100 Sermon Illustrations on Examples Of

There were these two boys that were growing up. One was a

Wesleyan and one was a Catholic. They were good friends and they

always talked about the church that they went to. And so one day,

the Wesleyan decided that he would go to church with the Catholic

and the Catholic decided that he would go to church with the

Wesleyan. So the Wesleyan boy went to church with the Catholic

boy one Sunday. And while they were sitting there in the service,

the Catholic explained to this Wesleyan boy everything that they

did. He explained why the prayed the way that they did, when they

stood up, when they sat down, what they said. He explained

everything and he told him all of these things and what they

meant. And so they left church and the next Sunday, they went to

the Wesleyan Church. And the little Catholic didn't understand.

He thought, "man these Wesleyans are weird people". And so, the

Wesleyan began to explain why we pray like we pray, why we sit

like we sit, why we stand like we stand, why we take the offering

like we do and all of these things. And at this particular

Wesleyan church, they had a pastor who had a habit of preaching a

long time. And one of the things that the pastor would always do.

He would always take his watch off and he would lay it right there

like that. Because everyone always got on him about how long he

preached. And so, here's this little Catholic boy sitting in the

service and he saw the preacher take off his watch and set it

right there, and so the boy asked, "What does that mean?" And so

the Wesleyan boy responded: "It doesn't mean a thing."

Dan Tilley

NewLife Wesleyan Church

Waldorf, Maryland

(06/04/91)

A man was lost in the desert and was near death for lack of water.

Soon he came across a pump with a canteen hung on the handle and a

note. The note read as follows: "Below you is all the fresh water

you could ever need, and the canteen contains exactly enough water to

prime the pump."

It takes GREAT FAITH to pour out the whole contents of the canteen for a promise of unlimited water.

What would you do?

In the Bible, Paul said he was being poured out as a drink offering.

(See \reference{Philippians 2:17}{Philippians 2:17}) How many

Christians have enough faith in God to give their all for Him?

A newspaper man sent a letter home from Red China. At the end he put

the following note, "I hope this letter reaches you because the

censors here are very tough." When the letter arrived another note

had been added, "There are no censors in the People's Republic Of

China."

- Unknown

One day, I woke early in the morning to watch the sunrise. Ah the

beauty of God's creation is beyond description. As I watched, I

praised God for His beautiful work. As I sat there, I felt the Lord's

presence with me. He asked me, "Do you love me?" I answered,"Of

course, God! You are my Lord and Saviour!"

*******************************************

Then He asked, "If you were physically handicapped, would you still

love me?" I was perplexed. I looked down upon my arms, legs and the

rest of my body and wondered how many things I wouldn't be able to do,

the things that I took for granted. And I answered, "It would be

tough Lord, but I would still love You."

*******************************************

Then the Lord said, "If you were blind, would you still love my

creation?"

How could I love something without being able to see it? Then I

thought of all the blind people in the world and how many of them

still loved God and His creation.

So I answered, "It's hard to think of it, but I would still love you."

*******************************************

The Lord then asked me, "If you were deaf, would you still listen to

my word?"

How could I listen to anything being deaf? Then I understood.

Listening to God's Word is not merely using our ears, but our hearts.

I answered, "It would be tough, but I would still listen to Your

word."

*******************************************

The Lord then asked, "If you were mute, would you still praise My

Name?"

How could I praise without a voice? Then it occurred to me: God wants

us to sing from our very heart and soul. It never matters what we

sound like. And praising God is not always with a song, but when we

are persecuted, we give God praise with our words of thanks.

So I answered, "Though I could not physically sing, I would still

praise Your Name."

*******************************************

And the Lord asked, "Do you really love Me?"

With courage and a strong conviction, I answered boldly, "Yes Lord! I

love You because You are the one and true God!"

I thought I had answered well, but God asked, "THEN WHY DO YOU SIN?"

I answered, "Because I am only human. I am not perfect."

"THEN WHY IN TIMES OF PEACE DO YOU STRAY THE FURTHEST? WHY ONLY IN

TIMES OF TROUBLE DO YOU PRAY THE EARNEST?"

No answers. Only tears.

The Lord continued: "Why only sing at fellowships and retreats? Why

seek Me only in times of worship? Why ask things so selfishly? Why ask

things so unfaithfully?"

The tears continued to roll down my cheeks.

"Why are you ashamed of Me? Why are you not spreading the good news?

Why in times of persecution, you cry to others when I offer My

shoulder to cry on? Why make excuses when I give you opportunities to

serve in My Name?"

I tried to answer, but there was no answer to give.

