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<h4 style="text-align: center">
A Sermon<br>
(No. 109)<br>
Delivered on Sabbath Morning, December 21, 1856, by the<br>
REV. C. H. SPURGEON<br>
at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.<br>
</h4>
<p class="scripture">
"Go home to thy friends, and tell them how great things the
Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion on
thee."— <a onClick="return mV('Mar', 5, 19);">Mar 5:19</a>
</p>
<p class="indent">
THE CASE of the man here referred to is a very extraordinary
one: it occupies a place among the memorabilia of Christ's
life, perhaps as high as anything which is recorded by either
of the evangelists. This poor wretch being possessed with a
legion of evil spirits had been driven to something worse than
madness. He fixed his home among the tombs, where he dwelt by
night and day, and was the terror of all those who passed by.
The authorities had attempted to curb him; he had been bound
with fetters and chains, but in the paroxysms of his madness he
had torn the chains in sunder, and broken the fetters in
pieces. Attempts had been made to reclaim him; but no man could
tame him. He was worse than the wild beasts, for they might be
tamed; but his fierce nature would not yield. He was a misery
to himself, for he would run upon the mountains by night and
day, crying and howling fearfully, cutting himself with the
sharp flints, and torturing his poor body in the most frightful
manner. Jesus Christ passed by; he said to the devils, "Come
out of him." The man was healed in a moment; he fell down at
Jesus' feet; he became a rational being—an intelligent
man, yea, what is more, a convert to the Saviour. Out of
gratitude to his deliverer, he said, "Lord, I will follow thee
whithersoever thou goest; I will be thy constant companion and
thy servant; permit me so to be." "No," said Christ, "I esteem
your motive; it is one of gratitude to me; but if you would
show your gratitude, 'go home to thy friends and tell them how
great things the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had
compassion on thee.'"
</p>
<p class="indent">
Now, this teaches us a very important fact, namely, this, that
true religion does not break in sunder the bonds of family
relationship. True religion seldom encroaches upon that sacred,
I had almost said divine institution called <i>home</i>; it
does not separate men from their families, and make them aliens
to their flesh and blood. Superstition has done that; an awful
superstition, which calls itself Christianity, has sundered men
from their kind; but true religion has never done so. Why, if I
might be allowed to do such a thing, I would seek out the
hermit in his lonely cavern, and I would go to him and say,
"Friend, if thou art what thou dost profess to be, a true
servant of the living God, and not a hypocrite, as I guess thou
art—if thou art a true believer in Christ, and would show
forth what he has done for thee, upset that pitcher, eat the
last piece of thy bread, leave this dreary cave, wash thy face,
untie thy hempen girdle; and if thou wouldst show thy
gratitude, go home to thy friends, and tell them what great
things the Lord hath done for thee. Canst thou edify the sere
leaves of the forest? Can the beasts learn to adore that God
whom thy gratitude should strive to honor? Dost thou hope to
convert these rocks, and wake the echoes into songs? Nay, go
back; dwell with thy friends, reclaim thy kinship with men, and
unite again with thy fellows, for this is Christ's approved way
of showing gratitude." And I would go to every monastery and
every nunnery, and say to the monks, 'Come out brethren, come
out! If you are what you say you are, servants of God, go home
to your friends. No more of this absurd discipline; it is not
Christ's rule; you are acting differently from what he would
have you; go home to your friends!" And to the sisters of mercy
we would say, "Be sisters of mercy to your own sisters; go home
to your friends; take care of your aged parents; turn your own
houses into convents; do not sit here nursing your pride by a
disobedience to Christ's rule, which says, "go home to thy
friends." "Go home to thy friends, and tell them how great
things the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion on
thee." The love of a solitary and ascetic life, which is by
some considered to be a divine virtue, is neither more nor less
than a disease of the mind. In the ages when there was but
little benevolence, and consequently few hands to build lunatic
asylums, superstition supplied the lack of charity, and silly
men and women were allowed the indulgence of their fancies in
secluded haunts or in easy laziness. Young has most truly
said,—
</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
"The first sure symptoms of a mind in health<br>
Are rest of heart and pleasure found at home."
