Sermon Illustration

When the Bastille was about to be destroyed a prisoner was brought out, who had long been lying in one of its gloomy cells. Instead of joyfully welcoming his liberty, he entreated that he might be taken back to his dungeon. It was so long since he had seen the light that his eye could not endure the light of the sun. Besides this, his friends were all dead, he had no home, and his limbs refused to move. His chief desire now was that he might die in the dark prison where so long he had been a captive.

At death a man sees all those thoughts which were not spent upon God to be fruitless. A Scythian captain having, for a draught of water, yielded up a city, cried out: “What have I lost? What have I betrayed?” So will it be with that man when he comes to die who hath spent all his meditations upon the world; he will say: “What have I lost? What have I betrayed? I have lost Heaven, I have betrayed my soul.” Should not the consideration of this fix our minds upon the thoughts of God and glory? All other meditations are fruitless; like a piece of ground which has much cost laid out upon it, but it yields no crop.

Our Lord’s temptation makes us see that temptation is not sin, nor does it necessarily involve sin. Christ was sinless, and yet tempted; therefore it is possible for man to be tempted, and yet sinless. Now so many of us, the moment we are strongly tempted, seem to fall into a sort of demoralized condition, as if our innocence were over, as if the charm were broken and we were already sinners; and so we too often give ourselves up easily to the sin. To any soul in such a state what could we say but this: “Look up and see the truth in Jesus; do you not see it there? To be tempted is not wicked, is not shameful, is not unworthy even of Him. It is the lot—in one view it is even the glory—of humanity. Sin does not begin, and shame does not begin, until the will gives way—until you yield to temptation. Stand guard over that will, resist temptation, and then to have been tempted shall be to you what it was to your Savior—a glory and a crown, a part of your history worthy to be written with th

There will come a world where there will be no temptation—a garden with no serpent, a city with no sin. The harvest day will come, and the wheat be gathered safe into the Master’s barn. It will be very sweet and glorious. Our tired hearts rest on the promises with peaceful delight. But that time is not yet. Here are our tempted lives, and here, right in the midst of us, stands our tempted Savior. If we are men, we shall meet temptation as He met it, in the strength of the God who is the Father of whom all men are children. Every temptation that attacks us attacked Him, and was conquered. We are fighting against a defeated enemy. We are struggling for a victory which is already won. That may be our strength and assurance as we recall, whenever our struggle becomes hottest and most trying, the wonderful and blessed day when Jesus was “led up of the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted of the devil.”

If one looks out upon New York harbor, after an eastern storm, he will see it covered with craft, that brood upon its surface in flocks like wild fowl; nor can the eye, at a distance, tell why they hold their places, swinging but a little way with the changing tide, facing the wind obstinately and refusing to be blown away. Every one is rooted by its anchor. If men are found in life much tempted and yet firm in principle, there is an anchor somewhere. It may be a sweetheart, or a sister, or a mother, a wife, a father, or an old teacher. People anchor each other.

A believer’s watchfulness is like that of a soldier. A sentinel posted on the walls, when he discerns a hostile party advancing, does not attempt to make head against them himself, but informs his commanding officer of the enemy’s approach, and leaves him to take the proper measures against the foe. So the Christian does not attempt to fight temptation in his own strength; his watchfulness lies in observing its approach, and in telling God of it by prayer.

“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary, the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom he may devour” (1 Pet. 5:8). There is a story told of an old Christian slave in the South whose master was an infidel. One day the master went duck-hunting with his slave, and turning on him suddenly said: “How is it, Tom, that the devil never tempts me, and always worries you? Why should he tempt a Christian more than an infidel?” Before the slave could find an answer, a flock of ducks came within shooting distance, and the master fired into them. He then directed the slave to make haste to secure the wounded birds first, and let those that were dead wait until last. When the slave returned to his mater he had found his answer. “You see, master, I reckon it is this way about the devil. He thinks I am only a poor wounded soul that he wants to make sure of first, but you are surely his, and so you can wait!” Perhaps the slave’s master thought he was getting a little too personal

Andrew Fuller, after his conversion at sixteen years of age, felt that he could no longer participate in the rough merrymaking indulged in on holidays by the young people of his town. So he tells us: “Whenever a feast or holiday occurred, instead of sitting at home with myself, I went to a neighboring village to visit some Christian friend and returned when all was over. By this step I was delivered from those mental participations in folly which had given me so much uneasiness. Thus the seasons of temptation became to me times of refreshing from the presence of the Lord.”