"You are blessed with life. I made you not to throw this gift away. I

have blessed you with talents to serve Me, but you continue to turn

away. I have revealed My Word to you, but you do not gain in

knowledge. I have spoken to you but your ears were closed. I have

shown My blessings to you, but your eyes were turned away. I have sent

you servants, but you sat idly by as they were pushed away. I have

heard your prayers and I have answered them all." "DO YOU TRULY LOVE

ME?"

I could not answer. How could I? I was embarrassed beyond belief. I

had no excuse. What could I say to this? When I my heart had cried out

and the tears had flowed, I said, "Please forgive me Lord. I am

unworthy to be Your child." The Lord answered, "That is My Grace, My

child."

I asked, "Then why do you continue to forgive me? Why do You love me

so?"

The Lord answered, " Because you are My creation. You are my child. I

will never abandon you. When you cry, I will have compassion and cry

with you. When you shout with joy, I will laugh with you. When you are

down, I will encourage you. When you fall, I will raise you up. When

you are tired, I will carry you. I will be with you till the end of

days, and I will love you forever."

Never had I cried so hard before. How could I have been so cold? How

could

I have hurt God as I had done? I asked God, "How much do You love

me?"

The Lord stretched out His arms, and I saw His nail-pierced hands. I

bowed down at the feet of Christ, my Saviour. And for the first time,

I truly prayed.

No apology need be given for the length of the following story;

to begin reading it is to finish it. The faithful witnessing of "Uncle

Ben" resulted in the marvelous conversion of "Mother" Palermo, then

"Dad" and the eight sons and one daughter. Two of

the sons, Louis and Phil, have held services in many states as

an evangelistic team, telling the Blessed Story in music, song,

and testimony. The Italian accordion and the guitar are part of

them, as a wide radio audience will testify. They sing, play,

and testify on streets, in parks, taverns, dance halls, and

churches all over the country. A more detailed story of the

Palermo Family is available in the 48 page booklet entitled, "A

Modern Miracle of Conversion".

Living conditions in Italy at the beginning of the century were

anything but favorable and promising. There was very little

chance for the average man to get ahead. It is therefore no

wonder that so many Italian families, hearing of the golden

opportunities in America, left their native land and ventured

forth in the long journey through the Mediterranean and across

the ocean to the "land of equality and opportunity." All the way

to Chicago our parents came, in the year l906, hopeful that life

in the new land would he happy and bright.

Uncle Ben was the youngest of the six children in Dad's family.

He was the first to have any contact with the "new religion."

Like most immigrants, he was doing outside work as a common

laborer. Things were not going so well one day and he started to

curse and swear. He was discouraged and disgusted and gave vent

to his feelings in this way. It happened in the providence of

God that a Christian laborer, Joseph Marchese, with whom he was

working, overheard the vulgar profanity. Tactfully and kindly he

asked Uncle Ben why he took God's name in vain this way.

"Because I'm lost," Uncle Ben admitted.

The Christian friend then took time to tell Uncle Ben about One

who could take away the desire to curse and give him a peace of

mind and heart that he had never known. Uncle Ben listened

attentively and accepted the New Testament offered him by Mr.

Marchese. "Read this book," he told Uncle Ben, "and call upon

the name of the Lord for deliverance from sin, and He will save

you and you will not want to take His name in vain again."

Grandfather and grandmother were both living at the time, so

Uncle Ben had the excuse of coming out to see them; but he took

advantage of every opportunity to testify to us of what the Lord

had done for him. He and his family would sing Gospel hymns and

offer prayer whenever there was a chance. Mother and father,

however, were very much aggravated by such witnessing, and

treated him shamefully, putting him out of our home again and

again because of his zeal in proclaiming the message we did not

want to hear.

Dad and mother were devoted to their religion and dad was very

self-righteous because he had a prominent position in the church

we attended. He was vice president of the congregation and had

the important position of lighting the candles at the altar. He

was sure that he and his whole family would somehow get to

heaven because of his position and influence in the church of

which he was a member.

But, thank God, our uncle was faithful and persistent in

witnessing to us. He did not come for one or two Sundays

merely, or for a few months, and then get discouraged and quit,

as so many of us would have done under similar circumstances,

but he came with his family for almost six years, patiently and

tactfully sowing the good seed of the Word, in season and out of

season, and watering the seed with much prayer and intercession.

There was no hiding of the Gospel so far as Uncle Ben was

concerned. There was no putting of his light under a bushel; he

let it shine in the home of his relatives even though they did

not appreciate it and glorify the heavenly Father because of His

good works. He evidently had confidence in the power of God's

Word to eventually do its work in our hearts, never losing

patience or giving up, as so many would have done.

Mother was usually quite healthy, having raised a family of

eight boys and one girl. But now she became ill and complained

that there was pain in her side. We noticed how she held her

hand on her side and pressed hard. Finally she suffered such

pain that we took her to the West Suburban Hospital in Oak Park.