</p>
<p>
Avoid, my friends, above all things, those romantic and absurd
conceptions of virtue which are the offspring of superstition
and the enemies of righteousness. Be not without natural
affection, but love those who are knit to you by time of
nature.
</p>
<p class="indent">
True religion cannot be inconsistent with nature. It never can
demand that I should abstain from weeping when my friend is
dead. "Jesus wept." It cannot deny me the privilege of a smile,
when providence looks favorably upon me; for once "Jesus
rejoiced in the spirit, and said, Father, I thank thee." It
does not make a man say to his father and mother, "I am no
longer your son." That is not Christianity, but something worse
than what beasts would do, which would lead us to be entirely
sundered from our fellows, to walk among them as if we had no
kinship with them. To all who think a solitary life must be a
life of piety, I would say, "It is the greatest delusion." To
all who think that those must be good people who snap the ties
of relationship, let us say, "Those are the best who maintain
them." Christianity makes a husband a better husband, it makes
a wife a better wife than she was before. It does not free me
from my duties as a son; it makes me a better son, and my
parents better parents. Instead of weakening my love, it gives
me fresh reason for my affection; and he whom I loved before as
my father, I now love as my brother and co-worker in Christ
Jesus; and she whom I reverenced as my mother, I now love as my
sister in the covenant of grace, to be mine for ever in the
state that is to come. Oh! suppose not, any of you, that
Christianity was ever meant to interfere with households; it is
intended to cement them, and to make them households which
death itself shall never sever, for it binds them up in the
bundle of life with the Lord their God, and re-unites the
several individuals on the other side of the flood.
</p>
<p class="indent">
Now, I will just tell you the reason why I selected my text. I
thought within myself, there are a large number of young men
who always come to hear me preach; they always crowd the aisles
of my chapel, and many of them have been converted to God. Now,
here is Christmas-day come round again, and they are going home
to see their friends. When they get home they will want a
Christmas Carol in the evening; I think I will suggest one to
them—more especially to such of them as have been lately
converted. I will give them a theme for their discourse on
Christmas evening; it may not be quite so amusing as "The Wreck
of the Golden Mary," but it will be quite as interesting to
Christian people. It shall be this: "Go home and tell your
friends what the Lord hath done for your souls, and how he hath
had compassion on you." For my part, I wish there were twenty
Christmas days in the year. It is seldom that young men can
meet with their friends; it is rarely they can all be united as
happy families; and though I have no respect to the religious
observance of the day, yet I love it as a family institution,
as one of England's brightest days, the great Sabbath of the
year, when the plough rests in its furrow, when the din of
business is hushed, when the mechanic and the working man go
out to refresh themselves upon the green award of the glad
earth. If any of you are masters you will pardon me for the
digression, when I most respectfully beg you to pay your
servants the same wages on Christmas-day as if they were at
work. I am sure it will make their houses glad if you will do
so. It is unfair for you to make them feast or fast, unless you
give them wherewithal to feast and make themselves glad on that
day of joy.
</p>
<p class="indent">
But now to come to the subject. We are going home to see our
friends, and here is the story some of us have to tell. "Go
home to thy friends, and tell them how great things the Lord
hath done for them, and hath had compassion on thee." First,
<i>here is what they are to tell</i>; secondly, <i>why they are
to tell it</i>; and then thirdly, <i>how they ought to tell
it</i>.