Wrong has seldom looked more like right than in the case of a soldier whose story was told in an American paper. He was in the General Hospital in Washington with a wounded foot, and still far from healed, when he heard that his wife was very ill and wanted to see him. He obtained a furlough and the necessary transportation papers, which would permit his journey home. On the way home his papers were stolen from his pocket, so that he became liable to be seized as a deserter, and was, besides, without sufficient money for continuing his journey. As he got out of the train at Philadelphia with a very sad heart, he trod on something which, when picked up, he found to be a wrapper containing the furlough and transportation papers of another man. A comrade, who knew his distress, promptly advised him to use them as his own. “You found them,” he said. “None of the conductors know your name; it is your only chance of getting home at all. You are a fool if you don’t.” But the man had Christia

Not long ago, in the wall of an old castle in Italy where some repairs were being made, the workmen found a relic that told a tale of ancient barbarity and crime. Some baron of the old days put an enemy in a little niche in the wall, just large enough to hold a man, and then set the masons at work building the wall around him. Slowly the masonry crept up, as stone was laid on stone, until at last it arose and left the man standing there in his living tomb. “Ah,” you say, “such horrible forms of torture were only possible in days of darkness, when men exercised their ingenuity inventing new modes of cruelty.” Shall I tell you of something worse that is modern? A man starts out to build a structure, which he calls “Success.” Slowly, as the years pass, he walls in his soul. Duty calls, and he answers, “I cannot sacrifice my interests for you.” Pity pleads, and he says: “I really cannot afford to do anything for you.” Righteousness rings out with its prophetic demands, and he says: “It wil

There was an old saint in days past—such a one, we can imagine, as was the Venerable Bede in the midst of his young students—who lived a life of such purity and serenity that his younger comrades marveled. The wonder grew upon them so greatly that at length they resolved to approach the master, and ask to be told the secret of this purity, this peace. They came one day, and said: “Father, we are harassed with many temptations, which appeal to us so often and so strongly that they give us no rest. You seem to be untroubled by these things, and we would learn the secret. Do not the temptations that harass our souls appeal to you? Do they never come knocking at the door of your heart?” The old man listened, and smiled, and said: “My children, I do know something of the things of which you speak. The temptations that trouble you do come, making their appeal to me. But, when these temptations knock at the door of my heart, I answer, “The place is occupied.”

Luther said in his own pithy way: “I cannot keep birds from flying over my head, but I can keep them from building their nests under my hat.” We cannot keep Satan from plying us with evil suggestions, but we can keep from responding to them. Our Lord was sorely assailed of him, but He could declare that Satan, “hath nothing in me” (John 14:30).

One great difference between the Christian and the non-Christian worker is this: non-Christian workers say that there is a certain proportion of men who cannot be reached any way. As a modern English author has said, “There is no substitute for a good heart, and no remedy for a bad one.” O frightful gospel that some of the philanthropists of our day are preaching! Is that all the message they have to the world—no remedy for a bad heart? What does the parable of the lost coin mean if, though lost, there was no gleam of its original luster? What does the parable of the lost sheep mean, if there was not some dumb, inarticulate longing for the shelter of the fold? And what does the parable of the lost son mean, if there was not in those distant fields a cry of longing for the father’s home and heart?

“I tell you Jesus Christ is a myth,” shouted an atheistic lecturer as he concluded his talk in which he ridiculed the Bible and denied the existence of God. A miner, who had come to the meeting in his grimy clothes, stood up and said, “I am only a working man. I don’t know what you mean by the word ‘myth.’ But, can you explain to me? Three years ago I had a miserable home. I neglected my wife and children. I cursed and swore. I drank up all my wages. Then someone came along and told me of the love of God and of deliverance from the shackles of sin by turning to Christ. Now all is different! We have a happy home. I feel better every way. A new power has taken possession of me since Christ came into my life! Sir, can you explain to me?” You will never be able to explain or to understand the miracle of the incarnation of God until God is made a reality in your heart through Christ who came into the world to bring God to human hearts.

