In 1871 I preached a series of sermons on the life of Christ in old Farwell hall, Chicago, for five nights. I took Him from the cradle and followed Him up to the judgment hall, and on that occasion I consider I made as great a blunder as ever I made in my life. It was upon that memorable night in October, and the court-house bell was sounding an alarm of fire, but I paid no attention to it. You know we were accustomed to hear the fire-bell often, and it didn't disturb us much when it sounded. I finished the sermon upon "What Shall I Do with Jesus?" and said to the audience:
"Now, I want you to take the question with you and think it over, and next Sunday I want you to come back and tell me what you are going to do with Him."
What a mistake! It seems now as if Satan was in my mind when I said this. Since then I never have dared give an audience a week to think of their salvation. If they were lost, they might rise up in judgment against me. "Now is the accepted time."
I remember Mr. Sankey singing, and how his voice rang when he came to that pleading verse:
"To-day the Savior calls, For refuge fly! The storm of Justice falls, And death is nigh!"
After the meeting we went home. I remember going down La Salle street with a young man, and saw the glare of flames. I said to the young man:
"This means ruin to Chicago."
About one o'clock Farwell hall was burned; soon the church in which I had preached went down, and everything was scattered. I never saw that audience again.
My friends, we don't know what may happen to-morrow, but there is one thing I do know, and that is, if you take the gift of God you are saved. If you have eternal life you need not fear fire, death, or sickness. Let disease or death come, you can shout triumphantly over the grave if you have Christ. My friends, what are you going to do with Him? Will you not decide now?
Teaching Willie Faith
Some years ago I wanted to teach my boy what faith was and so I put him on a table. He was a little fellow about two years old. I stood back three or four feet, and said.
"Willie, jump."
The little fellow said, "Papa, I'se afraid."
I said: "Willie, I will catch you. Just look right at me, and jump."
The little fellow got all ready to jump, and then looked down again, and said, "I'se afraid."
"Willie, didn't I tell you I would catch you? Will papa deceive you? Now, Willie, look me right in the eye, and jump, and I will catch you."
The little fellow got all ready the third time to jump, but he looked on the floor, and said:
"I'se afraid."
"Didn't I tell you I would catch you?"
"Yes."
At last I said: "Willie, don't take your eyes off me"; and I held the little fellow's eyes, and said, "Now, jump; don't look at the floor;" and he leaped into my arms.
Then he said to me, "Let me jump again."
I put him back, and the moment he got on the table he jumped, and after that, when he was on the table and I was standing five or six feet away I heard him cry, "Papa, I'se coming," and had just time to rush and catch him. He seemed to put too much confidence in me. But you cannot put too much confidence in God.
Act on Your Belief
When President Lincoln signed the proclamation of emancipation, copies of it were sent to all points along the Northern line, where they were posted. Now, supposing a slave should have seen a copy of that proclamation and should have learned its contents. He might have known the fact, he might have assented to its justice, but if he had still continued to serve his old master as a slave his faith in the document would not have amounted to anything.
And so it is with us. A mere knowledge of the historical events of Christ's life, or a simple intellectual assent to His teachings and His mission, will be of no help in a man's life unless he adds to them a trustful surrender to the Lord's loving kindness.
"Forty Miles to Liberty"
A friend of mine went to teach in Natchez before the war. He and a friend of his went out riding one Saturday in the country. They saw an old slave coming, and they thought they would have a little fun. They had just come to a place where there was a fork in the road, and there was a sign-post which read, "Forty miles to Liberty."
"Sambo, how old are you?"
"I don't know, massa. I guess I'se about eighty."
"Can you read?"
"No, sah; we don't read in dis country. It's agin the law."
"Can you tell what is on that sign-post?"
"Yes, sah; it says forty miles to Liberty."
"Well, now," said my friend, "why don't you follow that road and get your liberty? It says there, only 'forty miles to Liberty.' Now, why don't you take that road and go there?"
The old man's countenance changed, and he said: "That ar's a sham, young massa, but if it pointed up thar," and he raised his trembling hand toward heaven, "to the liberty wherewith Christ makes us free, that ar wouldn't be no sham."