Do you know, fellows, why some folks choose the Willie Bells to help? Why, it is because they love Jesus Christ. They believe God's Word as it tells us in to-day's wonderful passage in Matthew: "Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was hungry, and ye gave me to eat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in; naked, and ye clothed me; I was sick and ye visited me.... Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when did we see thee hungry, or thirsty, or naked, or sick—and helped?... And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have done it unto me."

You see, fellows, it takes some faith and some imagination. Ask God to give you, first, Faith. Then ask Him to give you a consecrated Imagination. Then you will see in every unfortunate person that you can help—you will see your King. You have His own word for it, to justify that imagination and to confirm it.

Oh, yes, you may sometimes in your zeal help somebody who is unworthy. Don't let the fear of that make you miss the blessing. The very fact that you go to him in the name of your Christ and for His sake, may be the means of helping that poor unworthy one to cast off his rags of sin and become clothed in the righteousness of your King.

I tell you, fellows, it is a wonderful thing to be in the service of such a Master. All your efforts for Him are given full value. Even your mistakes, if honestly made are transmuted into the gold of satisfaction. Let's launch out for Him, to-day. Let's take Him at His word, and see how it works.

Read Matthew 25:31-46.



XLVII

SHAKING UP PHILIPPI

Say, fellows, that was one exciting day in Philippi. Not since Mark Antony's Roman legions went tearing through to meet and destroy the armies of Brutus and Cassius, nearly a hundred years before, had the town been so shaken up; and all because of two inoffensive looking Jews who had quietly walked in there and told about Jesus Christ. They had come over the winding road from Neapolis, nine miles distant on the seashore, where they had gotten out of a ship from Asia. A poor crazy girl, a fortune teller, heard the message, her heart was changed and she became sane and normal; it put an end to her "fortune telling" and this enraged her masters, who had Paul and Silas arrested and put into prison.

That created some stir, but it was nothing to what was to follow. The jailer seemed to take special pains to make his prisoners secure, putting them in an inside cell and making their feet fast in the stocks. These fellows looked so unworried that he probably suspected they had a well-laid plan to escape. The jailer was further surprised to hear the two prisoners singing—actually singing some of their hymns, though they must have been in great discomfort.

Away into the night they sang. The other prisoners heard them and marvelled. Surely these new jail-birds had something which they, the old ones, did not possess. The jailer, as he retired, doubtless remarked to his wife: "Well, there's something uncanny about those two men; here it is midnight and they are singing and going on like two schoolboys on a picnic excursion!"

He hadn't been asleep long, when a brick fell out of the mantelpiece near the jailer's bed and the furniture about the room began to dance a jig. Mrs. Jailer screamed and the children began to cry in terror. The door creaked and pushed off its hinges, falling with a slam-bang. The jailer jumped and landed in the middle of the floor. A flash of lightning put a photograph on his staring eye that he never got rid of to his dying day. The prison walls were cracked and falling, the doors were down and the dazed prisoners were groping about.

Alas, poor jailer, the thing of all most dreaded was about to happen—his prisoners would escape! Earthquakes were bad enough, but the sudden thought he got of himself answering to the governor next morning with his life for the escape of those put in his charge was more than he could bear. Reaching for his sword he placed it, hilt to the ground, to fall upon its point and end his life right there;—then he heard a clear voice coming through the darkness: "Stop! don't do that. We're all here; nobody wants to get away."

It was one of those psalm singing Jews! he recognized that at once, and putting up his sword he called to his wife to light the lamp quick and bring it; then he rushed into the cell where Paul and Silas stood, their feet free from stocks and hands unmanacled, and fell down on his face before them.

"Sirs, what must I do to be saved?" And the Philippian jailer was thinking about the peril of his soul, for like a flash it had been revealed to him that these men were from God. Paul's answer came quick and true: "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house." And thy house—for Paul saw behind the jailer his crouching, trembling wife and children. Paul told them all about it then, and as the blessed truth came into their hearts, they stopped trembling and began to find new hope in Jesus and a new joy in service. Immediately, the jailer and his wife got basins of water and washed the bruised stripes on the backs of the men. They saw in those stripes the suffering Saviour's wounds which they would like to soften; very differently they had viewed them the evening before. Right there Paul baptized the whole household, and quickly afterward the jailer straightened up the tumbled down kitchen stove and Mrs. Jailer cooked something good and savoury for the men of God to eat.