</p>
<p class="indent">
I. First, then, HERE IS WHAT THEY ARE TO TELL. It is to be a
story of <i>personal experience</i>. "Go home to thy friends,
and tell them how great things the Lord hath done for thee, and
hath had compassion on thee." You are not to repair to your
houses and forthwith begin to preach. That you are not
commanded to do. You are not to begin to take up doctrinal
subjects and expatiate on them, and endeavour to bring persons
to your peculiar views and sentiments. You are not to go home
with sundry doctrines you have lately learned, and try to teach
these. At least you are not commanded so to do; you may, if you
please, and none shall hinder you; but you are to go home and
tell not what you have believed, but what you have
<i>felt</i>—what you really know to be your own; not what
great things you have read, but what great things the Lord hath
<i>done for you</i>; not alone what you have seen done in the
great congregation, and how great sinners have turned to God,
but what the Lord has done for <i>you</i>. And mark this: there
is never a more interesting story than that which a man tells
about himself. The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner derives much of
its interest because the man who told it was himself the
mariner. He sat down, that man whose finger was skinny, like
the finger of death, and began to tell that dismal story of the
ship at sea in the great calm, when slimy things did crawl with
legs over the shiny sea. The Wedding guest sat still to listen,
for the old man was himself a story. There is always a great
deal of interest excited by a personal narrative. Virgil, the
poet, knew this, and therefore he wisely makes Aeneas tell his
own story, and makes him begin it by saying, "In which I also
had a great part myself." So if you would interest your
friends, tell them what you felt yourself. Tell them how you
were once a lost abandoned sinner, how the Lord met with you,
how you bowed your knees, and poured out your soul before God,
and how at last you leaped with joy, for you thought you heard
him say within you, "I, even I, am he that blotteth out thy
transgressions for my name's sake." Tell your friends a story
of your own personal experience.
</p>
<p class="indent">
Note, next, it must be a story of <i>free grace</i>. It is not,
"Tell thy friends how great things thou hast done thyself," but
"how great things <i>the Lord</i> hath done for thee." The man
who always dwells upon free will and the power of the creature,
and denies the doctrines of grace, invariably mixes up a great
deal of what he has done himself in telling his experience; but
the believer in free grace, who holds the great cardinal truths
of the gospel, ignores this, and declares, "I will tell what
the Lord hath done for me. It is true I must tell how I was
first made to pray; but I will tell it thus—
</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
'Grace taught my soul to pray,<br>
Grace made my eyes o'erflow.'
</p>
<p>
It is true, I must tell in how many troubles and trials God has
been with me; but I will tell it thus:—
</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
''Twas grace which kept me to this day,<br>
And will not let me go.'"
</p>
<p>
He says nothing about his own doings, or willings, or prayings,
or seekings, but he ascribes it all to the love and grace of
the great God who looks on sinners in love, and makes them his
children, heirs of everlasting life. Go home, you man, and tell
the poor sinner's story; go home, young woman, and open your
diary, and give your friends stories of grace. Tell them of the
mighty works of God's hand which he hath wrought in you from
his own free, sovereign, undeserved love. Make it a free grace
story around your family fire.
</p>
<p class="indent">
In the next place, this poor man's tale was a <i>grateful</i>
story. I know it was grateful, because the man said, "I will
tell thee how great things the Lord hath done for me;" and (not
meaning a pun in the least degree) I may observe, that a man
who is grateful is always full of the greatness of the mercy
which God has shown him; he always thinks that what God has
done for him is immensely good and supremely great. Perhaps
when you are telling the story one of your friends will say,
"And what of that?" And your answer will be, "It may not be a
great thing to you, but it is to me. You say it is little to
repent, but I have not found it so; it is a great and precious
thing to be brought to know myself to be a sinner, and to
confess it; do you say it is a little thing to have found a
Saviour." Look them in the face and say, "If you had found him
too you would not think it little. You think it little I have
lost the burden from my back; but if you had suffered with it,
and felt its weight as I have for many a long year, you would
think it no little thing to be emancipated and free, through a
sight of the cross." Tell them it is a great story, and if they
cannot see its greatness shed great tears, and tell it to them
with great earnestness, and I hope they may be brought to
believe that you at least are grateful, if they are not. May
God grant that you may tell a grateful story. No story is more
worth hearing than a tale of gratitude.