The doctors there could not help her, so we took her to Mother

Cabrini Hospital on Racine and Polk Streets in Chicago, where

she was examined by four specialists and had X-rays taken. The

last specialist who diagnosed the case discovered that mother

had cancer of the stomach. He took Dad into the next room and

said, "Mr. Palermo, I hate to tell you this, but your wife has a

very bad cancer and has but a few days to live. You might as

well go home and order a casket. We doctors can do no more for

your wife. Only God can undertake in this case."

We hadn't told mother the seriousness of her condition, but when

she saw dad in tears she urged him to tell her what the doctor

had told him. "Well," he said, "if you want to know, the doctor

said you have cancer of the stomach and can not live very long.

He said the doctors can do nothing for you, but that only God

can undertake in this case." She answered, "That's all right! If

the doctor said that only God can undertake for me, then I'll

try God and pray as Ben told me to do."

When dad came home and told us the sad news we all began to weep

because we children did not want to see our mother die. Neither

she nor any of us was prepared for such an experience. We had

plenty of religion but no peace in our hearts. But God started

to work after dad left the hospital. At six o'clock that

evening mother's pains became almost too much to bear. There was

a little crucifix on the wall above her bed and she began to

pray, but not in the customary way. She prayed, "Dear Lord, I

don't want to pray to You as You are there--a god made of wood

or stone, but I want to pray to You in spirit and in truth.

Mother had never prayed like that before but had only "said

prayers" that she had learned in her childhood prayers to this

or that saint. But this time she wasn't taking any chances. She

was in earnest so she prayed directly to the Lord.

Mother did not sleep any more that night. At seven o’clock in the morning she got up from her bed and was sitting up when the nurses came to her ward. They said to one another, “Poor Mrs. Palermo! She is out of her head.” They knew that the doctors had given her up but did not know that God hadn’t given her up. Mother asked the nurses for her clothes, saying she wanted to go home. She told the nurses that Jesus had come into her heart and saved her and healed her from the cancer. Then the nurses were sure that she had gone crazy, but mother answered back; with a “broken handwriting” and said, “Me no craze -- Jesus saved me and heala me. Me no got cancer no more! “

But the nurses wouldn’t give her her clothes, so she waited for something else to happen. She began to pray for God to send someone from our family to visit her. She had just finished praying when our brother Carl, who worked for a taxi company at the time, got off the elevator and came down the hall. When mother saw him, she thanked God for answering her prayer. She told Carl how Jesus had saved and healed her. Carl could hardly believe her because he knew that the doctors had given her up to die. Mother told Carl, “We must all join Uncle Ben’s religion.” Carl promised, “If the Lord healed you like this, we’ll go beyond Uncle Ben’s religion.”

Soon after that Uncle Ben walked into the hospital to visit mother and when mother saw him she shouted, “Praise the Lord, Ben, Jesus healed me and saved me!” Ben shouted, “Hallelujah!” It is no wonder that Uncle Ben had joy and victory in his soul. Now he was beginning to see the result of his faithful witnessing in our home. Now, after six long years, his prayers were beginning to be answered. I don’t blame him for shouting, do you?

Soon mother said, “I don’t want to stay here in the hospital any longer. I am not sick. I feel fine. This place is for sick people. Take me home!” Uncle Ben said, “You might as well go with me to my home. I don’t live so far from here. You can stay at my home for a day or two until you get a little strength before returning to Melrose Park.” So Carl took mother in a taxi to Uncle Ben’s home.

We were surprised to hear mother praising the Lord. She had never talked about the Lord before. It was something new for us to hear from her lips. Thank God, He had changed her speech. She was indeed a new creature in Christ Jesus. It was hard for us to believe that Mother wasn't sick any more. We said, "Honest, mother, did you really get healed?" She said, "Yes, praise God, the Lord has healed me!" We were very glad, of course, that mother was well, and God was beginning to speak to our hearts, too. We children got together and said, "What do you say we all go to that church where Uncle Ben goes! If they could take cancers away from anybody like that, why, we will all get saved."

Our whole family agreed to go to Uncle Ben's church in Chicago. I'll never forget that Sunday morning early in January of 1925 when we made our first visit to the Italian Protestant church where Uncle Ben attended. I don't know how my brothers got dressed for the journey, but I was all dressed up and ready to go. We couldn't afford shoe polish, so I shined the shoes with a strip of bacon rind.

Then we all piled into the borrowed automobile--a big touring car. It was supposed to be a seven-passenger car, but we made it a twelve-passenger bus. We were packed like sardines. Then we started off. Talk about knee action--that car had all kinds of action! Soon we were lumbering along through the streets of the big city. I was "all eyes" taking in the sights as we drove along. I had never seen so many automobiles and street cars and trucks.