Fellows, it ends like a fairy tale, which says "they lived happy ever after," for the record says the jailer "rejoiced, believing in God, with all his house." And in this one word, "Rejoiced," I would like to hand you the strangely wonderful and fine thing in to-day's lesson. Rejoicing puts the climax of satisfaction of joy into any experience. Let it stand the test proof of rejoicing and you've got the true value. If believing in and serving Jesus Christ could bring rejoicing to a jailer and his household under such circumstances, surely then we can better understand the force of Paul's word to Timothy when he speaks of "the living God, who giveth us richly all things to enjoy."

Here is a jailer. A jailer's office at best would not be much of a rejoice shop. This jailer's life is in jeopardy when his prisoners escape. His jail is cracked open, the doors are down and he cannot shut them. The prisoners are walking about. At daylight he must reckon with the authorities. Yet he is rejoicing. And the secret of his rejoicing is in his believing—believing God.

Fellows, it means everything to believe—to believe like the Philippian jailer did. He not only accepted Christ and was baptized, but he immediately began to minister to Christ's servants. It was the one way in which he could in those first moments of his belief express his faith, and he did it. "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

This is the thing which is crowned by Rejoicing.

Read Acts 16:16-34.



XLVIII

GO IN YET—AND WIN!

Say, fellows, look in upon three interesting personalities—Paul, Barnabas and Mark; each one widely differing from the other two, yet their lives bound up together in the biggest enterprise the world ever knew—the winning of the world for Christ.

They are planning another big "hike"—one that will be full of hardship and perils, and Paul and Barnabas are having a hot discussion about Mark. Barnabas wants to take him and Paul wants to leave him—and why? Well, last year when they were taking a trip of this kind, Mark left them and went back home. Paul says he's done with Mark; if a fellow hasn't got a backbone better than a stick of spaghetti, he doesn't want to load up with him. Barnabas, on the other hand, thinks a lot of Mark; in fact, Mark is his nephew and he has a strong interest in him. He knows Mark made a mistake back there in Pamphylia, but who does not make a slip sometime? "Let's give him another chance; he will make good because he is deeply sorry; I have talked to him and I know that he is determined to redeem himself."

"No," says Paul, and his jaw is set; "I would like to give him another chance, but the Cause is too great and too important to take chances on a fellow who has thrown a chance away."

So it goes. Both men are determined, and there happens the only thing that can happen under such circumstances; they separate. Paul chooses Silas as his companion, while Barnabas takes Mark with him. Barnabas was one of the biggest-hearted fellows you ever saw. His very name means, "Son of Consolation." He couldn't bear to see a fellow denied the chance to make good. Paul, himself, had been befriended in that same way by Barnabas at Jerusalem only a few years before. Humanly speaking, it was through the friendly offices of Barnabas that Paul had risen to prominence in the church.

Fellows, I am not criticizing Paul (far be it from me), because Paul was doubtless conscientious in his stand about Mark; but let me tell you fellows—don't ever miss a chance to help some poor fellow who has made a mistake, to make good. One of the finest things that will come to your experience will be seeing your touch of sympathy and encouragement put life and hope into some unfortunate "Down but not out."

What happened to Mark? Why, he made good. He made so good that Paul afterward sent for him, and he and Paul put through some great schemes together for Jesus Christ. And that was not all; one of the four Gospels bears Mark's name. Think of what an honour that was! Peter got him to help him write it. Yes, Mark made good.

I heard of a fine young fellow the other night, only eighteen years old, who because he had made a mistake—had made a bad break and lost his job—who knowing he was himself to blame—had formed some habits that contributed to his downfall—for all that was hopelessly dejected and actually saying he wished he could die. Well, what do you think of that? With all the best and biggest part of his life before him, with youth and health and loving parents, and some good friends ready to help him, wanting to die! Piffle!

Do you know, I just wanted to slap that fellow on the back and bring him to his senses. Make good? Of course he could. "Come back?" Sure! There is just one thing to do with a failure, fellows. Get on top of it with both feet and bury it—with success.

I heard of an old horse, too old and sick to work. His owner wanted to get rid of him but was unwilling to shoot him. The old horse just wouldn't die. He was that spunky. One day, he dropped into a well in the pasture, but he hit the bottom still upon his feet. His owner, thinking it a chance now to rid himself of his horse, took a shovel and began vigorously shovelling the dirt in to cover him. But as each shovel of dirt landed on the horse's back, he shook his skin, like horses do, and trod the dirt down under his feet. Soon, the horse's back appeared at the top of the well, and in another moment the old fellow climbed out and began to crop the grass.

