196 Sermon Illustrations on Worldliness

I saw a man beginning a long journey. It was a most perilous journey, through a wild, inhospitable country. It did not seem so at first. A green and flowery lane led from his dwelling. The road was smooth, the day bright, friends near, the prospect fair. He set gayly off in an easy carriage, attended by assiduous servants, and followed by wagons loaded with all curious provision for present amusement or need. Song and fragrance filled the morning air; and though, as the early hours flew by, these fled with them, still his spirits were high, and the wheels rattled merrily over the graded way. The smiles and congratulations of friends saluted him as he passed, and some envied him. He counted himself happy; and, rejoicing in his admirable appointments, gave up his heart to pleasure. The evening of the first day has come, and, lo! the carriage is going down a hill. How steep it is getting! Faster and faster it goes. The air darkens; the gloom thickens; it grows cold; and faster, faster, rolls the carriage downward. Nothing can check it. He tries; the servants try. He shrieks for help; but in vain. Downward dash the horses; and see!—at the bottom of the hill a river, dark, and without a bridge. The road leads into it. In rush the horses; and with struggles and groans, and plunges of agony, all disappear. But our traveller did not die in the stream. At the other shore, he came forth from the water, cold, desolate, alone. His servants were gone; his treasure was gone; his amusements were gone; and on that bleak shore, in that bitter clime, bound still for that awful journey, I saw him standing, pale, weak, in helpless despair. On, on, he must go. He was hungry, but he had no food; thirsty, but there was no water; foot-sore, but he must walk. See, he totters; but he has no staff: dangers assail him; but he has no defence: remorse gnaws him; but he has no resource. An irresistible destiny urges him; and while the hunger ever bites, and the way grows rougher, and horrors thicken about him, on, on, he must go. Yet he knew all this from the first, but counted it nothing. All his preparations were for the pleasant road, through green and sunny fields. He seemed rich then: men called him so,—all but one honest soul, who frankly told him that his arrangements were short-sighted wretched, and that, if he went thus, his folly was as egregious as soon his poverty would be dreadful. But he was called a rude man for his pains, and bidden begone. Why should he be ever disturbing the present joy with his doleful prophecies? The very sight of him made one melancholy; and his voice seemed to troll out his warning like a dismal bell at a funeral. "Let us use the joys we have while we have them, and let the future take care of itself!" So he spoke; and so he went: and now there he is. Nay, you need not tell me that my picture is preposterous, that there is no such fool on earth: I know how wise the children of this world are in their generation, and how unnatural all this would be if I meant the petty concerns of this life alone. But suppose I strip off the veil, and tell you that eternity is that awful journey, and life that pleasant lane, and the body that easy carriage in which the soul sets out so gayly, and death that bridgeless river where friends can go no farther, and servants must forsake us, and all the treasures of earth go down forever? Where now is the unnaturalness? Does it not become natural enough, tame, even, from its very commonness? Thus from your own mouth I condemn you, and, from the shock you feel where the whole scene is bounded by an inch of time, convict you of unutterable madness in preparing for the little course of this life only, and going all unfurnished for everlasting ages. Professor Hoge.

G195. WORLDLING, Model for the. I once saw the ascent of an air-balloon: it was bound to the earth by eight cords. As the process went on of filling with gas, it seemed struggling to get free, and striving to break the bonds which kept it down. At length, one string was cut; and immediately the part at liberty was lifted from the earth: the second and third were loosened, till, the last being snapped asunder, it rose majestically towards heaven, showing thereby its high destination, and evincing the object for which it struggled to get free. There is a picture of the mind I would fain possess, — a mind whose affections are in heaven, a mind filled with the Spirit, and, in proportion as it is filled, demonstrating its character by its ardent aspiring and earnest longings after its heavenly inheritance: thus, as the cords are cut which bind the soul to earth, it will rise in heart and affection to the region where it fain would be. C. Simeon.