Arriving at the church, we looked around. We hardly noticed the church at first. To us it was indeed a strange-looking church; it didn't even have a steeple or a cross or a belfry. We got out of the car and walked upstairs and into the church, saying to ourselves, "What kind of an outfit is this anyway?" In the hall there were two ushers who handed out song books. By the time they got through giving each member of our gang one, they ran out of books. We helped to fill the church in a hurry, occupying two or three rows of seats. It all seemed so strange to us.

They came back to their seats with smiles on their faces. We all

continued to attend the meeting in this little church until we

all had accepted Christ as our Savior. As I have told some

folks, ''This salvation is just like chicken pox--if you hang

around you'll surely catch it!" That's what we did! We stayed

under the preaching of the Gospel and really got

saved--delivered from the power of sin in our lives.

We were the first family in our neighborhood in Melrose Park to

become Protestants, and we received so much persecution from

friends and loved ones that we moved into Chicago. Mother was

perplexed because all our neighbors were so disturbed about

"changing her religion." They almost made her feel like a

sinner, so mother decided to go and see our priest and ask him

if she had done wrong. She talked with him for about an hour and

a half and testified to him of what the Lord had done for her.

Then she asked him pointblank if she had done the right thing.

"Right here in the presence of God I want you to tell me the

truth: did I do the right thing?" He stood up and took his

little cap off and said, "Mrs. Palermo, it is possible to be

saved, but please don't say a word to anybody about it around

here." Mother shouted, "Praise the Lord! I promised the Lord

that I would tell what He has done for me to everybody I came in

touch with."

From that time on mother has been a faithful witness for Christ,

and God has used her to win many souls. She visits the poor

people and helps them out by making clothes for the children.

She buys groceries for them. In these ways she wins the hearts

of the people and has a chance to witness for Christ. She could

not read the Bible, but my brother George used to go with her at

times and read the Bible for her. But she was able to do the

witnessing, telling what the Lord has done for her and urging

people to give their hearts to Christ. (from a book entitled: "I

Was Born Again," by Norman A. Wingert)

The story of Charlotte Elliott's conversion was related by Ira

Sankey as follows:

At a gathering in the West End of London, the Rev. Caesar Malan

found himself seated by a young lady. In the course of conversation,

he asked her if she were a Christian. She turned upon him, and

somewhat sharply replied, That's a subject I don't care to have

discussed here this evening. "Well," answered Mr. Malan, with

inimitable sweetness of manner, "I will not persist in speaking of it,

but I shall pray that you may give your heart to Christ and become a

useful worker for Him."

A fortnight afterwards, they met again and this time the young lady

approached the minister with marked courtesy and said: "The question

you asked me the other evening has abided with me ever since and

caused me very great trouble. I have been trying in vain in all

directions to find the Saviour, and I come now to ask you to help me

to find Him. I am sorry for the way in which I previously spoke to

you, and now come for help." Mr. Malan answered her, "Come to Him just

as you are." " But, will He receive me just as I am, and now?" "Oh,

yes," said Mr. Malan, "gladly will He do so."

They then knelt together and prayed, and she soon experienced the

holy joy of a full forgiveness through the blood of Christ. The young

lady's name was Charlotte Elliott. To her, the whole Church is

indebted for the moving hymn commencing--

Just as I am, without one plea,

But that Thy blood was shed for me,

And that Thou bid'st me come to Thee,

Oh, Lamb of God I come!

--Dictionary Of Illustrations

In an address delivered at the centennial celebration of the First

Presbyterian Church of Pittsburgh, in 1884, Dr. William Speer told of

a man, Luke Short, who died in New England at the age of 116. When

over a century old, this man was converted by remembering a sermon

which he had heard a century before in England on the text, "If any

man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be anathema." \reference{1

Cor. 16:22}{1 Corinthians 16:22} --McCartney

I phoned my wife to meet me down town as I had some news that

wouldn't keep. She had decided that day that she would go to Los

Angeles and walk about the streets to see if she could find me. But

before starting she had gone into the closet to pray, and the Lord

showed her to stay at home and leave me in His hands. "Then, Father,

send the Holy Spirit to find him and bring him home," she prayed, and

felt such assurance that she was heard that she went in and told the

children, "Daddy will be home today."

When she heard the phone ring that morning, she said, "That's Daddy

now," and started downtown to meet me as I requested. When we met, I

told her the devil had overstepped himself and that I was through. I

wanted her to get the most godly person she knew to come and unite

with her for my salvation. I had heard her read the Bible often and

knew it said, "If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything

that they shall ask in my name, it shall be done." I wanted it done if

it took two people, or two thousand. Yes, I had come to myself!

First, I went down before my wife and confessed to the very bottom

and asked her forgiveness. She forgave me. Then we decided to send for

an old lady, Mrs. Headly, who had been in our home a great deal and

knew of my long absence at this time. Unless someone came in and

missed me, they never knew that I was gone. My wife told her troubles

to no one except the Lord. Her mother lived within a block from us but

did not know I was away.