Did your wish for a White Christmas come true? A majority of the world will not see a white Christmas at any time in their life, much less this Christmas. But whatever the color of your holiday, may it be a joyous one. Irving Berlin’s “White Christmas” is one of the all-time, most popular songs. Yet for all its expression of yearning for the ambiance of a purely ivory landscape, the words were not the desires of its composer. Even though Berlin was born in Russia and lived in New York, he headed south to Florida during his winters, as often as he could. Snow is often coupled with adjectives such as pristine, virginal and pure. Today’s celebration is about a pristine God who sent his virginal Son to earth that we might be pure. After he grew up, a spotless Jesus said to a group who were looking for a better way of living: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God” (Matt. 5:8 NIV). If today, this is the upward motivation you need, you’ll want to pray this Psalmist’s prayer

“And He said to them, ‘Follow Me and I will make you fishers of men’ ” (Luke 4:19). The Bible has a lot of stories involving fish and fishermen. Even Jesus fished. He told others how to do it and where to do it! Not only that, He took a group of fishermen and molded them into fishers of men! Maybe that’s why I like the gospel so much. If you stop and think for a moment, that’s what the church is about. The folks I worship with have learned some things about fishing. We know we are not going to catch all the fish, nor are we going to land all the fish that we hook. We’ve learned you can’t force the fish or the line will snap. We also have learned to try new and different lures and baits in the different waters in which we are fishing and in doing so, we have started to catch fish! That’s why the church exists—to fish and catch fish. That’s our goal. We can never allow any other activities to be substituted for or move us from our one goal—fishing. Sometimes it’s easy to get sidetrac

Billy had been a bad man on the outside—so bad that he was sentenced to die for his crimes. However, while on death row in a Southern prison, Billy finally met Christ Jesus, and was able to lead several other death-row inmates to the Lord. But in January, Billy’s execution date arrived. The following account was told by a volunteer chaplain, who had been instrumental in leading Billy to his Savior. Several people were on hand to witness the execution, including a woman who had been a key witness against Billy at his trial. This woman hated Billy, doubtless with good reason. A closed curtain covered the window between the viewing room and the electric chair while preparations were completed. Before the curtain was opened, the audience in the viewing room heard someone singing, “Amazing Grace.” Then, when the curtain opened, they realized the singer was Billy. His last request had been to sing that song as a witness of his changed life. When he finished, he nodded to the executioner,

One great difference between the Christian and the non-Christian worker is this: non-Christian workers say that there is a certain proportion of men who cannot be reached any way. As a modern English author has said, “There is no substitute for a good heart, and no remedy for a bad one.” O frightful gospel that some of the philanthropists of our day are preaching! Is that all the message they have to the world—no remedy for a bad heart? What does the parable of the lost coin mean if, though lost, there was no gleam of its original luster? What does the parable of the lost sheep mean, if there was not some dumb, inarticulate longing for the shelter of the fold? And what does the parable of the lost son mean, if there was not in those distant fields a cry of longing for the father’s home and heart?

A ship had been wrecked, and when the boats had been let down it was seen that there was not room in them for all. Lots were cast, and among those who had to remain was a young and very wicked sailor. He was very pale, and those near him heard him mutter, “Lost—lost eternally.” But he was picked up bodily and thrown into one of the boats. The man who had done that called to him, “You are not ready to die yet, but I am, and willing to die for you. But mind that I see you in heaven.” An old sailor who had often told him of Jesus and asked him to receive the Savior thus died in his stead. Ever after, the young man, who really accepted Christ, was known to testify in these words: “For me two have died.”

A minister was boarding at a certain farmhouse. The farmer was not a Christian, but his wife had been praying for him for some time, and the minister was awaiting his opportunity to make the meaning of Calvary plain to him. Early one morning the farmer beckoned to the minister to follow him out to the chicken house. There on one of the nests sat a hen with a brood of chickens peeping out from under her wings. “Touch her, Mr.—,” the farmer said. As the minister put his hand on the hen he found that she was cold. “Look at that wound in her head,” the farmer continued. “A weasel has sucked all the blood from her body, and she never once moved for fear the little beast would get her chicks.” “Oh,” said he, “that was just like Christ. He endured all that suffering on the Cross. He could have moved and saved His own life, but He wouldn’t, because you and I were under His wings. If He had moved, we would have been lost.” The farmer saw the point, and accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as Sav

A businessman brought a thirty-year-old man to a summer Bible conference who was paralyzed from his hips down. As he sat beside the soul-winner on a bench under the trees, he expressed his desire to be saved. He said, “I believe everything in the Bible,” but it gave him no peace. The Christian then inquired of him whether he knew he was lost, to which he replied he did. The inquiry was then made as to whether he knew that Christ is the One who saves and the only One who can save. He replied also to this that he believed it. Just at this point a public bus drew up in front of the conference grounds and the Christian said to his lame friend, “that bus is intended to carry everybody into the city, is it not?” “Yes,” he replied. “Does it carry everyone?” he asked. “No,” he said, “only those who get into the bus.” He had hardly made this statement when the light of God broke into his soul. “I see!” he said. “Christ came to save everybody, but He saves only those who take Him: The light of h

