13 Sermon Illustrations on Compassion for the Lost

A devoted elder, burdened for souls, one morning called upon a sceptical blacksmith for whom he had been wrestling in prayer. With deep feeling, he said, "Mr. R., I am greatly concerned for your salvation,—greatly concerned for your salvation!" and burst into tears. He could say no more, and returned home. "Greatly concerned for my salvation!" it rung through the blacksmith's ears like a thunder-clap in a clear sky. "Greatly concerned I ought to be for my own salvation. What shall I do?" It was a new and unanswerable argument for religion. He went to his Christian wife, and asked her what to do. She advised him to follow the elder home. He did so, and, greeting him, said, "I am come to tell you that I am greatly concerned for my own salvation." They prayed together; and the man, whom no logic could reach, was converted,—a striking testimony to the power of sympathy.

Mr. Spurgeon often impressed upon his hearers, especially those who sympathised with his great aim,—to bring souls to Christ,—the need of caring for others. "I recollect," said he, "several persons joining the church who traced their conversion to the ministry at the Surrey Music Hall. They said, however, that it was not the preaching alone, but another agency co-operating therewith. They were fresh from the country, and some good man met them at the gate, spoke to them, said he hoped they had enjoyed what they had heard, heard their answer, asked them if they were coming in the evening, and said he would be glad if they would drop into his house to tea. This they did, and he had a word with them about the Master. The next Sunday it was the same, and, at length, those who had been only partly impressed by the sermons, were brought to hear with other ears, until, by and by, through the old man's persuasive words, and the good Lord's gracious work, they were converted to God. "There is good scope for this kind of work, especially in every large congregation, for all who really want to do good. "In some congregations many are too stiff and starchy even to notice a stranger; they are afraid their dignity might be sullied by contact with the unknown, especially the poor and outcast. So did not the Saviour when He rested on the well at Sychar." Mr. Spurgeon's words are plain and forceful where he says, "Beloved, we must win souls; we cannot live and see men damned; we must have them brought to Jesus. Oh! then, be up and doing, and let none around you die, unwarned, unwept, uncared for."

A vessel the other day was crossing the Atlantic, and it fell in with that disabled emigrant ship, the Denmark. Suppose the captain had kept on his course? He might have looked another way, and resolved not to be detained. He might have argued, "I am bound to do the best for my owners. It will hinder me greatly if I go pottering about after this vessel. I had better go by and not see it; or make haste to port and send out help." It could have been done and nobody would have been the wiser; for the ship would have gone down soon. The captain of that vessel was a man of nobler breed. He did not hide himself, nor turn the blind eye towards the vessel in distress. But what did the captain do? All honor to him, he came near, and took the ship in tow. This was not all: he found that she could not keep afloat, and he resolved to take those hundreds of emigrants on board his own ship. But he could not carry them and his cargo too. What then? The decision was greatly to his honor. Overboard goes the cargo, God's blessing rests on the man; into the sea went the freight, and the passengers were taken on board, and carried to the neares t port. He could have easily hid himself, could he not? So could you, you Christian people, as you call yourselves. Can you go through this world and always have a blind eye to the case of lost sinners?

Shortly before the death of Eugene Field a friend from one of the Southern States told him a pathetic story of a girl who had wandered away from her home in the country and taken refuge in a large city, with the usual results of that dangerous step:

Her old father mourned for the girl he had lost; but in his simplicity it never occurred to him to try to find her, for the world beyond the limits of his township was vast and forbidding. But word came to him one day that somebody had seen his daughter in the city, one hundred miles away, and with only that to guide him he went in search of her.

Once in the city, he shrank from the noise and confusion of the crowds. He waited until night, and then when the streets were comparatively deserted, he roamed up and down from one street to another, giving the peculiar cry he had always used when looking for a lost lamb--a cry the girl herself had heard and given many times in her better days. A policeman stopt the old man and warned him that he was disturbing the peace, whereupon the father told his story and said:

“She will come to me if she hears that cry.”

The officer was moved by the old man’s simplicity and earnestness, and offered to accompany him in his search. So on they went up and down the thoroughfares and into the most abandoned sections of the city, the farmer giving the plaintive cry and the officer leading the way that seemed the most promising of success.

And success did come. The girl heard the cry, recognized it, and intuitively felt that it was for her. She rushed into the street and straight to her father’s arms. She confest the weariness and misery of her lot, and begged that he would take her back to the farm, where she might begin a new and better life. Together they left the city the next day. (Text.)

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The Arab Waziers have a tradition as to their origin:

A certain ancestor had two sons, Issa and Missa, which may mean Jesus and Moses. Missa was a shepherd, and one day a lamb wandered away and was not to be found. For three days and nights Missa sought it far and near through the jungle. On the fourth morning he found it in a distant valley, and instead of being angry with the lamb for straying and giving him all his pains and anxiety, he took it in his arms, prest it to his bosom, kissed it tenderly and carried it back to the flock. For this humane act God greatly blest Missa and made him progenitor of the Wazir tribe. (Text.)

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Many straying souls who have lost the way may be but fallen angels, whom love and kindness might restore.

George MacDonald tells of a young woman who had been led astray. A minister found her one night on his doorstep, and brought her into his house. His little daughter, who was up-stairs with her mother, asked, “Mama, who is it papa has in the library?” Her mother replied, “It is an angel, dear, who has lost her way, and papa is telling her the way back.”

Irving Grinell, of the Church Temperance Society, tells a story of a woman who entered a barroom and advanced quietly to her husband, who sat drinking with three other men. She placed a covered dish on the table and said, “Thinkin’ ye’d be too busy to come home to supper, Jack, I’ve fetched it to ye here.” She departed, and the man laughed awkwardly. He invited his friends to share the meal with him. Then he removed the cover from the dish. The dish was empty except for the slip of paper that read: “Here’s hopin’ ye’ll enjoy yer supper. It’s the same as yer wife and bairns have at home.”