We phoned the people with whom Mrs. Headly was stopping. They told

us that she had gone elsewhere and that there was no phone where she

had gone. So Mrs. Waterman and I got down to pray alone. It was not

long afterward that the phone rang, and a woman wanted to know if

everything was all right at our house. Mrs. Headly had made her walk

four blocks to call us. Wife told her we wanted Mrs. Headly to come

right down. Although she was old and half blind, this saint of God was

there in a matter of minutes.

"Sister Headly," I said, "I'm trying to find the Lord." "I believe

it, Brother Waterman, I believe it!" (She had always called me Brother

Waterman, wicked as I was.) I got down and prayed, "Lord, I'll do

anything you want me to do, and say anything you want me to say, and

I'm going to serve You the rest of my life whether I ever get a

blessing or not."

I got off my knees, told my wife I had not received any witness

except that I had a great peace. She asked what other witness I

wanted. Well, the peace and joy kept increasing until we had a regular

jubilee until about two o'clock.

I was up, the first one, in the morning and took the Bible to my

wife and said, "Show me the place in here about counting the cost."

She turned to \reference{Luke 14:28}{Luke 14:28}: "For which of you

intending to build a tower sitteth not down first and counteth the

cost, whether he hath sufficient to finish it."

I have no more wanted to chew or smoke since God saved me than I

have wanted to eat dirt or cut my own throat. For thirty three years

and eight months, I have been a new creature in Christ. While I used

to swear and talk vulgar language, I've never sworn once or said a

word my daughter could not say. I've lived every day in the second

verse of the first Psalm, "His delight is in the Lord." The Lord

helped me to memorize fifty chapters while doing my ordinary work on

the car. I am certain that I spoke to at least ten people a day for

the first thirty days after my conversion. But in all that time I saw

no one else saved. I got down on my knees the first day of the second

month saying, "Lord, I am going to keep on fishing whether I land

anything or not." Seven days later the Lord landed a whale for me.

Frank Strong, a great big motorman, got on my car. "I'm glad you

have been converted," he said. "Frank," I replied, "if you are really

glad, you would want it too." "Charlie, if I could get what you have

I'd like to have it," he said. My answer to that was, "If you pay the

price you can get it, and if you don't want it bad enough to pay the

price, you can't get it, and might just as well leave it alone and go

back home."

Tears came to his eyes, and a lump in his throat, and he said,

"Charlie, I want it, tell me how." We agreed to meet as soon as I was

through work. He was on the spot. In his mouth he had what seemed to

me one of the biggest cigars I had ever seen. I said nothing to him

about it. He just looked at me, took it out of his mouth, and threw it

away. That was his last cigar.

I took him to our little tent where we were staying at a camp

meeting. My wife and I and Sister Schell, now in Glory, prayed

together, and Frank found God, stamped the rest of his cigars in the

dirt, and praised God for salvation. After being a slave to tobacco

since a child, and a very profane man, God delivered him so completely

that he has been a flame of fire for God ever since.

In a short time he brought his wife, his children, and his aged

parents to the Lord, and is still winning souls right along on his

car. His godly life and testimony have been such an inspiration to me.

God bless him!

Christ is my Healer, my Sanctifier, my Coming King, and Wonderful

Savior! --Charles C. Waterman

One morning when I was a boy the preacher preached a sermon which I

think now must have been on the subject, "The Gates of Heaven." In the

sermon he asked: "If the gates of heaven were opened, would you

enter?" The question startled me. I knew that if the gates of heaven

were opened that day I could not enter, because I could not claim to

be a Christian boy. That night, the preacher's text was, "What then

shall I do with Jesus who is called the Christ?" He said very simply

and earnestly that to accept Christ as Savior meant heaven, that to

reject Him as Savior meant hell.

I went home that night with the most wretched feeling. I could not

sleep. I got up during the night, slipped out of the window that

opened on the back porch, and went down to the moonlit watermelon

patch. It was a beautiful clear night, and I thought of the heaven

beyond the stars and of the hell somewhere in some vast region below.

At the breakfast table next morning, my mother said, "Son you look

like you didn't sleep much last night." "No, ma'am," I said, "I

didn't." "What is the matter?" "I feel awfully sinful," I admitted.

I had to plow all that day. My misery grew until finally I drove

out to the end of a long row and dropped the plow down by the side of

Barney, my old white mule. I got down in the fence corner, the corner

of an old rail fence, and told God I felt awfully bad, awfully sinful,

and that I wanted to he saved. "If one must accept Jesus to be saved,"

I prayed, "then I accept Him." There in a fence corner the Lord saved

me.

