God's Sermon Illustrations

God's Sermon Illustrations

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The Father's Love and Ours

A gentleman of some wealth and high social position was taken ill. Being much troubled about the little love he found in his heart for God, he complained bitterly to one of his brethren. This is how he was answered:—

"When I leave you I shall go to my home, and the first thing I expect to do is to call my baby. I expect to place her on my knee and look down into her sweet eyes and listen to her charming prattle and, tired as I am, her presence will rest me, for I love that chill with unutterable tenderness. But the fact is, she loves me little.

"If my heart were breaking, it would not disturb her sleep. If my body were racked with excruciating pain it would not interrupt her play. If I were dead, she would be amused in watching my pale face and closed eyes. If any friends came to remove the corpse to the place of burial, she would probably clap her hands in glee, and in two or three days totally forget her father.

"Besides this, she has never brought me a penny, but has been a constant expense on my hands ever since she was born. Yet, though I am not rich, there is not money enough in the world to buy my baby. How is it? Does she love me or do I love her? Do I withhold my love until I know she loves me? Am I waiting for her to do something worthy of my love before extending it to her?"

"Oh, I see it!" said the sick man, while the tears ran down his cheeks, "I see it clearly. It is not my love to God, but God's love to me i should be thinking about. And I do love Him now as I never loved Him before."

We think of our littleness, when we should remember our Father's almightiness. We bewail our weak love, when we should be grateful for our Father's great love. "Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us."—Selected.

Afraid of God's Love

One morning I wanted to feed the birds. It was gray and cold, and the ground was covered with snow. I stepped out on the porch, and flung them handfuls of crumbs, and called to them. No, there they sat, cold hungry, and afraid. They did not trust me. As I sat and watched and waited, it seemed to me I could get God's viewpoint more clearly than ever before. He offers, plans, watches, waits, hopes, longs for all things for our good. But he has to watch and wait as I did for my timid friends.—Aline V. Trumbull, in the Sunday School Times.

A Father's Love

A steamer was wrecked on Lake Pontchartrain, on which were a father, mother, and their six children. The father was a stalwart man and a good swimmer, and resolved to get them all safely to land or perish in the attempt. He told his children not to be afraid, that he would come for them. He then jumped overboard, and his wife after him. Taking her by the hair, he drew her along through the breakers and landed her safely on shore. Then he plunged into the mad waves, and went back to the ship for his children. One by one he brought them to shore. Only one remained upon the vessel. The devoted father had not strength to stand up when the last was brought in. Friends expostulated with him against the further exposure of his life. He said, "Jimmie's aboard, and I promised to come for him." Then he floated back to the ship, and just as it was about to go down, he called to Jimmie to jump into the water. He had strength only to seize his boy, to fold his arms about him, and press him to his bosom, and, thus enfolded, they sank together, to rise no more. Such is the love of a father. "As the Father hath loved me, even so have I loved you."The New Illustrator.

John's Attar of Roses

I read of a minister who was invited to go and see a garden of roses. The garden was an extensive one, covering broad acres. There was nothing but roses: roses of every fragrance, roses of every color. When he was leaving the garden the owner presented him with a little phial, a bottle containing what he called attar of roses. As far as fragrance was concerned, that little bottle contained the garden in miniature, and in its tiny globe he had the sweetness of all those broad acres. Now, the Apostle John, who leaned on the bosom of Christ. who knew Him better than any of the disciples, gives us the attar of roses, so far as this subject is concerned. He takes all the words of the Lord Jesus Christ; he presses them; he distills them, and gives us in one simple sentence the essence, the quintessence, of them all: "God is love."—Dr. Crawford Johnson.

The Love of Christ

How broad is His love? Oh, as broad as man's trespass,
As wide as the need of the world can be;
And yet to the need of one soul it can narrow,
He came to the world and He came to me.

How long is His love? Without end or beginning,
Eternal as Christ and His life it must be,
For to everlasting as from everlasting
He loveth the world and He loveth me.

How deep is His love? Oh, as deep as man's sinning,
As low as the uttermost vileness can be;
In the fathomless gulf of the Father's forsaking,
He died for the world and He died for me.

How high is His love? It is high as the heavens,
As high as the throne of His glory must be;
And yet from that height He has stooped to redeem us,
He "so" loved the world and He "so" loved me.

How great is His love? Oh, it passes all knowledge,
No man's comprehension, its measure can be;
It filleth the world, yet each heart may contain it,
He "so" loved the world and He "so" loved me. —Annie Johnson Flint

Think About His Love

A little maiden once came to Mark Guy Pearse in great distress because, as she said, she could not love Jesus Christ. She did want to love Him, but somehow she couldn't. So the genial minister said to her, "Well, my little woman, don't keep thinking about your love to Jesus, but just keep on saying, `Jesus loves me.' Say it to yourself over and over again; and come and see me tomorrow." The little girl did as she was told, and when she came to see Mr. Pearse the next day there was no need to tell him of the change that had taken place. Her face was radiant. The love of God had been shed abroad in her heart by the Holy Spirit which had been given to her.—Christian Herald.

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