Text.)

I had sometimes caught a glimpse of the small scullery-maid at my boarding-house; but one day, slipping to the kitchen for a cup of hot water, I had a queer bit of a chat with her. She was scouring granite pots with a vim and vigor which were bound to bring results, and all the while her face was as shining as her finished work.

“Do you like them, Alice?” I asked.

“No, I hate them,” she replied emphatically.

“What makes you smile so over them, then?” I asked, curiously.

“Because they’re ‘character pots,’” the child replied at once.

“What?” I inquired, thinking I had misunderstood.

“‘Character pots,’ miss. You see, I used to only half clean them. I often cried over them, but Miss Mary told me as how, if I made them real shiny, they’d help to build my character. And ever since then I’ve tried hard, miss; and, oh, it’s been so much easier since I’ve known they were ‘character pots.’”

I said a word or two of encouragement, and went on my way, knowing that I had been rubbing up against a real heroine. Everyday life is brimful of disagreeable duties. Why not turn them every one into “character pots?”--_East and West._

Distinctions of character are not seen, really, in the feet themselves, but in what the owner does with them. Sometimes it is significant that their owner does not know what to do with them. He is vulgarly, defiantly self-sufficient and despises ceremony, so when he smokes a cigar he puts his feet on the mantel-piece, out of the way. Or he is a country-bumpkin, painfully self-conscious, so he stands on one foot and then on the other, and shifts them about, perplexed what to do with them, as ill-bred folks, when they sit idle and sociable, are perplexed by possessing a pair of hands. On the contrary, the fop--whose feet are clad without spot or speck, and regardless of expense--knows very well what to do with them; they are part of the exhibition which is his constant care. In general, it is a sign of vanity to thrust forward habitually a neat foot when one is at rest. A conceited man nurses a leg and admires a foot, which he twitches and twirls beneath his delighted eyes--quite unconsciously, and in a different manner from the fop; for the vain man thinks of the effect produced upon other people, but the conceited man is satisfied with himself, without any regard to the ordinary mortals who may chance to be observing him. Very different is the generous mind of the philanthropist, who thinks constantly of the rest of the world, and not of himself. There is nothing cramped about any of his ideas or of his possessions. He forgets such small matters as fashion and details of appearance. Except on state occasions, he considers neatness to be a hindrance; everything about him is large, from his benevolent schemes down to his well-worn shoes. His stand is not alert, but patient, well set on the ground; he is ready and steady; he waits to give what he can, and to do what he can, and while he thinks of weighty matters, personal details are forgotten. He may walk flat-footed in old shoes; insteps and heels are infinitely beneath his consideration, so his foot is not the type that the dancing-master believes to be the one thing necessary for a gentleman; but he has already flattened injustice under his feet, and the horror of the dancing-master shall never reach his ears.--_Cassell’s Family Magazine._

You can not read a man so well during his busy hours as by what he does after supper, or from the closing hour of business to bedtime. You can not gage his character so well by the money he spends for necessaries or the living of his family as by that little overplus of money which is left after the necessary expenses are paid. What does he do with his spare money, that margin left over from business and from living expenses? What he does with that margin will throw a wonderful light upon his character.

The largest part of every active life must be devoted to getting a living, attending to one’s affairs, and this is done by most people in a routine sort of a way. You can not tell much about the real man during these hours, because he has a system, his regular daily routine, and he does very much the same thing every day. But the moment he is free, he is quite a different man. Then his real propensities come out. People are not natural until they are free from restraint.

Watch the boy and the girl when they are free from their regular duties, and see how they spend their evenings, what society they keep, what companionships they form, what they do. This will be a pretty good test of their character.--_Success._

A look, a touch, a word is enough, not infrequently, to betray the man back of it, the unconscious being the characteristic.

Mendelssohn once revealed his masterhand as a musician to the organ-keeper in Strasburg Cathedral by the way he made the instrument speak, just as Giotto, as an artist, did to a stranger on one occasion by drawing a perfect circle at a stroke.

Not what we have, but what we use, Not what we see, but what we choose; These are the things that mar, or bless, The sum of human happiness.

The thing near by, not that afar; Not what we seem, but what we are; These are the things that make or break, That give the heart its joy or ache.

Not what seems fair, but what is true; Not what we dream, but good we do; These are the things that shine like gems, Like stars in fortune’s diadems.

Not as we take, but as we give, Not as we pray, but as we live; These are the things that make for peace Both now and after time shall cease.