That night--the text of the preacher's sermon I do not now

remember--I walked down the church aisle and let it be known that the

Lord had saved me. I do remember the hymn they sang:

Out of my bondage, sorrow, and night;

Jesus, I come! Jesus, I come!

Into Thy freedom, gladness, and light;

Jesus, I come to Thee.

--Rev. Robert G. Lee

[The most interesting story I ever heard was told me years ago by a

man over eighty years of age. We were sitting together on a projecting

rock of a mountainside in Arkansas. Here's the story]:

I was down in this country during the Civil War. Across on the

other side yonder there were hundreds of tents where our soldiers were

encamped. Measles broke out and many of our brave lads died. The

epidemic got so bad we stretched some tents farther down the valley

and moved all the measles patients into these tents. This, of course,

was done to protect as far as possible the health of the well

soldiers. I was wardmaster in charge of the tents where the measles

were located.

One night while I was on the ward I passed a bunk where there was a

very sick soldier lad not more than seventeen years of age. The boy

looked at me with a pathetic expression and said, "Wardmaster, I

believe I am going to die. I am not a Christian. My mother isn't a

Christian. My father isn't a Christian. I never had any Christian

training. I never did attend church. I did go with a boy friend to

Sunday School just once. A woman taught the Sunday School class. She

seemed to be such a good woman. She read us something out of the Bible

about a man--I think his name was Nicodemus. Anyway, it was about a

man who went to see Jesus one night. Jesus told this man he must be

born again in order to go to heaven when he dies. I have never been

born again, and I don't want to die like this. Won't you please get

the chaplain so he can tell me how to be born again?"

In those days I was an agnostic--at least, that is what I called

myself. As a matter of fact, I wasn't anything but an old sinner. So I

told the boy, "You don't need a chaplain. Just be quiet now. Don't

worry, you'll be all right." I went on around the ward, and in about

an hour I came back to the boy's bed. He looked at me out of such sad

staring eyes as he said, "Wardmaster, if you won't get me the

chaplain, please get me the doctor, I am choking to death."

"All right, my son, I'll get you the doctor," I said. So I went off

and found the doctor and he came, mopped out the throat of the lad so

he could breathe just a little easier. I knew the boy was going to

die. I had seen many other cases just Like his. The boy was so sweet

he literally climbed into my heart. He thanked me for my kindness. He

thanked the doctor for being so good to him. The doctor and I went

away from the bed.

I had walked life's way with an easy tread,

I had traveled where pleasures and comfort lead

Until one day in a quite place,

I met the Master face to face.

With station and rank and wealth for my goal,

Much thought for my body but none for my soul,

I'd entered to win this life's mad race,

When I met the Master face to face.

I built my towers and reared them high,

'Til they had pierced the blue of the sky.

I'd sworn to rule with an iron mace,

When I met my Master face to face.

I met Him and knew Him and blushed to see,

That His eyes, full of sorrow, were fixed upon me.

I faltered and fell at his feet that day,

While my castles melted and vanished away.

Melted and vanished and in their place,

Nothing else could I see but the Master's face.

My thoughts are now for the souls of men,

I had lost my life to find it again.

Since that day in a quite place,

When I met the Master face to face.

Adoniram Judson, the illustrious American missionary, was a

minister's son. He was very able and very ambitious. He was early sent

to college. In the class above was a young man of the name of E.,

brilliant witty and popular, but a determined deist. Between him and

the minister's son, there sprung up a close intimacy which ended in

the latter's gradually renouncing all his early beliefs and becoming

as great a skeptic as his friend. He was only twenty years of age, and

you may be sure it was a terrible distress and consternation that

filled the home circle when, during the recess, he announced that he

was no longer a believer in Christianity. More than a match for his

father's arguments, he steeled himself against all softer influences,

and with his mind made up to see and enjoy the world he first, joined

a company of players at New York and then set out on a solitary tour.

One night he stopped at a country inn. Lighting him to his room,

the landlord mentioned that he had been obliged to place him next door

to a young man who was exceedingly ill, and in all probability dying,

but he hoped that it would occasion him no uneasiness. Judson assured

him that beyond pity for the poor sick man he should have no feeling

whatever. Still, the night proved a restless one. Sounds came from the

sick chamber, sometimes the movements of the watchers; sometimes the

groans of the sufferer; and the young traveler could not sleep. "So

close at hand with but a thin partition between us," he thought "there

is an immortal spirit about to pass into eternity; and is he

prepared?"

Then he thought: "For shame of my shallow philosophy!" What would

E., so clear headed and intellectual, think of this boyish weakness?"

Then he tried to sleep, but still the picture of the dying man rose in

his imagination. He was a young man, and the young student felt

compelled to place himself on his neighbor's dying bed, and he could

not help fancying what would be his thoughts in such circumstances.