</p>
<p class="indent">
And lastly, upon this point: it must be a tale told by a poor
sinner who feels himself <i>not to have deserved</i> what he
has received. "How he hath had <i>compassion</i> on thee." It
was not a mere act of kindness, but and act of free compassion
towards one who was in misery. Oh! I have heard men tell the
story of their conversion and of their spiritual life in such a
way that my heart hath loathed <i>them</i> and their story too,
for they have told of their sins as if they did boast in the
greatness of their crime, and they have mentioned the love of
God not with a tear of gratitude, not with the simple
thanksgiving of the really humble heart, but as if they as much
exalted themselves as they exalted God. Oh! when we tell the
story of our own conversion, I would have it done with deep
sorrow, remembering what we used to be, and with great joy and
gratitude, remembering how little we deserve these things, I
was once preaching upon conversion and salvation, and I felt
within myself, as preachers often do, that it was but dry work
to tell this story, and a dull, dull tale it was to me; but on
a sudden the thought crossed my mind, "Why, you are a poor lost
ruined sinner yourself; tell it, tell it, as you received it;
begin to tell of the grace of God as you trust you feel it
yourself." Why, then, my eyes began to be fountains of tears;
those hearers who had nodded their heads began to brighten up,
and they listened, because they were hearing something which
the man felt himself, and which they recognised as being true
to him, if it was not true in them. Tell your story, my
hearers, as lost sinners. Do not go to your home, and walk into
your house with a supercilious air, as much as to say, "Here's
a saint come home to the poor sinners, to tell them a story;"
but go home like a poor sinner yourself; and when you go in,
your mother remembers what you used to be, you need not tell
her there is a change—she will notice it, if it is only
one day you are with her; and perhaps she will say, "John, what
is this change that is in you?" and if she is a pious mother,
you will begin to tell her the story, and I know, man though
you are, you will not blush when I say it, she will put her
arms round your neck, and kiss you as she never did before, for
you are her twice-born son, hers from whom she shall never
part, even though death itself shall divide you for a brief
moment. "Go home, then, and tell your friends what great things
the Lord hath done for you, and how he hath had compassion on
you."
</p>
<p class="indent">
II. But now, in the second place, WHY SHOULD WE TELL THIS
STORY? For I hear many of my congregation say, "Sir, I could
relate that story to any one sooner than I could to my own
friends; I could come to your vestry, and tell you something of
what I have tasted and handled of the Word of God; but I could
not tell my father, nor my mother, nor my brethren, nor my
sisters." Come, then; I will try and argue with you, to induce
you to do so, that I may send you home this Christmas-day, to
be missionaries in the localities to which you belong, and to
be real preachers, though you are not so by name. Dear friends,
do tell this story when you go home.
</p>
<p class="indent">
First, for <i>your Master's sake</i>. Oh! I know you love him;
I am sure you do, if you have proof that he loved you. You can
never think of Gethsemane and of its bloody sweat, of Gabbatha
and of the mangled back of Christ, flayed by the whip: you can
never think of Calvary and his pierced hands and feet, without
loving him; and it is a strong argument when I say to you, for
his dear sake who loved you so much, go home and tell it. What!
do you think we can have so much done for us, and yet not tell
it? Our children, if anything should be done for them, do not
stay many minutes before they are telling all the company,
"such an one hath give me such a present, and bestowed on me
such-and-such a favor." And should the children of God be
backward in declaring how they were saved when their feet made
haste to hell, and how redeeming mercy snatched them as brands
from the burning? You love Jesus, young man! I put it to you,
then, will you refuse to tell the tale of his love to you?
Shall your lips be dumb, when his honor is concerned? Will you
not, wherever you go, tell of the God who loved you and died
for you? This poor man, we are told, "Departed and began to
publish in Decapolis how great things Jesus had done for him,
and all men did marvel." So with you. If Christ has done much
for you, you cannot help it—you must tell it. My esteemed
friend, Mr. Oncken, a minister in Germany told us last Monday
evening, that so soon as he was converted himself, the first
impulse of his new-born soul was to do good to others. And
where should he do that good? Well, he thought he would go to
Germany. It was his own native land, and he thought the command
was, "Go home to thy friends and tell them." Well, there was
not a single Baptist in all Germany, nor any with whom he could
sympathise, for the Lutherans had swerved from the faith of
Luther, and gone aside from the truth of God. But he went there
and preached, and he has now seventy or eighty churches
established on the continent. What made him do it? Nothing but
love for his Master, who had done so much for him, could have
forced him to go and tell his kinsmen the marvellous tale of
Divine goodness.
