22 Sermon Illustrations on Faithfulness in Ministry

A prominent minister, suffering with chronic disease, was advised by his physicians to give up his work to prolong his life. He was told, that, if he did so, he would live six years; if not, not more than three. He replied, "I prefer to live two or three years in doing some good, to living six in idleness."

Luther preached almost daily; he lectured constantly as a professor; he was burdened with the care of all the churches; his correspondence, even as now extant, fills many volumes; he was perpetually harassed with controversies, and was one of the most voluminous writers of his day. The same, and even more, may be said of Calvin. While in Strasburg, he preached or lectured every day. In Geneva, he was pastor, professor, and almost magistrate. He lectured every other day; on alternate weeks, he preached daily; he was overwhelmed with letters from all parts of Europe, and was the author of works numerous and bulky, that any man of our day would think more than enough to occupy his whole undivided time: and all this, too, in the midst of perpetual infirmity of the flesh.

The eminently pious Richard Baxter, after he had spent many years in the advancement of the glory of God, by laborious and constant preaching, unceasing pastoral labors, and numerous publications from the press, was yet unwilling to give himself ease, even amidst the infirmities of disease and age. An old gentleman, who heard him preach, related, that when he ascended the pulpit, with a man following him to prevent his falling backwards, and to support him, if needful, in the pulpit, many persons would be ready to say he was more fit for a coffin than for labor; but all this he would soon forget, and manifest the fervor and energy of youth in his labors. It was feared, the last time he preached, that he would have died in the pulpit. And yet, such was his humility, that when reminded of his labors on his death-bed, he replied, "I was but a pen in God's hand, and what praise is due to a pen?"

Mr. Cecil tells us that when Mr. Newton had passed eighty years of age, some of his friends feared he might continue his public ministrations too long. They not only observed his infirmities in the pulpit, but felt much on account of the decrease of his strength, and of his occasional depressions. On those things being mentioned to him, he replied, that he had experienced nothing which in the least affected the principles he had felt and taught; that his depressions were the natural result of fourscore years; and that, at any age, we can only enjoy that comfort from our principles which God is pleased to send. "But," it was asked, "in the article of public preaching, might it not be best to consider your work as done, and to stop before you evidently discover that you can speak no longer?" "I cannot stop," said he, raising his voice. "What! shall the old African blasphemer stop while he can speak?"

Among other features in the character of Mr. Wesley, which manifested his devotedness to the great work in which he had engaged, it is said that he ever retained a cheerful insensibility to pain, and even to neglect. As he was traveling with John Nelson, one of his preachers, from common to common, in Cornwall, and preaching to a people who heard him willingly, but seldom or never offered him the slightest hospitality, he one day stopped his horse at some brambles, to pick the fruit. "Brother Nelson," said he, as he did so, "we ought to be thankful that there are plenty of blackberries; for this is the best country I ever saw for getting a stomach, but the worst I ever knew for getting food. Do the people think we can live upon preaching?" "At that time," says his companion, "Mr. Wesley and I slept on the floor; he had a great coat for his pillow, and I had Burkitt's Notes on the New Testament for mine. One morning, about three o'clock, Mr. Wesley turned over, and finding me awake, clapped me on the side, saying, 'Brother Nelson, let us be of good cheer; I have one whole side yet; for the skin is off but on one side.'"

For more than fifty years, in succession, this eminent man generally delivered two, and frequently three or four sermons in a day. But calculating at the lowest estimate, and allowing fifty annually for extraordinary occasions, the whole number, during this period, will be forty thousand five hundred and sixty. To these may be added innumerable exhortations to the societies after preaching, and in other occasional meetings at which he assisted or presided. His journeys, in the work of the ministry, during so long a period, were extraordinary, and probably, on the whole, without a precedent. He traveled about four thousand five hundred miles every year, on an average; and thus, in his long course, he passed over two hundred and twenty-five thousand miles, on his errand of mercy, after he became an itinerant preacher. In addition to all which, the publications which he either wrote, or otherwise prepared for the press, were very numerous. It would have been impossible for him to perform this almost incredible degree of labor, without great punctuality and care in the management of his time. He had stated hours for every purpose, and his only relaxation was a change of employment. His talents for managing complex affairs, and governing a numerous body, dissimilar in its parts, and widely diffused throughout the whole nation, were displayed in the order which he introduced into the societies he had formed, the control which he exercised over them, and the plans he devised and executed for the continuance of that economy which he had established among them.