Finally, the morning dawned, and in the welcome daylight his

"superstitious illusions fled away." When he came downstairs, he

inquired of the landlord how his fellow lodger had passed the night.

"He is dead," was the answer. "Dead!" "Yes; he is gone, poor fellow;

the doctor said he would not probably survive the night." "Do you know

who he was?" "O yes; he was a young man from Providence college, a

very fine fellow; his name was E."

Judson was completely stunned. Hours passed before he could quit

the house; but when he did resume his journey, the words "Dead! Lost!

Lost!" were continually ringing in his ears. There was no need for

argument. God had spoken, and from the presence of the living God, the

chimeras of unbelief and the pleasures of sin alike, fled away. The

religion of the Bible he knew to be true; and turning his horse's head

toward Plymouth, he rode slowly homeward, his plans of enjoyment all

shattered, and ready to commence that rough and uninviting path which,

through the death-prison at Ava and its rehearsal of martyrdom,

conducted to the grave at Maulmain. --James Hamilton

A little girl found on the street in a basket was taken to a

hospital where she lived for a few years. The people named her

"Mary Lost." When she was still quite young she became a

Christian, trusting in Jesus as her Saviour, and He gave her a

new heart and made her a new creature. Then she wanted a new

name also. She went to the superintendent of the home and said,

"Please, don't call me Mary Lost any more. I used to be Mary

Lost, but I am no longer. Jesus has found me and now I want to

be called Mary Found." --Selected

Norman Wingert wrote in 1946: “R. G. LeTourneau has no doubt witnessed personally to more people than any one individual living today. God runs his twenty million dollar business, and LeTourneau, in turn, flies to the four-quarters of the Nation to speak to great audiences about the Good News of Salvation. Here is one man that God can trust with big things, and LeTourneau has proved himself a good steward, handing over ninety per cent of the profit from his huge business to the work of the Lord.” The following account of his conversion was taken from LeTourneau's biography, “God Runs My Business.”

I was raised in a Christian home by a father and mother who loved Jesus and served Him with all their hearts. We had a family altar where we all worshipped God. Father prayed and asked God to make his children useful in His kingdom. In spite of that, at the age of sixteen I found myself on the wrong road going the wrong way. I knew the right way but I'd forget about it.

About the time I was sixteen, I began to realize that something was wrong in my life. I tried to turn over a new leaf many times, but each time I failed and each time I got worse, It wasn't that I didn't know the Bible or the way of salvation. The trouble was I knew it all too well. In our home we had had to memorize Scripture. But I recited it in a parrot-like way. I knew the words but they had no meaning for me. Revival meetings would come to town and I would go and get all worked up; but after revival I'd go back to my old kind of life.

Then a special revival came and everybody said, “Are you going tonight?” and I said, “Oh, yes, I guess so.” I went for four nights and then decided I wasn't getting anywhere. I was looking for something but I didn't know exactly what, I thought that I was seeking after God but I was really seeking after the things which He had, The next night I stayed home and thought the whole thing over, I saw myself ever going down into sin and I realized that I was a lost sinner, The next night I went to the meeting and when the altar call was made, I went forward.

The workers asked me, “Do you believe that Christ died for sinners?” But I knew all the Scripture answers, There was something between my soul and my salvation, I couldn't seem to get it; it wasn't real to me, I went home from that meeting that night and went to bed and as I lay there, this thought came to me: “If I should die tonight, I would go out into a lost eternity, Hell would be worse for me than for anyone else, because I had heard the Gospel and rejected it.”

On a stormy, January day in 1850, an English lad, fifteen years of

age, started down the street to go to his regular place of worship. A

storm came up, and he turned into the Primitive Methodist Chapel on

Artillery Street. The regular preacher did not appear, and a man, to

this day unknown, stepped into the pulpit and took his place. What

happened is best told by the lad himself: "Six years ago today, as

near as possible at this very hour of the day, I was in the gall of

bitterness and in the bonds of iniquity, but had yet by divine grace

been led to feel the bitterness of that bondage and to cry out by

reason of the soreness of its slavery.

Seeking rest and finding none, I stepped within the house of God,

and sat there afraid to look upward lest I should be utterly cut off,

and lest his fierce wrath should consume me. The minister rose in his

pulpit, and, as I have done this morning, read this text, 'Look unto

me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth: for I am God, and

there is none else.' I looked that moment."

Here is one of the many stories from the Pacific Garden Mission of

the marvels of God's saving grace:

"Sunshine Harris," was steeped in sin for seventy-one years and

most of that time an infidel. Leaving home because he was such a

disgrace to his family, he wandered around in the country. He never

went to church except for a funeral, unless to ridicule what took

place. For fifty long years he smoked and drank, then became such a

slave of tobacco that he picked up stubs in the street to satisfy the

craving. Filthy with sin, he wandered often into the Pacific Garden

Mission, usually drunk, each time resisting the pleadings of Colonel

and Mrs. Clarke with scorn and mockery, and determining never to

return.

