10 Sermon Illustrations on Spiritual Awakening

The man huddled on the cabin floor was slowly freezing to death. It was high in the Rockies in southwestern Alberta, and outside a blizzard raged. John Elliot had logged miles that day through the deep snows of the mountain passes. As he checked for avalanches, and as dusk and exhaustion overcame him, he had decided to "hole up." He made it wearily to his cabin but somewhat dazed with fatigue, he did not light a fire or remove his wet clothing. As the blizzard blasted through the cracks in the old cabin walls, the sleeping forest ranger sank into oblivion, paralyzed by the pleasure of the storm's icy caress. Suddenly, however, his dog sprang into action, and with unrelenting whines, finally managed to rouse his near-comatose friend. The dog was John's constant companion, a St. Bernard, one of a long line of dogs famous for their heroics in times of crisis. "If that dog had not been with me, I would be dead today," John Elliott says. "When you are freezing to death you actually feel warm all over, and do not wake up because it feels too good."

An artist was once studying a curious work of art, and became so absorbed in the contemplation as to forget all else about him. A spectator, observing him, asked what pleasure he could take in gazing so long on what seemed so indifferent an object to him. "Hadst thou my eyes," was the reply, "thou wouldst be as much ravished as I am." Ah! do we not all need to have our eyes opened, that we may "behold wondrous things out of God's law"?

It is like the harp and hand of the Hebrew minstrel in the analogous case of the Hebrew prophet. The external operations of another's skill influenced the soul, and awoke to action the dormant energies, of the gifted seer. The sound of the instrument aroused and animated the prophetic impulse: it drew forth from the soul it touched what it did not put there, but what would not have come, nevertheless, but for the external stimulus it brought. T. Binny.

Related by the Rev. Dr. Hill, of Va.—Said the venerable father, "I have abundant cause for interest in this plan of circulating good and pious books. I lost my sainted mother when I was a youth, but not before the instructions which I received from her beloved lips had made a deep impression upon my mind; an impression which I carried with me into a college, (Hampder Sidney,) where there was not then one pious student. There I often reflected, when surrounded by young men who scoffed at religion, upon the instructions of my mother, and my conscience was frequently sore distressed. I had no Bible, and dreaded getting one, lest it should be found in my possession. At last I could stand it no longer, and therefore requested a particular friend, a youth whose parents lived near, and who often went home, to ask his pious and excellent mother to send me some religious books. She sent me Alleine's Alarm, an old black book, which looked as if it might have been handled by successive generations for one hundred years. When I got it, I locked my room and lay on my bed reading it, when a student knocked at my door; and although I gave him no answer, dreading to be found reading such a book, he continued to knock and beat the door, until I had to open it. He came in, and seeing the book lying on the bed, he seized it, and examining its title, he said,—"Why H—, do you read such books?" I hesitated, but God enabled me to be decided, and tell him boldly, but with much emotion, "Yes I do." The young man replied with deep agitation, "Oh H—, you may obtain religion, but I never can. I came here a professor of religion; but through fear, I dissembled it, and have been carried along with the wicked, until I fear that there is no hope for me." He told me that there were two others, who he believed were somewhat serious. We agreed to take up the subject of religion in earnest, and seek it together. We invited the other two, and held a prayer-meeting in my room on the next Saturday afternoon. And O, what a prayer-meeting! We tried to pray, but such prayer I never heard the like of. We knew not how to pray, but tried to do it. It was the first prayer-meeting that I ever heard of. We tried to sing, but it was in a suppressed manner, for we feared the other students. But they found it out, and gathered around the door, and made such a noise that some of the officers had to disperse them. And so serious was the disturbance, that the President, the late excellent Rev. Dr. John B. Smith, had to investigate the matter at prayers that evening, in the prayers' halk When he demanded the reason of the riot, a ringleader in wickedness got up and stated, that it was occasioned by three or four of the boys holding prayer-meeting, and they were determined to have no such doings there. The good President heard the statement with deep emotion, and looking at the youths charged with the sin of praying, with tears in his eyes, he said, "Oh, is there such a state of things in this college? Then God has come near to us. My dear young friends, you shall be protected. You shall hold your next meeting in my parlor, and I will be one of your number!" Sure enough, we had our next meeting in his parlor, and half the college was there; and there began the glorious revival of religion, which pervaded the college and spread into the country around. Many of those students became ministers of the gospel. The youth who had brought the Alleine's Alarm from his mother was my friend the Rev. Mr. C. Still, preaching in this State. And he who interrupted me in reading the work, my venerable and worthy friend, the Rev. Dr. H—, is now president of a college in the west. Truly, said Dr. H—, I have good reason to feel a deep interest in the proposed work. May God grant it success."

In a little village, in the northern part of England, open-air services, for the purpose of preaching the gospel to the ignorant and profligate, had been carried on, during nine successive summer seasons, and not without some salutary effects, as evidenced in the conversion of several. But among others Joseph K—, full of self-righteousness and prejudice, despised in his heart the preacher, his message, and all who loved the truths which he declared.

In the week, he was by necessity associated with two or three, who, since the preaching of the gospel in their village had tasted that the Lord was gracious, and who, as a consequence, ardently longed that others should enjoy the same holy privileges and pleasures as those in which they participated. But Joseph K— despised all their desires and efforts, because, in his heart, he viewed them only as hypocrites, or as enthusiasts. Many a word in season was dropped by these plain Christians in their daily intercourse with their fellow laborer. But, for a long time, all was to no good purpose: K— remained insensible, caring for none of these things. During the winter, his master ordered him and John B— to thrash together in a barn. And often, between the strokes of the descending flail, was many a stroke tenderly aimed at K—'s conscience. However, the only return which he usually made, was a taunting answer as to some people being righteous overmuch, or else a silent yet significantly contemptuous sneer. But his associate in labor was a man of patient, tender spirit, yet of very susceptible feelings. He grieved inwardly at the hardness and impenitency of heart manifested by his neighbor. At length, having, on one occasion, spoken to K— very kindly about his need of a Savior, and of the things which related to his everlasting peace, and seeing that he disregarded all B—'s counsel, and would have none of his reproof, the fountains of his grief were suddenly broken up, and turning toward a dark part of the barn, a gush of grief burst forth, and betrayed itself, rolling down the cheeks of the poor and pious, yet despised thrasher. But although B— had turned aside, and endeavored to hide his tears by hastily wiping them away with the rough sleeve of his smock-frock, K— saw the big round tear glistening in his fellow laborer's eye, who silently, but thoughtfully, soon resumed his work, by diligently plying with his flail the corn which lay spread out on the thrashing floor.

That tear, by the overruling power of God, did more than all the sermons he heard from the preacher under the elm-tree, or all the kind and truly Christian expostulations of his associate in labor. That tear subdued his heart. He melted into tenderness and godly sorrow for his past sins. From that moment he considered.—"What," thought he, "shall John B— shed tears on my account, and yet I have never shed one tear about my soul's concern?" After much inward conflict, he obtained joy and peace in believing. He began soon to love the minister, and the people, whom before he as heartily despised.