Children Sermon Illustrations

Children Sermon Illustrations

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The Plight of Childhood

Two out of three of the children in the United States and Canada, as a whole, are in no Sunday School. In the United States alone 27,000,000 children under the age of twelve are getting no definite Christian teaching.

Eighty per cent of the children now attending the Sunday Schools of America (some 10,000,000) are unconverted, and will never be converted until more stress is placed on child evangelism.

Eighty-five per cent of the children leave Sunday School before they reach the age of fifteen. Had the spiritual growth of our churches kept pace with the need, ways would have been found to make it impossible for this condition to exist. No adequate impact is being made on this tragic situation through our existing Christian agencies.

The proportion of unreached children becomes greater each year. God alone can meet this need. But God always works through His own people.—Courtesy Moody Monthly.


A pound of mischief,
An ounce of care —
A bushel of love,
And spun-gold hair —
The scales add it up
As the weights move along,
But even scales
Are sometimes wrong!

For the precious weight
Of his tiny soul,
That links him to God
And points him a goal,
Is most important
In weighing him well,
And that great worth
No scale can tell!Selected.


Does It Mean Me?

A missionary to the mountain people of the South was once laid aside temporarily from teaching on account of illness, and she wrote the following account of one of the children of her charge: "I must tell you of the little girl who lived with us, and of her practical application of a Scripture text. It was my custom to teach her from the Bible every Sunday afternoon. I had been reading from the ninth chapter of Mark, where it speaks of the child­like spirit our dear Saviour wants us to possess. She listened very attentively, and seemed especially interested when we came to the forty-first verse, `For he shall lose his reward.' She left me a few moments, but presently came back saying, `Won't you tell me about that verse again?' I gladly complied. Then came the question, `Does it mean me —can I do something for Jesus?'

"That evening there came a gentle rap on my door, and to my `Come in!' Minnie entered, bearing a glass of water. Coming near, she placed the water on a little stand by my bedside. Noticing that she stood as though she would speak, I said, `What is it, Minnie?' She hesitated a moment, then replied, `I was thinking of what you said about the cup of water, and I wanted to give you something else 'cause you was sick, but I didn't have anything, so I thought maybe you might like a fresh drink of water, for it's all I've got.' Indeed, my heart was touched by this poor girl's beautiful application of the lesson learned. Nor was it forgotten. Every evening during my illness came the `fresh drink' from the hands of the little beginner, who wanted to do something for Jesus."—American Missions.


In the Modern Home

Everything in the modern home is controlled by switches except the children.—Evening Tribune. Surrey, Eng.


The Spring in the Desert

In the early fifties a party of emigrants on their way to the gold fields of California struck out on the desert for the land of promise. The trail was well defined by abandoned wagons and the bones of horses, mules and human beings. Struggling through the yielding sand, the thermometer at 120 degrees, wheels falling apart, animals dying from heat and thirst, they on the second night out halted some ten miles from "Cook's Well," with water in their kegs exhausted.

Tradition states that a little ten-year-old girl was heard praying in one of the wagons for water. It states that in her childlike faith she said: "0, good heavenly Father, I know that I have been a very naughty, naughty girl, but oh dear, I am so very thirsty, and mam­ma, papa and the baby all want to drink so much. Do, good God, give us water, and I will never, never be naughty again."

The gaunt, half-starved, desperate men gathered around the wagons and listened to the humble petition. One voiced the rest and said, "May God grant it!" Soon the voice of the little girl, in cheerful accent, sounded clear in the silent night:

"Oh, mother, mother, get me water; oh, I can hear it running; oh, do get some water for baby and me."

They thought her delirious from her sufferings, and suddenly a babel of sounds broke forth from the oxen and mules, all frantic and endeavoring to break loose from the wagon poles. A rustling noise called their attention to a slight depression near the wagons, and investigating the cause they found water, clear and sparkling, gushing up out of the sand.

This spring continued to flow, running due north for twenty miles, then was lost in the sand. In places it was two miles wide from four to twenty feet deep. Along this new river life arose, and there the desert blossomed as the rose. It changed the desert into God's park. Who shall say it was not an answer to the faith of a child?—The Christian Herald.


If in the golden streets were heard no baby laughter,
How empty Heaven would be!
And so, dear Lord, to wait till I shall follow after,
I send my Little Swan to Thee.
If in God's many mansions, no babes were ever sleeping,
What beauty Heaven would lack!
And so to wake and smile when I have ended weeping,
Your Little Swan, dear Lord, comes back.Selected.


Is Strict Training the Trouble?

A good deal of nonsense is being palmed off on the community about the reaction of the child from overstrictness in parental training. When I hear a man say, "My parents brought me up so rigidly that a reaction took place in my mind and I have turned away from religion," I have sometimes asked, "Did they teach you to be honest?" "Yes." "Were they strict about it?" "Yes." "Did they teach you to tell the truth?" "Yes." "Were they strict about that?" "Yes." "Has any reaction taken place on these points?" No man learns the multiplication table from sheer love of it; but I never knew of anyone whose mind was in reaction against the multiplication table.—John Hall, D.D.


The Toy-Strewn House

Give me the house where the toys are strewn,
Where the dolls are asleep in the chairs,
Where the building blocks and the toy balloon
And the soldiers guard the stairs;
Let me sleep in the house where the tiny cart
With its horses rules the floors,
And rest comes into my heart,
For I am at home once more.

Give me the house with the toys about,
With the battered old train of cars,
The box of paints and the books left out
And the ship with her broken spars;
Let me step in a house at the close of day
That is littered with children's toys,
And dwell once more in the haunts of play
With the echoes of bygone noise.

Give me the house where the toys are seen,
The house where the children romp,
And I'll be happier than man has been
'Neath the gilded dome of pomp.
Let me see the litter of bright-eyed play
Strewn over the parlor floor,
And the joys I knew in a far-off day
Will gladden my heart once more.

Whoever has lived in a toy-strewn house
Though feeble he be and gray,
Will yearn, no matter how far he roam,
For the glorious disarray
Of the little house with its littered floor
That was his in the bygone days
And his heart will throb as it throbbed before
When he rests where a baby plays.Selected.

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