"You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that? Come up with a smiling face. It's nothing against you to fall down flat; But to lie there—that's a disgrace.

"The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce. Be proud of your blackened eye! It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts; It's how did you fight—and why."

Fellows, what must be the opportunity for rising, to a fellow whose God says to him: "My grace is sufficient for thee; for my strength is made perfect in weakness!"

Read Acts 15:36-41.



XLIX

GREEN FRUIT

Say, fellows, did you ever spend two days making a kite and just about the time she was all ready, bridles adjusted and tail properly balanced, it set in to rain?

Can't you see that beautiful thing, done in blue, all spangled over with silver stars, leaning up there in the corner, panting for its maiden voyage into the empyrean? And you have wound on a stick a fine strong cord from the ball you purchased and hold it in your hand as you stand by the window, looking with disgust and disappointment at what seems to be developing into "a United States rain." No, son, you might as well get a book and settle down for the afternoon, for there is no kite-flying to be done to-day. Thank your silver stars if you get her up by tomorrow!

And right here, fellows, make a note of this: whenever you are balked in a scheme, stopped in your plans—right spang up against a stone wall!—ninety-nine times out of a hundred it will prove a godsend and a blessing to you in the end—IF you take it right.

I wish every fellow could get the habit under such circumstances, of stopping still a moment and saying to himself: "Hey here, this thing has a meaning—what can it be?" That will yield a better dividend than fretting over the interruption. As a rule, he will discover something he can be doing while he waits, something that immensely strengthens the main chance.

When Lord Clive, "the founder of the Empire of India," sailed from England for Madras, at the age of eighteen, all impatient to enter upon his life plan, storms overtook the ship and so far diverted her course that within a month young Clive found himself stranded in a port of Brazil instead of India. There he had to remain nine months before he resumed his voyage; but what did he do? Chafe over the interruption and delay? Bless you, no; he seized the opportunity to master the Portuguese language, which accomplishment proved to be a tremendous asset later on, in his great constructive work in India.

Paul and Silas, as they travelled through those provinces of Western Asia Minor, all afire with their great purpose of preaching the Gospel, met blank disappointment. Upon arrival at each point they were confronted with an unmistakable message from the Holy Spirit to keep their mouths shut. What could it mean? What was the use? Should they give it up? Should they sit down and sulk? No, said Paul, we will keep agoing; the Lord will show us what He wants us to do when He is ready. And sure enough, the big orders came one night in a vision to Paul, in which a man appeared and delivered to him the great Macedonian Call—the call which opened up to that patiently waiting servant "God's Greater Plan" for his life—a far more splendid one than he had ever dreamed of.

Fellows, I cannot give you any finer thing out of that period of Paul's life, so full of fine things, than the thought of patient waiting upon God's plan—His plan for you. And it does not mean to sit still; rather the contrary. "All things come to him who (hustles while he) waits." That is the revised version of an old saw, and I like it better.

Here is a sad case of a young fellow I know. He had an ambition to shine, but he wasn't willing to do the tedious grinding and polishing so vitally necessary to shining. He had a chance at college, but he also wanted to be a social lion, all too soon. He could not afford it in the first place; he couldn't spare the time from his studies, in the next place; but he spent his dad's money anyhow and he let his classes go bang. He did the social stunt—on credit. Result: he got E's and F's on his grades and he was shipped. The faculty regards that kind of a student as demoralizing to the morale of a first-class institution. In fact he could not be called a student; he was an "inmate," and it is hard to make an alumni out of inmates.

This young fellow landed back home for the summer, "out of luck," in debt, and a cruel disappointment to his doting parents. He had done the social stunt, but he picked the fruit before it was ripe, and now it's hurting him inside.

He flew his kite in the rain!

He decided he would make good by being a civil engineer. He wanted to be a civil engineer right away, but when he started in he found that the first stages of civil engineering consisted in carrying a chain and a rod up and down hill in the heat and taking orders from a smart chap who looked through a telescope and made notes, so within a few days he quit; he wasn't willing to pay the price. He thought he would play the violin, but he wasn't willing to spend hours practising the scales and simple fingering, so he laid aside the violin. He wanted to play Schubert's Serenade right off, but on learning the cost, he contented himself with whistling it.

Fellows, he is of the sort that make up the great throng of fourth-raters in the world to-day, drifting here and there; or settling down with a family on his hands and a little two-by-four job to eke out a bare living. And you fellows may as well face this fact: you've got to stint, if you're going to pull off a stunt. No stint, no stunt. Stinting is only another name for work and patience and economy combined, and it brings its inevitable fruit—Success!

