92 Sermon Illustrations on Repentance

Lord, I confess before You that: I have had longings and nudges from You which I did not translate into action. I have made decisions without consulting You, then have blamed You when things went wrong. I have said that I trusted You, yet have not turned my affairs over to You. I have been greedy for present delights and pleasures, unwilling to wait for those joys which time and discipline alone can give. I have often sought the easy way and have consistently drawn back from the road that is hard. I have been fond of giving myself to dreams of which I am going to do sometime, yet have been so slow in getting started to do them. Forgive me for all the intentions that were born and somehow never lived. And now I claim Your promise to change me. Do for me what I cannot do for myself. Lead me into a new tomorrow with a new spirit. Cleanse my heart; create within me new attitudes and new ideas, as only You can. Amen. But for Those Prayers, We Should Have Failed A clergyman from New York, during a call on President Lincoln at the White House said: "I have not come to ask any favors of you, Mr. President; I have only come to say that the loyal people of the North are sustaining you and will continue to do so. We are giving you all that we have, the lives of our sons as well as our confidence and our prayers. You must know that no boy's father or mother ever kneels in prayer these days without asking God to give you strength and wisdom." His eyes brimming with tears, Mr. Lincoln replied: "But for those prayers, I should have faltered and perhaps failed long ago. Tell every father and mother you know to keep on praying, and I will keep on fighting, for I know God is on our side." As the clergyman started to leave the room, Mr. Lincoln held him by the hands and said: "I suppose I may consider this as sort of a pastoral call?" "Yes," replied the clergyman. "Out in our country," replied Lincoln, "when a parson makes a pastoral call, it was always the custom for the folks to ask him to lead in prayer, and I should like to ask you to pray with me today. Pray that I may have the strength and the wisdom." The two men knelt side by side, and the clergyman offered the most fervent plea to Almighty God that ever fell from his lips. As they arose, the President clasped his visitor's hand and remarked in a satisfied sort of way: "I feel better."