The following beautiful and striking miniature likeness of that great and good man, Gideon Ouseley, is from the pen of Dr. Elliott, editor of the Western Christian Advocate. There was something in Mr. Ouseley's refusing the peerage and estates of his ancestors, and "choosing to suffer afflictions with the people of God," so strange, that we question if his parallel can be found in all history, except in the case of Moses. Blessed man, his reward must be great!

Mr. Ouseley was a marvelous man. He possessed a strong mind, well cultivated with a good university education. He was of a noble family; but became an itinerant Methodist preacher early in life, and for about fifty years kept the field, in labors most abundant. He preached in the Irish and English languages with equal fluency. The Irish language (the opinion of others to the contrary notwithstanding) is the foremost language under heaven for the pulpit. In this he preached with power to those who understood it. His pulpit performances usually amounted to twenty-one each week; two each day, in the open air, and one each evening, in a church, house, barn, &c., as the case might be. He preached thousands of sermons on horseback, in the markets, at horse-races, cock-fights, &c.; and when the multitudes were inclined to leave, which was seldom the case, he followed them in their movements. He was often persecuted, waylaid and beat, so as to be left for dead; but God always raised him up. The Popish clergy hated him to execration; and though many attempts were made on his life, he always escaped, except with the loss of one eye. His violent persecutors mostly came to an untimely end. So manifest was the hand of God in his preservation, that the Papists concluded it would not do to kill him, as by this means he would obtain the reputation of a martyr. He controverted, most freely, the errors of Popery, and exposed them unsparingly, always remembering to point the errorist to the Lord Jesus Christ for mercy. Many thousands were converted from Popery through his instrumentality.

At the death of Sir Gore Ouseley, his uncle, he became heir to his estate and his peerage; but he relinquished both in favor of the next heir, and continued his preaching till death. Few men of the age equaled him for usefulness and labors.

When that zealous and truly apostolic laborer, Mr. Grimshawe, who usually preached from twenty to thirty times a week, was entreated at any time to spare himself, his constant reply was, "Let me labor now, for the hour is at hand when I shall rest."

# 259. Simplicity of Language.

Is it possible, says a writer in the American Messenger for 1847, for physicians in full practice to be as regular in attendance on public worship as other men? That physicians frequently plead their business as an excuse for neglecting a regular attendance in the house of God is certainly true, but is this a valid plea? does their business justify their neglect? The following conversation which I chanced to overhear the other day, between two physicians, may throw some light upon the subject. They are both in large practice in one of our northern cities.

Dr. L. How happens it, Doctor B., that you are so regular in your attendance upon the public and social meetings of the church? I hear that you are seldom absent, at least I always see you there when I am. There must be some secret about it, for your practice is as extensive as mine, if not more so, and with all my diligence I cannot make out to attend half the time. I really should like to know how you manage it. I often wish that I could so arrange my business as never to be absent.

Dr. B. You are frequently called in

1111. consultation with your medical friends, are you not?

Dr. L. Certainly I am, once or twice every day, and sometimes oftener.

Dr. B. Are you in the habit of meeting your consultations punctually?

Dr. L. I am, and am seldom obliged to make a draft upon the fifteen minutes' grace usually allowed?