G196. WORLDLING, Portion of the. These two lads are figures, — Passion, of the men of this world, and Patience, of the men of that which is to come; for, as here thou seest, Passion will have all now, this year; that is to say, in this world. So are the men of this world: they must have all their good things now. They cannot stay till next year, that is, until the next world, for their portion of good. That proverb, "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," is of more authority with them than all the divine testimonies of the good of the world to come. But as thou sawest that he had quickly lavished all away, and had presently left him nothing but rags, so it will be with all such men at the end of this world. Bunyan.

A writer in the New-York Observer, states that in the place where he resided, in 1840, there was a New Year ball. Invitations were widely extended; and a great gathering of the young, gay, and thoughtless, was anticipated. Notwithstanding the intense cold, many came from a great distance in the country round. There was one couple that set out for the ball, with merry hearts, to ride some twenty miles. The lady was young and gay, and her charms of youth and beauty were never lovelier than when dressed for that new-year ball. Clad too thinly, of course, for the season, and especially for that dreadful day, she had not gone far before she complained of being cold, very cold; but their anxiety to reach the end of the ride in time to be present at the opening of the dance, induced them to hurry on without stopping by the way. Not long after this complaining, she said she felt perfectly comfortable, was now quite warm, and that there was no necessity of delay on her account. They reached at length the house where the company was gathering: the young man jumped from the sleigh and extended his hand to assist her out; but she did not offer hers. He spoke to her, but she answered not. She was dead—stone dead—frozen stiff—a corpse on the way to a ball!

But the most shocking part of the tale remains to be told. THE BALL WENT ON! The dance was as gay, and the music as merry, as if death had never come to their door.

The tragical scenes which came under Mr. Fisk's observation while in Greece, had become so common, that they began to be regarded with indifference by many classes of people. Parties of pleasure and vain amusements were revived and engaged in, as though all were peace. Thousands had fled for their lives, and the streets of Smyrna were crimsoned with Grecian blood. It was estimated that 2000 had been massacred, and heavy exactions of money were demanded of others for the privilege of living. The bodies of the slain were frequently seen floating in the bay. In a word, exactions, imprisonment, or death, met the defenceless Greeks in every direction;—and yet, strange to tell, multitudes, only because they were better protected from Turkish violence, went thoughtlessly to the assembly-room and the dance, as though all were peace and security. While the countenance of many gathered blackness through fear, that of others exhibited only the expression of a thoughtless, ill-timed levity.

The preposterous degree of etiquette for which the court of Spain has always been remarkable proved the ruin of one

# 166. EXAMPLE

A young man, says a correspondent of the Journal of Commerce, of about twenty-two, called on the writer in the fall of 1831, for employment. He was a journeyman printer, was recently from Kentucky, and owing to his want of employment, as he said, was entirely destitute of not only the comforts, but the necessaries of life. I immediately procured him a respectable boarding-house, gave him employment, and rendered his situation as comfortable as my limited means would permit. He had not been with me long before he expressed a wish to go to the theatre. Some great actor was to perform on a certain night; and he was very anxious to see him. I warned him of the consequences—told him my own experience and observation had convinced me that it was a very dangerous place for young men to visit. But my warning did him no good. He neglected his business, and went. I reproved him gently, but retained him in my employment. He continued to go, notwithstanding all my remonstrances to the contrary. At length my business suffered so much from his neglecting to attend to it as he ought, that I was under the necessity of discharging him in self-defence. He got temporary employment in different offices in the city, where the same fault was found with him. Immediately after he accepted a situation of bar-keeper in a porter house or tavern attached to the Theatre. His situation he did not long hold—from what cause I know not. He again applied to me for work; but as his habits were not reformed, I did not think it prudent to employ him, although I said or did nothing to injure him in the estimation of others. Disappointed in procuring employment in a business to which he had served a regular apprenticeship,—being penniless, and seeing no bright prospect for the future, he enlisted as a common soldier in the U. States' service. He had not been in his new vocation long before he was called upon, with other troops to defend our citizens from the attacks of the Indians. But when the troops had nearly reached the place of destination, that "invisible scourge," the Asiatic Cholera, made its appearance among them. Desertion was the consequence, and among others who fled, was the subject of this article. He returned to New York—made application, at several different offices, for employment, without success. In a few days the dreadful news came that he had been detected in pilfering goods from the house of his landlord. A warrant was immediately issued for him—he was seized—taken to the police office, convicted, and sentenced to six months' hard labor in the Penitentiary. His name being published in the newspapers, in connection with those of other convicts—was immediately recognized by the officer under whom he had enlisted. This officer proceeds to the city—claims the prisoner—and it is at length agreed that he shall return to the United States service, where he shall, for the first six months, be compelled to roll sand as a punishment for desertion, serve out the five years for which he had enlisted, and then be given up to the City authorities, to suffer for the crime of pilfering.