Quite a few years ago, Governor Neff of the State of Texas received an invitation to speak at one of the penitentiaries in that state. He spoke to the assembled prisoners, and afterward said that he would be around for a while to listen to anything any of the convicts might wish to tell him. He would take as much time as they wanted, and anything they would tell him would be kept in confidence. The convicts began to come, one at a time. One after another told him a story of how they had been unjustly sentenced, were innocent, and wished to get out. Finally one man came through who said to him, "Governor Neff, I do not want to take much of your time. I only want to say that I really did what they convicted me of. But I have been here a number of years. I believe I have paid my debt to society, and that, if I were to be released, I would be able to live an upright life and show myself worthy of your mercy." This was the man whom Governor Neff pardoned. The Power of Repentance Christopher D. Green writes: "You could say that it was part of the environment surrounding our house. It was an unwritten code held sacred to all in the family. From the time I can remember being able to remember things, I grew up understanding what it meant to say, 'I'm sorry.'From childhood, I recall my parents instilling in me and my sister that if we were truly sorry for something we had done, we could always ask for forgiveness and we would be forgiven. It was a mutual obligation both parties (the inflicter and the inflicted) had to accept. Through the realization we had wronged another member of the family, unity could be restored with those simple words, 'I'm sorry.' "I remember a time when this worked amazingly well, until I abused the system. I still remember breaking my sister's baton over my knee when I was about eight years old. It was then I learned about the power of repentance. As I forced the midpoint of that lightweight baton over my knee, I remember thinking, 'Saying "I'm sorry" will fix this!'Repeated 'I'm sorry's'were declared in my defense, but Mom saw through the veil of charade. I had abused the right to say 'I'm sorry'! Finally, after a long discussion, I was forgiven. Not for breaking the baton as much as I was forgiven of abusing the ability to repent and say I was sorry. "There are times now when I think of how I have abused the repentance God has provided through Christ. Have I taken advantage of our relationship?" The Incurable Inebriate A man named Henry Milans lay in a ward of Bellevue Hospital in New York. A group of students stood around his bed, while the instructing professor remarked: "We have discovered in this man all the marked indications of the incurable inebriate. Note the dancing eyes. Note the trembling of the hands and other members of his body. This man can never be cured. He must die as he has lived, a drunkard. Nothing can save him." Not long after that, Ensign Hall of the Salvation Army describes what happened. "Amid the fervent 'Hallelujahs!'of Christians in the hall, Milans stumbled forward. The change that took place in him was remarkable. What science was unable to do, Christ accomplished in a moment." Nineteen years after his conversion, he testified: "From that moment to the present I have never been tempted to take a drink of anything with alcohol in it. I should have to learn all over again to love the drink that was for 35 years the greatest love of my life." A Tour and a Turn Around A backslidden member of Dr. Philips Brooks' parish called at the study to request that his name be dropped from the roll. Dr. Brooks reminded him that the step he proposed was a serious one and appealed to him to reconsider. However, the man was insistent. Just then a poorly dressed boy entered the study with a note scribbled in pencil on crumpled paper. After Dr. Brooks read it, he challenged his visitor: "My friend, this note is from a poor, sick woman who is requesting that I visit her. I must go to preach a funeral message in a few minutes. Would you be good enough to go along with this lad to his home and supply whatever his mother needs?" "Certainly, Dr. Brooks, I shall gladly do that for you and for her," was the answer. He followed the lad down the wide street into narrower streets and finally, into an alley. The boy stopped at a shanty whose half-open door, held by one hinge, led into an unlighted room. When the stranger stepped in, the half-blinded woman welcomed him, "Oh, Dr. Brooks, I knew you would come! You are God's man. You always come to the call of trouble. I am sick and hungry, but first I want you to pray for me. Please pray." The backslider had not prayed in years. Should he tell her that he was not Dr. Brooks? While he was hesitating, she pleaded, "Oh, pray for me." His heart would not let him refuse the request. He dropped on his knees. Following his first sentence which was a petition for himself in his own backslidden condition, he prayed for her and closed the prayer. Then he explained, "My dear woman you have discovered by this time I am not Dr. Brooks. He is conducting a funeral and he sent me to help you. Oh, how you have helped me! What do you need?" She told him anything would be appreciated. There was no food, fuel, or medicine. Accompanied by the son, they went to a store, filled a basket with fruit and goodies which the lad carried home. He then ordered and charged to himself, groceries, medicine, and coal to be delivered. Hurrying back to the pastor's study, the man, no longer a backslider, found Dr. Brooks in his study. Renewed in spirit, the man extended his hand and said softy, "Oh, Dr. Brooks, I do not want to be dropped from the roll: I am all right now sir, I am all right."

A visitor to a sculptor's studio commented, "I saw some blocks of marble lying off in a corner. Out of one a hand emerged, out of another was a head, with face unfinished. Others had unfinished work. Why the abandoned pieces? The artist answered: "All those pieces showed great promise on the outside, on the surface. But as I chiseled deeper, flaws and defects in the marble that were not visible on the surface showed up. They had to be abandoned." The difference between marble defects and human defects is that the marble cannot repent and be cleansed, but the human can. The defective heart becomes the perfect heart at the touch of the Master.

A very practical man was known to confess: "I have too much religion or too little; I must either give up what I have or get more. I have too much religion to let me enjoy a worldly life, and too much worldliness to let me enjoy religion." He solved the dilemma triumphantly by a wholehearted acceptance of Christ as his living Lord. He put an end to divided loyalty and doubtful obedience. A Changed Disposition An excellent story of a good man's deliverance from the tyranny of bad temper is told by Dr. Alexander Whyte in his James Fraser, Laird of Brea. It seems that Fraser, a minister, was at times, by his own admission, of a sullen and peevish disposition. One day when he was visiting his people, he called on one of his elders to have a conference with him. All the time Dr. Fraser was talking, the elder sat patting a pet dog to whom he paid more attention than to his minister. When his wife came into the room to give them tea and ventured a word or two in the conversation, he turned on her with an angry look and curt remark that sent her out of the room with reddened cheeks. Fraser rode slowly back home that night giving himself time to think. "After all my evangelical preaching," he said to himself, "to see an elder of mine such a brute at home!" But gradually Fraser began to see that it was a case of like minister like elder; at any rate, in the matter of mulishness and glumness at home. The minister was much later than usual in arriving home that night. But from that time, his whole household connected that night with a great change in the head of the house. A sermon he preached on the following Sunday was so conspicuously blessed to the bad-tempered elder that his household also took immediate note of a miracle. James Fraser and his elder had entered into newness of life.

