Faithfulness Sermon Illustrations

Faithfulness Sermon Illustrations

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It costs to be faithful. It cost Abraham the yielding up of his only son. It cost Esther the risk of her life. It cost Daniel being cast into the den of lions. It cost Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego being put in a fiery furnace. It cost Stephen death by stoning. It cost Peter a martyr's death. It cost Paul his life. Does it cost you anything to be faithful to your Lord and King?—Selected

(Matt. 25. 31; Luke 19. 17; 1 Cor. 4. 2; Rev. 2. 10).


The hymn with the chorus 'Hold the fort, for I am coming!' written by P. P. Bliss, was suggested to him by an incident in the American Civil War. At Altoma Pass the fort being held by General Corse was besieged by the enemy under General Hood, who summoned it to surrender. Corse refused to surrender. Many were the casualties, but in spite of the hopeless situation the defenders remained faithful. Then a white signal flag across the valley, some twenty miles away, waved the message, 'Hold the fort, for I am coming'. General Sharman was marching to the relief of the beleaguered and faithful defenders.

(Rev. 2. 25; 3. 11).


A Valuable Find

Once Fritz Kreisler found a lovely violin in a private collection. There it was, a glorious instrument but mute, and Kreisler, feeling that intolerable, begged the owner that it be taken out and used. To all importunity the man was deaf—only at last he granted this much: that the great violinist might play on it once. So Kreisler played. As he said himself, "I played that day as though to ransom a captive!"—Selected.


Then murmur not, if toils obscure,
And thorny paths be thine;
To God be true. They shall secure
The joy of life divine
Who in the darkest sternest sphere,
For Him their powers employ;
The toils condemned and slighted here
Shall yield the purest joy.—Dewart


A wizened little Irishman applied for a job loading a ship. At first they said he was too small, but he finally persuaded them to give him a trial. He seemed to be making good, and they gradually increased the size of his load until on the last trip he was carrying a 300-pound anvil under each arm. When he was half-way across the gangplank it broke and the Irishman fell in. With a great splashing and spluttering he came to the surface.

"T'row me a rope, I say!" he shouted again. Once more he sank. A third time he rose struggling.

"Say!" he spluttered angrily, "if one uv you shpalpeens don't hurry up an' t'row me a rope I'm goin' to drop one uv these damn t'ings!"

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