On August 4, 1899, he bought a New Testament, hardly knowing why.

When his eyes fell upon the frank words, "Thou fool, this night thy

soul is required of thee," he became furious and closed the book.

Later he wanted to reread the passage but he was not able to find the

verse. That made him more furious.

In vexation, he began with Matthew's genealogy and kept reading

until the words were located. A few nights later he said, "God,

tonight I am going to the mission. If you help me, I'll raise my hand

for prayer." It was a "never to be forgotten" night for "Sunshine

Harris."

The old saying "the sooner the better" is certainly true when

applied to reaching people for Christ. The earlier in life they hear

the gospel, the more likely they are to trust Jesus as their Savior.

Nineteenth-century Scottish preacher Horatius Bonar asked 253

Christian friends at what ages they were converted. Here's what he

discovered.

Under 20 years of age 138

Between 20 and 30 85

Between 30 and 40 22

Between 40 and 50 4

Between 50 and 60 3

Between 60 and 70 1

Over 70 0

How important, therefore, that we present Christ to our young

people--and the sooner the better!

Sometimes, ofttimes, God's messenger is home influence. Did you

ever hear Mr. Torrey, the evangelist, tell what an awful unbeliever he

was when he was a young man--how he went to the deepest depths of

infidelity and scorned everything, the Bible, Christ, God, heaven,

hell, immortality, everything like that? And his dear mother yearned

after him and loved him, and pleaded with him and prayed for him, and

after a while he said to his mother: "I am tired of it all and I am

going to leave and not bother you any more, and you will not see me

any more; I am tired of it all."

She followed him to the door, and followed him to the gate,

pleading and praying and loving and weeping, and then at last she said

as her final word: "Son when you come to the darkest hour of all and

everything seems lost and gone, if you will honestly call on your

mother's God you will get help." He went his way in his darksome and

terrible infidelity.

Deeper down he went, day in and out, month in and out. The months

went by, and he was four hundred and twenty-seven miles from his

mother's home in a hotel in a certain town, unable to sleep, wearied

with his sins and wearied with life, and he at last rose up in the

early morning and said: "I will get out of this bed and I will take

the gun there from my valise and I will put it to my temple and I will

end this farce called human life." As he got out of bed to do that

dreadful thing, the last words that his mother had said came back to

him: "Son when your darkest hour of all comes and everything seems

lost, call in sincerity on your mother's God and you will get help."

Torrey said he fell beside his bed and said: "Oh, God of my mother,

if there is such a Being, I want light, and if Thou wilt give it, no

matter how, I will follow it." He had light within a few moments, and

hastened back home. To follow the story just a moment more, he said

that when he got back home, thinking he would surprise his mother and

come upon her unexpectedly she came down the walk to the gate laughing

and crying with uncontrollable joy and said: "Oh my boy I know why you

are coming back, and I know what you have to tell. You have found the

Lord. God has told me so."

Oh, the power of a mother's prayer! Oh, the power of a father's

prayer, the power of a brother's prayer, a sister's prayer! Oh, the

power of a wife's prayer, when she links herself with God! Many a

time, God's good angel to bring one back from the darksome and

downward way, is somebody's prayer who says: "Lord, spare this soul a

little longer. Give this soul a little more respite, a little more

time." Prayer, how mighty it is before God when it is sincerely

offered. --George W. Truett

One day--a long hot day it had been too--I met my father on the

road to town. "I wish you would take this package to the village for

me Jim," he said hesitating. "Now I was a boy of twelve, not fond of

work and was just out of the hayfield where I had been at work since

day-break. I was tired dusty and hungry. It was two miles into town. I

wanted to get my supper and to wash and dress for singing school. My

first impulse was to refuse, and to do it harshly, for I was vexed

that he should ask after my long days work. If I did refuse he would

go himself. He was a gentle, patient old man. But something stopped

me, one of God's good angels I think.

"Of course father I'll take it," I said heartily, giving my scythe

to one of the men. He gave me the package. "Thank you, Jim," he said,

"I was going myself but somehow I don't feel very strong today." He

walked with me to the road that turned off to the town. As he left, he

put his hand on my arm saying again, "Thank you my son; you've always

been a good boy to me, Jim." I hurried into the town and home again.

When I came near the house, I saw a crowd of farm hands at the door.

One of then came to me, the tears rolling down his face: "Your father,

" he said, "fell dead just as he reached the house. The last words he

spoke were to you."

I'm an old man now, but I have thanked God over and over again in

all the years that have passed since that hour that those last words

were: "You've always been a good boy to me." --New York Examiner