There was a young civil engineer of western Kentucky who assisted his father in his business of railroad prospecting and surveying. As he traveled from place to place, he fell into the society of loose men and acquired intemperate habits, more than his father seemed to be aware of. He shrewdly managed to conceal his evil habits from his parents who were wonderful Christians, the father being the choir leader and the mother a soprano soloist. Once, while the young man was employed on a section of road forty miles from home, it became necessary to lay over from Thursday noon till Monday. His father would be detained till Saturday, reaching home in time for the choir rehearsal. The son, instead of going to his home, went to a bar to begin a spree. The bartender understood his case too well and kept him hidden in his own apartment. When his father came home, he expected to find the boy there. Trouble began when the question, "Where is Harry?" informed the startled mother that he should have come earlier. During the Sunday evening service she was to sing a solo, and by special request-because she sang it so well-her selection was to be, "Where Is My Wandering Boy?" It seemed impossible to her to sing that song under the circumstances. When on Sunday morning, a policeman found Harry, the certainty was no more comforting than the suspense had been. She was advised that he would be "all right tomorrow morning," and that she had better not see him until he sobered up. Toward Sunday night Harry began to come to himself. His father had hired a man to stay with him and see to his recovery. When Harry learned that his mother had been told of his plight, the information cut him to the heart and helped to sober him. When the bells rang, he decided to go to church. He knew nothing of the evening program. He was still in his working clothes, but no reasoning could dissuade him. His attendant, after making him as presentable as possible, went with him to the service. Entering early by a side door, they found seats in a secluded corner, but not far from the pulpit and the organ. After the usual succession of prayer, anthem, and sermon, the time for the solo came. It was probably the first time in that church that a mother had ever sung out of her own soul's distress: Oh, where is my wandering boy tonight, The child of my love and care? Every word was to her own heart a cruel stab. The congregation caught the feeling of the song, but there was one heart as near to breaking as her own. She sang the last stanza, Go for my wandering boy tonight, Go search for him where you will, But bring him to me with all his blight, And tell him I love him still. Oh, where is my wandering boy? Just then a young man in a woolen shirt, corduroy trousers and jacket made his way down the aisle to the choir stairs with outstretched arms, and sobbing like a child, cried, "Here I am, Mother!" The mother ran down the steps and folded him in her arms. The astonished organist, quick to take in the meaning of the scene, pulled out all his stops and played, "Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow." The congregation joined in the great doxology, while the father, the pastor, and the friends of the returned prodigal stood by him with moist eyes and welcoming hands.

It is possible to live under a delusion. You think you are kind, considerate and gracious, when you are really not. You think you are building positive values into your children, but, if you could check with them 20 years later, you really did not. What if you could read your own obituary? How do people really see you? Here is the story of a man who did. One morning in 1888, Alfred Nobel, inventor of dynamite, awoke to read his own obituary. The obituary was printed as result of a simple journalistic error. You see, it was Alfred's brother that had died and the reporter carelessly reported the death of the wrong brother. Any man would be disturbed under the circumstances, but to Alfred the shock was overwhelming because he saw himself as the world saw him. The "Dynamite King," the great industrialist who had made an immense fortune from explosives. This, as far as the general public was concerned, was the entire purpose of Alfred's life. None of his true intentions to break down the barriers that separated men and ideas for peace were recognized or given serious consideration. He was simply a merchant of death. And for that alone he would be remembered. As he read the obituary with horror, he resolved to make clear to the world the true meaning and purpose of his life. This could be done through the final disposition of his fortune. His last will and testament would be the expression of his life's ideals and ultimately would be why we would remember him. The result was the most valuable of prizes given to those who had done the most for the cause of world peace. It is called today the "Nobel Peace Prize." You may think you are a kind, thoughtful, gracious person. But what if today you read your own obituary? You are a businessman, what would your employees write? You are a professional person, what would your clients say? You are a parent, what would your children write? You are a preacher, teacher, whatever, what would those who listen to you say? Since we cannot read our obituary, let us rewrite it. Starting today.