</p>
<p class="indent">
But, in the next place, are your friends pious? Then go home
and tell them, in order <i>to make their hearts glad</i>. I
received last night a short epistle written with a trembling
hand by one who is past the natural age of man, living in the
country of Essex. His son, under God, had been converted by
hearing the Word preached, and the good man could not help
writing to the minister, thanking <i>him</i>, and blessing most
of all, his God, that his son had been regenerated. "Sir," he
begins, "an old rebel writes to thank you, and above all to
thank his God, that his dear son has been converted." I shall
treasure up that epistle. It goes on to say, "Go on! and the
Lord bless you." And there was another case I heard some time
ago, where a young woman went home to her parents, and when her
mother saw her, she said, "There! if the minister had made me a
present of all London, I should not have thought so much of it
as I do of this—to think that you have really become a
changed character, and are living in the fear of God." Oh! if
you want to make your mother's heart leap within her, and to
make your father glad—if you would make that sister happy
who sent you so many letters, which sometimes you read against
a lamp-post, with your pipe in your mouth—go home and tell
your mother that her wishes are all accomplished, that her
prayers are heard, that you will no longer chaff her about her
Sunday-school class, and no longer laugh at her because she
loves the Lord, but that you will go with her to the house of
God, for you love God, and you have said, "Your people shall be
my people, and your God shall be my God, for I have a hope that
your heaven shall be my heaven for ever." Oh! what a happy
thing it would be if some here who had gone astray, should thus
go home! It was my privilege a little while ago to preach for a
noble institution for the reception of women who had led
abandoned lives—and before I preached the sermon I prayed
to God to bless it, and in the printed sermon you will notice
that at the end of it there is an account of two persons who
were blessed by that sermon and restored. Now, let me tell you
a story of what happened to Mr. Vanderkist, a city missionary,
who toils all night long to do good in that great work. There
had been a drunken broil in the street; he stepped between the
men to part them, and said something to a woman who stood there
concerning how dreadful a thing it was that men should thus be
intemperate. She walked with him a little way, and he with her,
and she began to tell him such a tale of woe and sin
too—how she had been lured away from her parents' home in
Somersetshire, and have been brought up here to her soul's
eternal hurt. He took her home with him, and taught her the
fear and love of Christ; and what was the first thing she did,
when she returned to the paths of godliness, and found Christ
to be the sinner's Saviour? She said, "Now, I must go home to
my friends." Her friends were written to; they came to meet her
at the station at Bristol, and you can hardly conceive what a
happy meeting it was. The father and mother had lost their
daughter, they had never heard from her; and there she was,
brought back by the agency of this institution<sup><a href="#note1">1</a></sup>, and restored
to the bosom of her family. Ah! if such an one be here! I know
not; among such a multitude there may be such an one. Woman!
hast thou strayed from thy family? Hast thou left them long?
"Go home to thy friends," I beseech thee, ere thy father
totters to his grave, and ere thy mother's grey hairs sleep on
the snow-white pillow of her coffin. Go back. I beseech thee!
Tell her thou art penitent; tell her that God hath met with
thee—that the young minister said, "Go back to thy
friends." And if so, I shall not blush to have said these
things, though you may think I ought not to have mentioned
them; for if I may but win one such soul, I will bless God to
all eternity. "Go home to thy friends. Go home and tell them
how great things the Lord hath done for thee." Cannot you
imagine the scene, when the poor demoniac mentioned in my text
went home? He had been a raving madman; and when he came and
knocked at the door, don't you think you see his friends
calling to one another in affright, "Oh! there he is again,"
and the mother running up stairs and locking all the doors,
because her son had come back that was raving mad; and the
little ones crying because they knew what he had been
before—how he cut himself with stones, because he was
possessed with devils. And can you picture their joy, when the
man said, "Mother! Jesus Christ has healed me; let me in; I am
no lunatic now!" And when the father opened the door, he said,
"Father! I am not what I was; all the evil spirits are gone; I
shall live in the tombs no longer. I want to tell you how the
glorious man who wrought my deliverance accomplished the
miracle—how he said to the devils, 'Get ye hence,' and
they ran down a steep place into the sea, an I am come home
healed and saved." Oh! if such an one, possessed with sin, were
here this morning, and would go home to his friends, to tell
them of his release, methinks this scene would be somewhat
similar.