--_The Outlook._

Genius levels mountains, spans rivers, causes wildernesses to blossom, links together with electric chains the ends of the earth. The gifted man cares not for difficulties; like a mountain torrent, he gains momentum from every obstacle; a master athlete, he throws the world. Masters of circumstance in many directions, but how soon we succumb to circumstance when it relates to character! He who is triumphantly strong in other directions is helpless here; he who heroically and magnificently succeeds in fortune ignobly fails in morals. He who successfully battles with circumstances to become a scholar is vanquished by fleshly desires; he who becomes rich in the teeth of circumstances is then mastered and degraded by his riches; he who surmounts circumstances to become great, immediately falls a victim to luxury and pride. Men make a grand fight with a circumstance in the kingdoms of nature and society, but a sorry light with circumstances as these menace the kingdom of the spirit; they fail most where it is exactly most desirable that they should succeed.--W. L. WATKINSON, “The Transfigured Sackcloth.”

It is an interesting study of human nature to watch a mixt crowd as they pass through a gallery of pictures. Some simply express admiration at everything; sure that they must be good, or they would not be there, they feel safe in giving indiscriminate praise. Others spice their approbation with occasional criticism. Some utter impulsively their first impressions; others, more timid, look silently upon all. The few who, being true artists themselves, are best qualified to judge, are usually the most reticent. Indeed, they seem more occupied in studying than in judging, and more anxious to understand what they see than either to criticize or to flatter. Doubtless, however, the majority of these spectators are secretly conscious of their real incapacity to pronounce judgment, and the wisest of them will refrain from doing so, however willingly they may express whatever pleasure or preference they feel. They know they are there for their own gratification or improvement, not to pass sentence upon works which they can only dimly fathom. Yet as they pass out of the gallery into the world of living men and women how quickly is this respectful diffidence removed! He who would not presume to criticize a picture, of which he knows but little, will not hesitate to criticize a man or woman of whom he knows far less. Willing to admit his inability to estimate the work of the painter, he yet feels competent, without study or experience, to estimate the noblest and most complex work of infinite wisdom.--Philadelphia _Ledger_.

See VANDALISM.

DETAILS, PERIL OF

It is said of General Grant, when he was approaching Vicksburg, that his officers, brave enough and willing enough, had so little military experience that his orders to them were not mere directions as to what they should do, but instruction in detail as to the manner in which it should be done. It is said that a collection of those orders would form a compendium or handbook of the military art. The man of liberal training with us has always much of that experience. The sculptor in America can confide nothing to his workman. The editor often needs to know how to set type. Many a time will you have to instruct your bookbinder. Wo to you if you expect to hire a competent translator! The educated man in America is only a helpless Dominie Sampson if he can not harness his own horse, and on occasion shoe him. He must in a thousand exigencies paddle his own canoe. And the first danger which comes to him is that in all these side duties he will forget the great central object to which his life is consecrated.

— EDWARD EVERETT HALE

The character is shaped by that which engrosses the attention most. Rev. W. F. Crafts, Ph.D., says:

A profane sea-captain came to a mission station on the Pacific, and the missionary talked with him upon religious subjects. The captain said, “I came away from Nantucket after whales; I have sailed round Cape Horn for whales; I am now up in the Northern Pacific Ocean after whales. I think of nothing but whales. I fear your labor would be entirely lost upon me, and I ought to be very frank with you. I care for nothing by day but whales, and I dream of them at night. If you should open my heart I think you would find the shape of a sperm-whale there.”

* * * * *

Surely, it is not environment that makes temperament. Bittern and blackbird both frequent bogs, yet the bittern is a lonely misanthrope, whom I more than half suspect of being melancholy-mad, while the blackbird is as cheery and as fond of his fellows as a candidate.--WINTHROP PACKARD, “Wild Pastures.”

Joseph Cook taught that character tends to assume a fixt type, as marked as in the case of mice, cited below:

Mice were originally natives of southern Asia. From there they have accompanied man in his wanderings to all parts of the world, traveling, as he has traveled, in ox-teams and on the backs of donkeys, by steamship and railway; taking up their quarters wherever he does, first in log-cabins with thatched roofs; and finally, in some instances, on the nineteenth floor of a steel building where generation after generation may live and die in turn without having so much as touched foot to the earth.

Strangely enough, the race seems to be proof against the changes wrought upon most animals by difference in environment. Specimens from the opposite sides of the globe, or from widely separated latitudes, are said to be practically indistinguishable, as if at last the species had hit upon a style of form and coloring perfectly suited to all conditions of life.--WITMER STONE and WILLIAM EVERETT CRAM, “American Animals.”