Dr. B. That is all the secret I have about the matter. I have always made it a rule punctually and promptly to meet

### 318. POWER, ARBITRARY, CO

A man was tried at Cambridge, for a robbery committed on an aged lady, in her own house. The judge was Baron Smith, who maintained a consistent profession of religion. He asked the lady if the prisoner at the bar was the person who robbed her? "Truly, my lord," said she, "I cannot positively say it was he, for it was rather dark when I was robbed; so dark that I could hardly discern the features of his face." "Where were you when he robbed you?" "I was in a closet that joins to my bed-chamber, and he had got into my house while my servant had gone out on an errand." "What day of the week was it?" "It was the Lord's day evening, my lord." "How had you been employed when he robbed you?" "My lord, I am a Protestant dissenter; I had been at the meeting that day, and had retired into my closet in the evening for prayer, and meditation on what I had been hearing through the day." When she uttered these words, the court, which was crowded with some hundreds of persons, including many young men, rung with a peal of loud laughter. The judge looked round the court as one astonished, and with a decent solemnity laid his hands upon the bench, as if going to rise, and, with great emotion, spoke to the following effect: "Where am I? Am I in the place of one of the universities of this kingdom, where it is to be supposed that young gentlemen are educated in the principles of religion, as well as in all useful learning? and can such persons laugh in so improper a manner on hearing an aged Christian relate that she retired into her closet on a Lord's day evening, for prayer and meditation! Blush, and be ashamed, all of you, if you are capable of it, as well you may." And then turning to the lady, he said, "Do not be discouraged, madam, by this piece of rude and unmannerly, as well as irreligious conduct; you have no reason to be ashamed of what you have on this occasion, and in this public manner, said. It adds dignity to your character, and shame belongs to those who would expose it to ridicule."

An active and skillful young minister in the village of J—, was told of a miller, who, with more than usual profaneness, had repelled every attempt to approach him on the subject of religion, and had discouraged the hopes and efforts of the few serious persons in his vicinity. Among other practices of sinful daring, he uniformly kept his windmill, the most striking object in the hamlet, going on the Sabbath. In a little time, the minister determined to make an effort for the benefit of the hopeless man. He undertook the office of going for his flour the next time himself. "A fine mill," said he, as the miller adjusted his sack to receive the flour; "a fine mill indeed; one of the completest I have ever seen." This was nothing more than just—the miller had heard it a thousand times before; and would firmly have thought it, though he had never heard it once; but his skill and judgment were still gratified by this new testimony, and his feelings conciliated, even towards the minister. "But, oh!" continued his customer, after a little pause, "there is one defect in it!" "What is that?" carelessly asked the miller. "A very serious defect too." "Eh!" replied the miller, turning up his face. "A defect that is likely to counterbalance all its advantages." "Well, what is it?" said the miller, standing straight up, and looking the minister in the face. He went on: "A defect which is likely to ruin the mill." "What is it?" rejoined the miller. "And will one day no doubt destroy the owner." "And can't you say it out?" exclaimed the impatient miller. "It goes on the Sabbath!" pronounced the minister, in a firm, and solemn, and monitory tone. The astonished man stood blank and thunderstruck; and remained meek and submissive under a remonstrance and exhortation of a quarter of an hour's length, in which the danger of his state and practices, and the call to repentance towards God, and faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, were fully proposed to him.

Some years ago, the Rev. Dr. Henry Peckwell stepped into a dissecting room and touched one of the dead bodies, forgetting that he had just before accidentally cut his finger. He became diseased and the doctors who were called in pronounced the accident fatal. At that time worship was held at the Tabernacle, Moorfields, on a Friday evening. Conscious of his approaching death, the good man ascended the pulpit, and preached in so powerful a strain as to make many of his audience weep. At the conclusion, he told the audience that it was his farewell sermon,—"not like the ordinary farewell sermons of the world, but more impressive, from the circumstances, than any preached before. My hearers shall long bear it in mind, when this frail earth is mouldering in its kindred dust!" The congregation could not conjecture his meaning, but on the following Sabbath an unknown preacher ascended the pulpit, and informed them that their pious minister had breathed his last on the preceding evening.