</p>
<p class="indent">
Once more, dear friends. I hear one of you say. "Ah! Sir, would
to God I could go home to pious friends! But when I go home I
go into the worst of places; for my home is amongst those who
never knew God themselves, and consequently never prayed for
me, and never taught me anything concerning heaven." Well,
young man, go home to your friends. If they are ever so bad
they are your friends. I sometimes meet with young men wishing
to join the church, who say, when I ask them about their
father, "Oh, sir, I am parted from my father." Then I say,
"Young man, you may just go and see your father before I have
anything to do with you; if you are at ill-will with your
father and mother I will not receive you into the church; if
they are ever so bad they are <i>your parents</i>." Go home to
them, and tell them, not to make them glad, for they will very
likely be angry with you; but tell them <i>for their soul's
salvation</i>. I hope, when you are telling the story of what
God did for you, that they will be led by the Spirit to desire
the same mercy themselves. But I will give you a piece of
advice. Do not tell this story to your ungodly friends when
they are all together, for they will laugh at you. Take them
one by one, when you can get them alone, and begin to tell it
to them, and they will hear you seriously. There was once a
very pious lady who kept a lodging-house for young men. All the
young men were very gay and giddy, and she wanted to say
something to them concerning religion. She introduced the
subject, and it was passed off immediately with a laugh. She
thought within herself, "I have made a mistake." The next
morning, after breakfast, when they were all going, she said to
one of them, "Sir, I should like to speak with you a moment or
two," and taking him aside into another room she talked with
him. The next morning she took another, and the next morning
another, and it pleased God to bless her simple statement, when
it was given individually: but, without doubt, if she had
spoken to them altogether, they would have backed each other up
in laughing her to scorn. Reprove a man alone. A verse may hit
him whom a sermon flies. You may be the means of bringing a man
to Christ who has often heard the Word and only laughed at it,
but who cannot resist a gentle admonition. In one of the states
of America, there was an infidel who was a great despiser of
God, a hater of the Sabbath and all religious institutions.
What to do with him the ministers did not know. They met
together and prayed for him. But among the rest, one Elder
B_____ resolved to spend a long time in prayer for the man;
after that he got on horseback, and rode down to the man's
forge, for he was a blacksmith. He left his horse outside, and
said, "Neighbour, I am under very great concern about your
soul's salvation; I tell you I pray day and night for your
soul's salvation." He left him, and rode home on his horse. The
man went inside to his house after a minute or two, and said to
one of his faithful friends, "Here's a new argument; here's
Elder B_____ been down here, he did not dispute, and never said
a word to me except this, 'I say, I am under great concern
about your soul; I cannot bear that you should be lost.' Oh!
that fellow," he said, "I cannot answer him;" and the tears
began to roll down his cheeks. He went to his wife, and said,
"I can't make this out; I never cared about my soul, but here's
an elder, that has no connection with me, but I have always
laughed at him, and he has come five miles this morning on
horseback just to tell me he is under concern about my
salvation. After a little while he thought it was time he
should be under concern about his salvation too. He went in,
shut the door, began to pray, and the next day he was at the
deacon's house, telling him that he too was under concern about
his salvation, and asking him to tell him what he must do to be
saved. Oh! that the everlasting God might make use of some of
those now present in the same way, that they might be induced
to
</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
"Tell to others round<br>
What a dear Saviour they have found;<br>
To point to his redeeming blood,<br>
And say, Behold the way to God!"
</p>
<p class="indent">
III. I shall not detain you much longer; but there is a third
point, upon which we must be very brief. HOW IS THIS STORY TO
BE TOLD?