Night after night has the writer of this attended the theatre; and night after night has he witnessed the attendance of those who were in the want of the common necessaries of life. He has frequently seen, among the theatre-going public, men who called themselves gentlemen, who were in the habit of associating with the "vilest of the vile," and whose actions, could they but be known to the reflecting part of the community, would cover them with infamy and disgrace. But these facts, to many, will appear like a thrice-told tale. The simple narrative related above may be relied on as correct. Names and dates can be given if required.

During the progress of the most ferocious revolution which ever shocked the face of heaven, theatres, in Paris alone, multiplied from six to twenty-five. Now, one of two conclusions follows from this: either the spirit of the times produced the institutions, or the institutions cherished the spirit of the times, and this would certainly go to prove, that they are either the parents of vice, or the offspring of it.

Lot, a worldly child of God, not permitted to perish but suffers loss of all things. Better to be drawn out of world by joys of heaven than driven out by sorrows of earth. Lost testimony (v. 14)

Naomi had no influence for God while in Moab—too full of bitterness (v. 6). Moment she starts back to the land of favor she begins to draw others toward God's land

A gentleman of France, who, having feasted high on sensual gratification, said: “Let God Almighty give me all the good things in Paris, and secure me from death, and He may keep His Heaven to Himself.”

As you love your souls, beware of the world: it has slain its thousands and ten thousands. What ruined Lot’s wife?—the world. What ruined Achan?—the world. What ruined Haman?—the world. What ruined Judas?—the world. What ruined Simon Magus?—the world. What ruined Demas?—the world. And “What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?”

When I hear of a dancing party I feel an uneasy sensation about the throat, remembering that a far greater preacher had his head danced off in the days of our Lord. However pleasing the polkas of Herodias might be to Herod, they were death to John the Baptist. The caperings and wantonings of the ball-room are death to the solemn influences of our ministry, and many an ill-ended life first received its bent for evil amid the flippancies of gay assemblies met to trip away the hours.

See PUBLICITY; WHOLENESS.

ADVERTISING, PERSISTENCY IN

Any patent medicine, however worthless, will make its advocate rich if he will only persist in advertising it. The dear public succumb in the long run. They can not stand up under the continuous force of his big-lettered suggestions. They rather enjoy being humbugged. What splendid advantage the big stores take of this weakness on our part! All they need do is to keep offering suggestions of cheapness or of the supposed worth and imagined usefulness of their wares, and multitudinous innocent ones, whose sole interests the advertiser seems to have at heart, take hold of the tempting bait.

— ROBERT MACDONALD

There is danger, unless a discriminating intelligence preside, of carrying otherwise proper observances to absurd lengths as shown in a recent occurrence in Rochester:

A unique Christmas party was given Christmas eve by Mrs. Louis E. Fuller, organist at Brick Church, at her home, No. 105 South Fitzhugh Street. The novel part of the affair was that it was given for Mrs. Fuller’s two pet cats, Limit and Sir Gobelin, and the five dinner guests were all cat-lovers, and each guest who came brought a gift for the two cats of their hostess. The presents were adapted to the amusement and decorative side of the cats’ lives. There were dainty ribbon collars with great satin bows, cunning little packages of catnip wrapt in tissue-paper and tied with ribbon, balls galore, tiny mechanical mice and teddy bears. The invitations were sent out in the name of the cats, and the place-cards were tiny cats, which served as souvenirs, being made of phosphorus and suitable for scratching matches. There was a Christmas tree, on which the gifts were hung.