“Ye shall be witnesses unto me” (Acts 1:8). A friend of mine, who had been a hold-up man and a kidnapper for twelve years, met Jesus Christ in prison. Christ said, “I will come and live in you and we will serve this sentence together,” and they did. Several years later he was discharged, and just before he went out he was handed a two-page letter written by another prisoner. After the salutation, it said in effect, “You know perfectly well that when I came into this jail I despised preachers, the Bible, and everything. I went to the Bible class and the preaching service because there wasn’t anything else interesting to do. Then they told me you were saved, and I said, ‘There’s another fellow taking the gospel road to get a parole’; but, Roy, I’ve been watching you for two and a half years. You did not know it, but I watched you when you were in the yard exercising, when you were working in the shop, when you played, while we were all together at meals, on the way to our cells, and all

Perhaps the strongest love of a Christian friend is that which impels him to speak to another of his Savior. Gypsy Smith said that when he was converted he immediately became anxious for the conversion of his uncle. Among gypsies it was not considered proper for children to address their elders on the subject of duty, and so the boy just prayed, and waited for God to open the way. One day his uncle noticed a hole in his trousers, and said, “Rodney, how is it that you have worn the knees of your pants so much faster that the rest of them?” “Uncle, I have worn them out praying for you, that God would make you a Christian,” and then the tears came, of course. Nothing more was said, but the uncle put his arm around the boy, and drew him close to his breast, and in a little while he was bending his knees to the same Savior. When we wear clothes thin in prayer for others we shall not find it hard to speak to them if the opportunity occurs.

A God-pleasing witness is honored with wondrous fruit. God strengthened, honored, justified, and used Simeon’s testimony to Jesus through the life of Jesus that followed. God works before, with, and after God-honoring witnesses. An illiterate evangelist preached a simple sermon in an Irish barn. A youth name Toplady accepted Christ, became a minister of Christ and wrote Rock of Ages. A humble shoe cobbler witnessed to a sixteen-year-old lad named Charles H. Spurgeon. Spurgeon has witnessed and still witnesses to the world for Christ through his many published sermons and books.

Because it is so frequently repeated, this phrase does not make much impression upon those who hear it. Nobody seems to think there are earthquakes and revolutions in it; but there are. Nobody seems to think it is a part of the “power of God and the wisdom of God”; but it is. Not the thunder that cracks and rolls through the mountains, not the summer storms that sweep across the earth, not the volcano and the earthquake, are for prodigiousness of power to be compared with this simple annunciation, “Ye must be born again.” Must? Take out that word, and say, with tears of gratitude, “We can be born again!” There is no other truth so full of hope as this.

I remember when Mr. Sankey and myself were in Chicago preaching, we had been five Sunday nights on the life of Christ. We had taken Him from the cradle, and on the fifth night we had just got Him up to where we have Him today. He was in the hands of Pilate, and Pilate didn’t know what to do with Him. I remember it distinctly, for I made one of the greatest mistakes that night that I ever made. After I had nearly finished my sermon, I said, “I want you to take this home with you, and next Sunday night we will see what you will do with Him.” Well, after a while the meeting closed, and we had a second meeting. The people gathered in the room, and Mr. Sankey during the service sang a hymn, and as he got down to the verse, “The Savior calls, for refuge fly,” I saw I had made a mistake in telling the people that next week they could answer. I saw that it was wrong to put off answering the question. After the meeting, I started to go home. They were ringing the fire alarm at the time, and it

In the early days of the French in Canada, those living at Quebec heard that the Iroquois were coming down the St. Lawrence, twelve hundred strong. If they reached the settlements they would burn the houses, and destroy the crops even if those who gained the Fort were secure. They must not reach Quebec. So Daulac with sixteen followers volunteered to go up the river and meet them, and turn them back. On the way they were joined by forty-four Hurons and coming to the foot of a rapid which the Iroquois must descend, they built a little fort of stakes and stones and awaited the foe. And they came twelve hundred strong and hurled attack after attack against the little citadel. But those behind were fighting off the enemy for country and for life. They beat off the enemy for days and days. But the water was exhausted and their parched throats refused to swallow the dry corn. But there was no thought of surrender and so the fight went on. But the task was too unequal even for men such as the

In Moody’s early days, an overzealous critic, who was not an overactive worker, took him to task for his defects in speech. “You oughtn’t to attempt to speak in public, Moody. You make many mistakes in grammar.” “I lack a great many things” said Moody, “but I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got.” But, look here, my friend, you’ve got grammar enough; what are you doing with it for Jesus?”