I remember going into a young converts' meeting in Philadelphia, where I heard a story that thrilled my soul. A young man said he had been a great drunkard. He had lost one situation after another; till finally he came to the very dregs. He left Philadelphia, and went first to Washington, and then to Baltimore. One night he came back to Philadelphia. He had lost his key and could not get into his home. He was afraid to go into the house while the people were stirring, so he staid outside watching till all had retired. He knew that after that there would be at least one who would hear him and come to the door. He went to the door; he knocked; when he heard the footsteps of his mother. "O Edward," said she, "I am so glad to see you." She did not reprove him; did not rebuke him. He went up stairs and did not come down for two days. When he came to, the servants were walking about the house very softly--everything was quiet. They told him that his mother was at the point of death. His brother was a physician, and he went to him and asked him if it was so. "Yes, Ned," said he, "mother can't live." He immediately went up stairs, and asked his mother's forgiveness, and prayed to his mother's God to have mercy upon him. "And God," said he, "my mother's God, heard my prayers," and the tears trickled down his face and he said: "God has kept me straight these four years in the face of all trials." O sinner, ask for His grace and might; do not turn Him away.

In private life I never knew any one interfere with other people's disputes, but that he heartily repented of it. Lord Carlisle.

There is a case related of a reckless son upon whom all good opportunities, advice, and influence had been lost, who promised his father that he would spend a half-hour every day after his death in consideration. The son kept the father's dying request, and was led to review his conduct, to feel and repent of his sins, and filled the measure of his days in Christian usefulness. The thoughtless are always impenitent.

We may safely assert that Jeremy Taylor is none the less vigorous for illustrating the long-suffering of God by the rabbinical story that the Archangel Michael, being God's messenger of vengeance, had but one wing, that he might labor in his flight, while Gabriel had two wings, that he might "fly swiftly" when bringing the message of peace. And the nature of repentance and faith is set before us all the more clearly, when Adams likens faith to a great queen in her progress, having Repentance as her messenger going before her, and Works as the attendants following in her train.

— J. G. Pilkington

A German prince visited the Arsenal at Toulon where the galleys were kept. The commandant, as a compliment to his rank, offered to set at liberty any slave whom he selected. The prince went the round of the prison, and conversed with the prisoners. He inquired into the reason of their confinement, and met only with universal complaints of injustice, oppression, and false accusation. At last, he came to one man who admitted his imprisonment to be just. "My lord," said he, "I have no reason to complain. I have been a wicked, desperate wretch; I have often deserved to be broken upon the wheel; and it is a mercy that I am here." The prince selected him, saying, "This is the man whom I wish released."

PHARISAISM, Legend of Jesus, while on earth, was once entertained in the cell of a monk of eminent reputation for sanctity. In the same city dwelt a youth sunk in every sin, "whose heart was so black, that Satan himself shrunk back from it in horror." This last presently appeared before the cell of the monk, and, as if smitten by the very presence of the divine prophet, began to lament deeply the sin and misery of his life past, and, shedding abundant tears, to implore pardon and grace. The monk indignantly interrupted him, demanding how he dared to appear in his presence and in that of God's holy prophet; assured him that for him it was in vain to seek forgiveness; and, to prove how inexorably he considered his lot was fixed for hell, exclaimed, "My God, grant me but one thing: that I may stand far from this man in the judgment-day!" On this, Jesus spoke, "It shall be even so: the prayer of both is granted. This sinner has sought mercy and grace, and has not sought them in vain. His sins are forgiven: his place shall be in paradise at the last day. But this monk has prayed that he may never stand near this sinner. His prayer, too, is granted: hell shall be his place; for there this sinner shall never come."