P

PAGAN THOUGHTS

On Stanley’s first trip through Africa he came to the King of Uganda, who most cordially asked, first of all, for the health of Queen Victoria and of the German Emperor. Then he somewhat disconcerted the great traveler by asking him, “What news do you bring me from above?” This heathen king had a perfect right to expect that his visitor was one in heart and idea with that greater explorer, David Livingstone. But as Stanley proceeded westward he could tell the character of those with whom the natives were acquainted. The first question put by the natives nearer the West Coast was, “Have you any gin?”

In the days of the Inquisition cruel men deceived the prisoner, as pleasure and sensualism deceive the young now. With soft words the jailer promised the prisoner release on the morrow. When the appointed hour came he opened the door and pointed down the corridor, and oh, joy of joys! yonder was the green sward, cool with grass, and gay with tulips and crimson flowers. With a shout of joy the prisoner ran forward to cast himself upon the cool ground, but lo! it was a mockery, a delusion, a lying deceit. What afar off seemed grass was really sheet-iron painted in the similitude of verdure. What looked like red tulips and crimson flowers was iron beaten into the similitude of blossoms and heated red hot by flames underneath. Where coolness was promised scorching was given. The vista promised pleasure; it gave pain. And when a man or a woman looks upon the worldly life, with all its pleasures of appetite and physical sense, from afar off, it wears a brilliant aspect and a crimson hue. But near at hand the scene changes, and lo, the honey is bitter, all the fountains of peace are poisoned.

— N. D. HILLIS

“The regular practise of the Christian is exceptional with the world,” says a writer in the _Pacific Monthly_.

“Out in Kansas when the bottom dropt out of the great boom in real estate some years ago, men found it harder to get rid of property than to acquire it. A lawyer going through the country one day met an old friend leading a reluctant cow toward town. Inquiry brought out the information that the cow had been secured in exchange for a city lot. ‘And do you know,’ said the new owner of the bovine, ‘that I turned a neat trick on the old granger! He can’t read a word, and in the deed I worked off two lots on him instead of one.’”

Money talks just as loudly in the realm of music as anywhere else. The despised violin, which merely is an incumbrance when it is thought to be worth not more than $10, becomes the chief ornament of the household when an expert says it is worth not less than $1,000. In Chicago there is a business man who owns a violin. He inherited it from his father, who was a musician. The business man does not play. One of his friends is a lover of violin music. That friend often had told the business man the violin was a good one, and that he ought to treasure it. The business man regarded the advice as that of an enthusiast. One day the argument became so warm the friend insisted that the question be settled at once by carrying the instrument to a professor of music, who is admittedly an authority on violins.

“Why, I wouldn’t carry that violin through the street for anything,” the business man said. “My friends would think I had gone music mad in my old age.”

“I’ll carry it,” his friend said quickly. “I’m not ashamed to carry a violin anywhere. Come along.”

They went. The professor was at home. The back and the belly, the neck and the bridge, the tail-piece and the sounding-post, all passed beneath his critical eye. “It looks all right,” the professor said. From the case he drew the bow and ran the hair several times across the cake of rosin. Then, striking A on a near-by piano, he proceeded to tune the instrument which for so many years had been held in so light esteem by its owner. After the violin was in tune he tested it, string by string, chord by chord, and harmonic by harmonic, in all positions. Then he began to play. The fulness, the richness and sweetness of the tone appealed even to the matter-of-fact business man.

“It is a genuine old Italian instrument, and I’ll give you $1,000 for it,” the professor said. The business man gasped.