A theological student once called on Archibald Alexander in great distress of mind, doubting whether he had been converted. The old doctor encouraged him to open his mind. After he was through, the aged disciple, laying his hand on his head, said, “My young brother, you know what repentance is—what faith in Christ is. You think you once repented and once believed. Now don’t fight your doubts; do it all over again. Repent now; believe in Christ—that’s the way to have a consciousness of acceptance with God. I have to do both very often. Go to your room and give yourself to Christ this very moment, and let doubts go. If you have not been His disciple, be one now. Don’t fight the devil on his own ground. Choose the ground of Christ’s righteousness and atonement, and then fight him.”

When Gypsy Smith was holding a testimony meeting at one time, a man got up and said: “I have spent twenty years in prison for murder, but God has saved me.” Another said: “I have been a drunkard for twenty years, and God has saved me.” Another said: “I have been a coiner of counterfeit money, and the Lord has saved me.” Then Gypsy Smith got up and said: “Men, listen. God has done wonders for you, but don’t forget he did more for this gypsy boy than for all of you put together. He saved me before I got there.”

The following anecdote is yet another from the pen of C. H. Spurgeon: “Some years ago I was walking in the garden one evening, and I saw a stray dog about whom I had received information that he was in the habit of visiting my grounds, and that he did not in the least assist the gardener, and therefore his attentions were not desired. As I walked along one Saturday evening meditating upon my sermon, I saw this dog busily doing mischief. I threw my stick at him, and told him to go home. But what do you think he did? Instead of grinding his teeth at me, or hurrying off with a howl, he looked at me very pleasantly, took up my stick in his mouth, and brought it to me and then, wagging his tail, he laid the stick at my feet. The tears were in my eyes; the dog had beaten me. I said, ‘Good dog! Good dog; you may come here when you like after that.’ Why had the dog conquered me? Because he had confidence in me, and would not believe that I could mean him any hurt. To turn to grander things; t

Have you never heard of the Indian in his boat upon one of the great rivers of America? Somehow his moorings had broken and his canoe was in the power of the current. He was asleep, while his canoe was being swept rapidly along by the stream. He was sound asleep, and yet had good need to have been awake, for there was a tremendous waterfall not far ahead. Persons on shore saw the canoe—saw that there was a man in it asleep; but their vigilance was of no use to the sleeper: it needed that he himself should be aware of his peril. The canoe quickened its pace, for the waters of the river grew more rapid as they approached the falls; persons on shore began to cry out, and raise alarm on all sides, and at last the Indian was aroused. He started up, and began to use his paddle, but his strength was altogether insufficient for the struggle with the gigantic force of the waters around him. He was seen to spring upright in the boat and disappear—himself and the boat—in the fall. He had perished

God, then, is more earnest for me to be saved than I am to be saved! “He so loved the world that He gave His Son” (see John 3:16). He loved not saints, not penitents, not the religious, not those who love Him; but “the world,” secular men, profane men, hardened rebels, hopeless wanderers and sinners! He gave not a mere promise, not an angel to teach us, not a world to ransom us, but His Son—His only begotten! So much did God love the world, sinners, me! I believe this. I must believe it; I believe on Him who says it. How can I, then, do otherwise than rejoice? —Martin Luther

The age of miracles has not passed. To take a young man who has been indifferent, who has been living along as though this world were all, and suddenly confront him with the call of Christ, and have him yield to that call so that he turns away from the things he has loved, and enters upon a new life, rejoicing in the fellowship of Jesus Christ, is surely a greater miracle than to cure a man of leprosy. One Sunday evening a young man heard the story of Christ’s love and yielded his heart to it. It was the first time he had ever been in the church where this wonderful change was brought. A few days afterward I received a letter from him that opened with these words: “I have found much peace with my Savior, whom I accepted as my personal Savior last Sunday evening. I only regret that I did not take that step a long time ago; but now, as a young man, twenty-four years of age, I shall do all that is in my power to advance his kingdom. Oh, how grand it is to be a Christian! I have enjoyed un