Father’s Call
A famous military officer used to tell a story of an aged Quaker named Hartmann, whose son had enlisted in the army. There came the news of a dreadful battle, and this old father, in fear and trembling, started to the scene of conflict that he might learn something concerning his boy.
The officer of the day told him that he had not answered to his name, and that there was every reason to believe that he was dead. This did not satisfy the father, so, leaving headquarters, he started across the battlefield, looking for the one who was dearer to him than life. He would stoop down and turn over the face of this one and then the face of another, but without success. The night came on, and then with a lantern he continued his search, all to no purpose. Suddenly the wind, which was blowing a gale, extinguished his lantern, and he stood there in the darkness hardly knowing what to do until his father’s ingenuity, strength and affection prompted him to call out his son’s name, and so he stood and shouted, “John Hartmann, your father calls you.” All about him he would hear the groans of the dying and someone saying: “Oh, if that were only my father.” He continued his cry with more pathos and power until at last in the distance he heard his boy’s voice crying tremblingly, “Here, father.” The old man made his way across the field shouting out, “Thank God! Thank God!” Taking him in his arms, he carried him to headquarters, nursed him back to health and strength, and he went on to live a long life. Over the battlefield of the slain this day walks Jesus Christ, the Son of God, crying out to all who are wrecked by this awful power, “Thy Father calleth thee,” and if there should be but the faintest response to his cry he would take the lost in his arms and carry them home to heaven. Will you not come while He calls today?
—J. Wilbur Chapman
The officer of the day told him that he had not answered to his name, and that there was every reason to believe that he was dead. This did not satisfy the father, so, leaving headquarters, he started across the battlefield, looking for the one who was dearer to him than life. He would stoop down and turn over the face of this one and then the face of another, but without success. The night came on, and then with a lantern he continued his search, all to no purpose. Suddenly the wind, which was blowing a gale, extinguished his lantern, and he stood there in the darkness hardly knowing what to do until his father’s ingenuity, strength and affection prompted him to call out his son’s name, and so he stood and shouted, “John Hartmann, your father calls you.” All about him he would hear the groans of the dying and someone saying: “Oh, if that were only my father.” He continued his cry with more pathos and power until at last in the distance he heard his boy’s voice crying tremblingly, “Here, father.” The old man made his way across the field shouting out, “Thank God! Thank God!” Taking him in his arms, he carried him to headquarters, nursed him back to health and strength, and he went on to live a long life. Over the battlefield of the slain this day walks Jesus Christ, the Son of God, crying out to all who are wrecked by this awful power, “Thy Father calleth thee,” and if there should be but the faintest response to his cry he would take the lost in his arms and carry them home to heaven. Will you not come while He calls today?
—J. Wilbur Chapman