Should not character be saturated with preservative principles that will repel evil influences as the piling mentioned below resists the teredo:

What will ultimately be the largest plant in the world for treating timber with preservatives, is now operated at Somerville, Tex., by the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fé Railroad, says _The Railway World_. While every form of timber treatment is used, the creosote system has proved the most successful. Creosote is shipped to Galveston in shiploads and transported thence to Somerville, where it is used to preserve timber of every variety. This is very expensive, as may be seen when it is known that piling in its natural state costs about forty cents a foot, while a treated pile costs between ninety cents and one dollar. But it pays to go to the extra expense. Creosoted piling that has been in the Galveston bridge for nearly fifteen years is still sound and in a good state of preservation; while the average life of an untreated pile is less than one year, many of them being unfit for service after being in the water thirty days. This quick destruction is caused by the attacks of the teredo, a salt-water mollusk that honeycombs the wood to such an extent that in a short time it will not bear its own weight.

All northern Italy from Genoa to Venice was shaken not long ago by a great earthquake shock. The seismic disturbances continued at intervals during several days. The people were terror-stricken, fearing the worst. It was significant that while the shock was severely felt on both sides of the Adriatic, it was scarcely perceptible in Venice, due probably to the fact that much care, forethought and skill had been exercised in laying the city’s foundations. Every building of importance is supported by piles driven from sixty to one hundred feet into the mud of the lagoons.

In character building our only safety lies in sure foundation. (Text.)

One stands before some of the palaces of the old world that have endured for more than one thousand years without a crack or seam, in perfect admiration. The Pantheon at Rome stands just as it did more than two thousand years ago. This would be impossible had not its foundations been right. The Rialto Bridge that spans the Grand Canal in Venice was erected in 1588. It has stood as it now stands for 320 years, but that bridge rests on 12,000 piles driven deeply into the soil. What is true of buildings is true also of life.

— GEORGE B. VOSBURGH

See CONSERVATION.

GIANTS

A scheme to produce moral and spiritual giants would be of more value to the world than the following:

Some time since Count Alfred de Pierrecourt left a legacy of $2,000,000 to his native city of Rouen to pay the expense of the propagation of giants. The will was contested by his heirs, who naturally enough did not see the necessity of having giants on the earth in these days, particularly when they were to be bred, raised, fed and clothed at their personal expense. The courts, however, sustained the will to the extent of endowing the Brobdingnagian experimenters with a quarter of the estate, so that an institution has been established with an endowment of $500,000, under the supervision of the municipality, for the culture of giants and the production of monstrosities. The trustees are to search the four corners of the globe for men and women of large stature, and are to pair them off in couples and place them in the homes on a farm near Rouen. (Text.)

Edwin Markham describes a noble type of man in the following poem:

Give thanks, O heart, for the high souls That point us to the deathless goals-- For all the courage of their cry That echoes down from sky to sky; Thanksgiving for the armed seers And heroes called to mortal years-- Souls that have built our faith in man, And lit the ages as they ran.

Made of unpurchasable stuff. They went the way when ways were rough; They, when the traitors had deceived, Held the long purpose, and believed; They, when the face of God grew dim, Held through the dark and trusted Him-- Brave souls that fought the mortal way And felt that faith could not betray.

Give thanks for heroes that have stirred Earth with the wonder of a word. But all thanksgiving for the breed Who have bent destiny with deed-- Souls of the high, heroic birth, Souls sent to poise the shaken earth, And then called back to God again To make heaven possible for men. (Text.)

--_The Independent._

Rev. W. H. Fitchett points out the lack of humor in Susannah Wesley, the mother of John Wesley:

The only charge which can be fairly urged against Susannah Wesley is that she had no sense of humor. The very names of the children prove the complete absence of any sense of the ridiculous in either the rector of Epworth or his wife. One daughter was cruelly labeled Mehetabel; a second, Jedidah. Mrs. Susannah Wesley’s theological performances while yet in short dresses prove her want of humor. A girl of thirteen, who took herself solemnly enough to undertake the settlement of “the whole question betwixt dissent and the Church” must have been of an unsmiling and owl-like gravity. Now, humor has many wholesome offices. It acts like a salt to the intellect, and keeps it sweet. It enables its owner to see the relative sizes of things. It gives an exquisite tact, a dainty lightness of touch to the intellectual powers. And Mrs. Wesley visibly lacked any rich endowment of that fine grace.--“Wesley and His Century.”