4132 PHARISAISM, Bebuked. "It was my custom in my youth," says a celebrated Persian writer, "to rise from my sleep to watch, pray, and read the Koran. One night, as I was thus engaged, my father, a man of practised virtue, awoke. 'Behold!' said I to him, 'thy other children are lost in irreligious slumbers, while I alone am awake to praise God.'—'Son of my soul,' said he, 'it is better to sleep than to wake to remark the faults of thy brethren.'"

Repentance begins in the humiliation of the heart, and ends in the reformation of life. — Mason. — Real repentance consists in the heart being broken for sin and from sin. — Nevins. — There is no going to the Fair Haven of glory without sailing through the narrow strait of repentance. — Dyer. — The way to heaven is by Weeping Cross.

Nazianzen compares the soul to a pair of writing-tables, out of which must be washed whatsoever was written with sin, and instead thereof must be entered the writing of grace: both these are necessary in true repentance.

He that repents every day for the sins of every day, when he comes to die will have the sin but of one day to repent of. Short reckonings make long friends. P. Henry.

"Which is the most delightful emotion?" said an instructor of the deaf and dumb to his pupils, after teaching them the names of our various feelings. The pupils turned to their slates: one wrote "joy;" another, "hope;" another, "gratitude;" another, "love." One turned back with a countenance full of peace; and the teacher was surprised to find on her slate the word "repentance." He turned to her, and asked why it was the most delightful emotion. "Oh!" said she in the expressive language of looks and gestures, "it is so delightful to be humbled before God!"

Many persons who appear to repent are like sailors who throw their goods overboard in a storm, and wish for them again in a calm. Mead.

If a sick man, going to a renowned physician, should meet those whom he had healed on the way, who should say, "He has healed us: go to him, and he will heal you," he would be encouraged, and hasten to him. Every repentant sinner should hasten to the Great Physician, who has healed many.

When a man undertakes to repent towards his fellow-men, it is repenting straight up a precipice; when he repents towards law, it is repenting into the crocodile's jaws; when he repents towards public sentiment, it is throwing himself into a thicket of brambles and thorns; but, when he repents towards God, he repents towards all love and delicacy. God receives the soul as the sea the bather, to return it again, purer and whiter than he took it. Beecher.

Frank Teabout, a liquor-seller of Decorah, Io., during a religious revival in that place made up his mind to lead a new life. He had a fine lot of liquors on hand, but "did not sell off the bad beverage by the wholesale, or send it elsewhere to do its mischief, and so remunerate himself for his outlay; but he carted the whole stock down in front of the meeting-house, and there he made a bonfire of it. While the people inside the house were rejoicing in the light of the divine presence, the outer glare denoted that a notable prodigal was returning.

If a ship have three leaks, and two be stopped, the third will sink the ship. If a man has two severe wounds, and cures one, the neglected one will kill him. Spencer.

A coal-merchant in one of our American cities was approached by a minister in regard to the salvation of his soul. The merchant declared it an impossibility for him ever to become a Christian. He gave as a reason his mode of business. For a long term of years, he had, according to a too general custom, given short weight. He had thus grown rich, and now felt the inconsistency of seeking religion without restitution. This was impossible: many of his customers were dead, others beyond his knowledge. The thought of the poor who had paid for coal they had never received rested heavily on him. He asked the minister if he thought the substitution of a gift to the poor would be acceptable to God. The minister advised him to try it. A large donation, more than equal in amount of his unjust gains, was accordingly made, and the merchant sought God in earnest. He was happily converted, and is to-day a prominent member of the church.

If we do not restore that which we have injuriously detained from another, our repentance is not real, but feigned and hypocritical. St. Augustine.

A Scotch woman, whose husband went to sea a few days after their marriage, used to go to a neighboring headland, and watch for his returning ship, or, lying in bed, listen for his footfall. So God waits for the returning prodigal.

The child of an intemperate father, just before her death, asked him to promise her two things: one was to give up drink, which he promised; and the other was to pray, which he said he did not know how to do. She told him she would teach him what she had learned in Sunday school. He knelt by her bed, and repeated the words after her. He became earnest in prayer for himself, and cried to God till light came to his soul. When he rose up, he found his child smiling, but still. She had gone to rejoice with the angels over her repentant father.