“I’ll tell you frankly, it is worth more than that, but that is all I can afford to pay,” the professor continued.

“I can’t think of selling it,” the business man replied, with a halt in his speech. “You see, it came to me from my father. It is an heirloom. I thank you, however, for the test you have made and the good opinion you have exprest.”

The two men started away from the home of the professor, the business man carrying the violin.

“Let me take it,” his musical friend said. “You might meet some one you know.”

“I’ll carry it,” the business man retorted. “I don’t care how many friends I meet. And, besides, you might drop it.”--Chicago _Inter-Ocean_.

A LION came across a Hare, who was fast asleep. He was just in the

act of seizing her, when a fine young Deer trotted by, and he left the

Hare to follow him. The Hare, scared by the noise, awoke and scudded

away. The Lion was unable after a long chase to catch the Deer, and

returned to feed upon the Hare. On finding that the Hare also had run

off, he said, "I am rightly served, for having let go of the food that

I had in my hand for the chance of obtaining more."

For this reason, Christians should be content with what God gives

them. Indeed, if they attempt to pursue the pleasures and the

materialism of the world, they may ultimately lose everything --

including their souls.

In a certain country, there was a lot of terrorist activity. A

child of a rich family was playing in the beautiful garden of her

home. Suddenly, however, one of her father's guards cam and grabbed

her in order to take her away to safety because of an impending

terrorist attack. The guard risked his life to save the little girl.

After he rescued her, he turned to her and said, "Will you now give

me a kiss on the cheek for what I've done for you?"

The little girl answered, "How can I kiss you on the cheek after you

have taken me away from the flowers of my garden that I liked so

much?"

The guard found it difficult to explain to her that he had actually

saved her life.

This is how we sometimes behave in being so attached to the

trivialities of life in view of the great salvation received through

Christ.

- PULPIT HELPS, July, 1991

Could I go on with my business if I become a Christian? That would

depend on what your business is. If you are engaged in a wicked

business, you would have to give it up. "If I regard iniquity in my

heart, the Lord will not hear me." To be a faithful Christian never

interferes with any lawful business or pleasure, on the sea or on the

land.

I heard of one of New York's largest merchants, with a multitude of employees, yet, meet him where you would, he was always ready to converse on the subject of religion. He seemed filled with the love of

Christ. They thought no one could enjoy religion as he claimed to, and

perform the amount of work he did. So they went to his store, and

watched him. Whenever the clock struck, he would withdraw into another

room for a moment or two. They managed to see what he did in that

room. He would drop on his knee for a moment, and thank God that he

had kept him another hour, and ask grace for the next hour. When asked

about it, he said:

"Why, brethren, I serve God by the hour, and by his grace I mean to

serve him by the half hour pretty soon."

Could he go on with his business, and yet be a faithful Christian?

I met the professors and students in Knox College in Illinois, while holding a meeting in that town, and said to them:

"I always wanted to stop any man when I heard him asking persons to

give up all for religion, and request him to explain himself. Did he

mean that that husband and wife should separate? Not at all. Should a

student give up his studies to be a Christian? No. Should business men

give up lawful, honorable business to serve the Lord? Not in the

least. What, then, does the Saviour require me to give up, to be his

obedient, happy child? Not one proper thing. Christ never asked me to

give up one thing except what was sinful. The fulness of Christ's love

was never designed to make one real pleasure less."

The students took hold of this thought, and the president wrote me nearly every one of them had either become a Christian, or had asked to be prayed for that they might be.

So that the "joy of the Lord" is the Christian's strength. Christ only wishes to take from us what is sinful, and would hinder our highest enjoyment here, and our eternal happiness beyond. Will you be a Christian then? If not, why? -- A. B. Earle, From: "Incidents Used

... In His Meetings," published in 1888

A little boy had a canary bird which he loved very much. His mother

was taken ill, and the singing of the bird gave her great annoyance.

The boy was told by the mother that his little bird gave her pain by

its singing. He went at once and gave the bird away to his cousin, and

then came home and told his mother that the canary would not disturb

her any more, for he had given it to his cousin.