Read Acts 16:6-15.



L

THE BEDOUIN SLAVE

Say, fellows, I heard a story from the banks of the Nile which stirred my blood. It may be only a legend, but it contains a big thought, and I want you to have it. All day upon the hot sands the battle had raged, and as the sun was setting a Bedouin chief fell, mortally wounded. Quickly his watchful body-servant eased his master's dying form from the back of the Arabian steed and dragged him out of the thick fighting to a protected spot where he might say his last word and die in comparative quiet. The chieftain's words were few but significant. He simply said to his man: "Go and tell Allah that I come." The loyal slave knew what it meant: only his spirit could carry a message like that, and the clay house it occupied must be destroyed before the spirit would depart.

Possibly he hesitated as his hand grasped the hilt of his dagger, for life was sweet even to a slave; back home was a slave-maid in the house of his master, and she had been promised as his bride upon return from this campaign in the valley of the Nile. Many a daydream of the future had served to shorten the tedious marches over the hot sands as he rode beside his master. Long after the camp was asleep the slave gazed at the star which seemed to guard her whose life and future were bound up in his own. But only a moment he paused; one more look at his chief, whose fast ebbing blood stained the sand upon which he lay—this chief who was not only his master by right of actual ownership, but one who had been always his benefactor and friend—one searching look into the eyes whose merest glance he had learned to interpret for a last sign of recognition; then with a firm, unfaltering hand he drew his blade and thrust it deep into his own heart, that his spirit might be free to fly "to Allah," with the announcement of his master's coming.

Now, fellows, there is something fine about that, even if it be only a romance. Loyalty that rises to the height of complete self-forgetfulness challenges the best that is in us. But, after all, the picture falls to pieces because it is built upon a false faith and a suicide. I am glad that you and I can to-day, in real life, take part in something finer—something requiring just as superb loyalty, and for a Cause that is really worth the best that is in us.

Jesus Christ is the Chief of all chieftains. His last words upon earth were, "Go ye—tell them." They were not the words of a dying chief, but of one gloriously alive and triumphant over death, the last and greatest enemy of all; not the command of one powerless in the presence of his foes, but one who could say, "All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth;" not a master who must send his obedient slave on a fearful and futile mission alone, but one who girds his courier with the assurance, "And lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world."

Saul caught a great vision of service when Jesus spoke to him in the way. Prostrate upon the ground in the blinding light, Saul did not say, "Lord, let me die!" He said, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to live and do?" You and I may say just as big and fine a thing as that to our Lord to-day. Jesus' command to Saul was in substance, "Go ye—tell them." It is the same to you and me.

Will it cost you anything to obey? Yes, it will cost you your life. But not in the hopeless way the Arab's slave gave his. Your hand is on the hilt of the dagger, but Jesus is not requiring a man so much to die for Him these days; He is calling for living couriers, those who will give their lives in life for Him. So you plunge the dagger deep into—not your heart, but your false pride—that thing which keeps you back from "announcing" your Master's Name. You plunge it deep into that thing in your life plan which would interfere with a real program of witnessing for Jesus. With God's help you stab that habit of thought or act which stifles your impulse to do His will and embarrasses you in trying to serve Him. It is what Paul meant when he said to the Galatians, "And they that are Christ's have crucified the flesh with the passions and lusts."

Fellows, every one of us can be a herald of our Master's coming to the souls about us who have not realized His near approach. No matter what our "business" or "profession," if it be a fair and honest one we can make it a help to our witnessing. There is no proper relationship in life which may not afford the opportunity to tell about Jesus Christ and His deathless love.

Saul became a messenger of Christ for his whole time. Comparatively few are called of God into the ministry; but every boy should seriously face the question, under God's guidance, whether or not he be one of those few. Take a pencil and draw a vertical line on a sheet of paper. On one side the line put down the reasons why you should go into the ministry; on the other side, the reasons why you should not. Be honest with yourself and with God. Weigh each reason, for or against, upon your knees. Ask God to give you a clear vision of the course He wants you to take. With all the earnestness of your soul, ask Him, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" Be still and listen. And then, fellows, you will hear that unmistakable but "still small voice," and He will send you forth surefooted in a path plainly marked.

Oh, fellows, it is great to have clear running orders, with such a Message and such a Master! Don't miss it.

Read Matthew 28:16-20.



* * * * * *

CHURCH AND SUNDAY SCHOOL WORK

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THE END