"But did you not love it very much?" said the mother to him. "How

could you part with it?" "It is true, I loved the bird, Mother," he

replied, "but I love you much more. I could not really love anything

that gave you pain." We must love God as this boy loved his mother,

more than we love anything else; and also everything that grieves Him

we must give up, however much we may like it.

"You love me," said a mother to her little child, as she leaned

over her in bed, "don't you?" "Yes," said the half-asleep child, "but

I love God much more."

William Moses Tidwell, "Pointed Illustrations."

A VERY HUNGRY FOX, seeing some bread and meat left by shepherds in

the hollow of an oak, crept into the hole and made a hearty meal.

When he finished, he was so full that he was not able to get out, and

began to groan and lament his fate. Another Fox passing by heard his

cries, and coming up, inquired the cause of his complaining. On

learning what had happened, he said to him, "Ah, you will have to

remain there, my friend, until you become such as you were when you

crept in, and then you will easily get out."

Too often, Christians get caught up in the passions of their flesh

that in the end they will have to pay for their sins. Therefore, no

matter how alluring things may appear to us, we must simply walk away

and avoid temptation.

A RICH NOBLEMAN once opened the theaters without charge to the people, and gave a public notice that he would handsomely reward any person who invented a new amusement for the occasion. Various public performers contended for the prize. Among them came a Buffoon well known among the populace for his jokes, and said that he had a kind of entertainment which had never been brought out on any stage before. This report being spread about made a great stir, and the theater was crowded in every part. The Buffoon appeared alone upon the platform, without any apparatus or confederates, and the very sense of expectation caused an intense silence. He suddenly bent his head towards his bosom and imitated the squeaking of a little pig so admirably with his voice that the audience declared he had a porker under his cloak, and demanded that it should be shaken out. When that was done and nothing was found, they cheered the actor, and loaded him with the loudest applause.

A Countryman in the crowd, observing all that has passed, said, “So help me, Hercules, he shall not beat me at that trick!” and at once proclaimed that he would do the same thing on the next day, though in a much more natural way. On the morrow a still larger crowd assembled in the theater, but now partiality for their favorite actor very generally prevailed, and the audience came rather to ridicule the Countryman than to see the spectacle. Both of the performers appeared on the stage. The Buffoon grunted and squeaked away first, and obtained, as on the preceding day, the applause and cheers of the spectators. Next the Countryman commenced, and pretending that he concealed a little pig beneath his clothes (which in truth he did, but not suspected by the audience) contrived to take hold of and to pull his ear causing the pig to squeak. The Crowd, however, cried out with one consent that the Buffoon had given a far more exact imitation, and clamored for the Countryman to be kicked out of the theater. On this the rustic produced the little pig from his cloak and showed by the most positive proof the greatness of their mistake. “Look here,” he said, “this shows what sort of judges you are.”

Sometimes it is not better to win the praise of the world since their praise can be very deceiving.

Some travelers, journeying along the seashore, climbed to the summit of a tall cliff, and looking over the sea, saw in the distance what they thought was a large ship. They waited in the hope of seeing it enter the harbor, but as the object on which they looked was driven nearer to shore by the wind, they found that it could at the most be a small boat, and not a ship. When however it reached the beach, they discovered that it was only a large faggot of sticks, and one of them said to his companions, “We have waited for no purpose, for after all there is nothing to see but a load of wood.”

Too often Satan will promise his followers many wondrous pleasures and joys. Yet when all is said and done, they will ultimately discover how empty his promises really were.

A COCK, scratching for food for himself and his hens, found a

precious stone and exclaimed: "If your owner had found thee, and not

I, he would have taken thee up, and have set thee in thy first estate;

but I have found thee for no purpose. I would rather have one

barleycorn than all the jewels in the world."

Unfortunately, too many Christians are attempting to find their

treasures on earth when, instead, they should be storing their

treasures in Heaven!