</p>
<p class="indent">
First, <i>tell it truthfully</i>. Do not tell more than you
know; do not tell John Bunyan's experience, when you ought to
tell your own. Do not tell your mother you have felt what only
Rutherford felt. Tell her no more than the truth. Tell your
experience truthfully; for mayhap one single fly in the pot of
ointment will spoil it, and one statement you may make which is
not true may ruin it all. Tell the story truthfully.
</p>
<p class="indent">
In the next place, <i>tell it very humbly</i>. I have said that
before. Do not intrude yourselves upon those who are older, and
know more; but tell your story humbly; not as a preacher, not
<i>ex-cathedra</i>, but as a friend and as a son.
</p>
<p class="indent">
Next, <i>tell it very earnestly</i>. Let them see you mean it.
Do not talk about religion flippantly; you will do not good if
you do. Do not make puns on texts; do not quote Scripture by
way of joke: if you do, you may talk till you are dumb, you
will do no good, if you in the least degree give them occasion
to laugh by laughing at holy things yourself. Tell it very
earnestly.
</p>
<p class="indent">
And then, <i>tell it very devoutly</i>. Do not try to tell your
tale to man till you have told it first to God. When you are at
home on Christmas-day, let no one see your face till God has
seen it. Be up in the morning, wrestle with God; and if you
friends are not converted, <i>wrestle with God for them</i>;
and then you will find it easy work to <i>wrestle with them for
God</i>. Seek, if you can, to get them one by one, and tell
them the story. Do not be afraid; only think of the good you
may possibly do. Remember, he that saves a soul from death hath
covereth a multitude of sins, and he shall have stars in his
crown for ever and ever. Seek to be under God—Saviours in
your family, to be the means of leading your own beloved
brethren and sisters to seek and to find the Lord Jesus Christ,
and then one day, when you shall meet in Paradise, it will be a
joy and blessedness to think that you are there, and that your
friends are there too, whom God will have made you the
instrument of saving. Let your reliance in the Holy Spirit be
entire and honest. Trust not yourself, but fear not to trust
him. He can give you words. He can apply those words to their
heart, and so enable you to "minister grace to the hearers."
</p>
<p class="indent">
To close up, by a short, and I think, a pleasant turning of the
text, to suggest another meaning to it. Soon, dear friends,
very soon with some of us, the Master will say, "Go home to thy
friends." You know where the home is. It is up above the stars.
</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
"Where our best friends, our kindred dwell,<br>
Where God our Saviour reigns."
</p>
<p class="indent">
Yon grey-headed man has buried all his friends; he has said, "I
shall go to them, but they will not return to me." Soon his
Master will say, "Thou hast had enough tarrying here in this
vale of tears: goo home to thy friends!" Oh! happy hour! Oh!
blessed moment, when that shall be the word—"Go home to
thy friends!" And when we go home to our friends in Paradise,
what shall we do? Why, first we will repair to that blest seat
where Jesus sits, take off our crown and cast it at his feet,
and crown him Lord of all. And when we have done that, what
shall be our next employ? Why, we will tell the blessed ones in
heaven what the Lord hath done for us, and how he hath had
compassion on us. And shall such a tale be told in heaven?
Shall that be the Christmas Carol of the angels? Yes, it shall
be; it has been published there before—blush not to tell
it yet again—for Jesus has told it before, "When he cometh
home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying
unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was
lost." And thou, poor sheep, when thou shall be gathered in,
wilt thou not tell how thy Shepherd sought thee, and how he
found thee? Will thou not sit in the grassy meads of heaven,
and tell the story of thine own redemption? Wilt thou not talk
with thy brethren and thy sisters, and tell them how God loved
thee and hath brought thee there? Perhaps thou sayest, "It will
be a very short story." Ah! it would be if you could write now.
A little book might be the whole of your biography; but up
there when your memory shall be enlarged, when your passion
shall be purified and your understanding clear, you will find
that what was but a tract on earth will be a huge tome in
heaven. You will tell a long story there of God's sustaining,
restraining, constraining grace, and I think that when you
pause to let another tell his tale, and then another, and then
another, you will at last, when you have been in heaven a
thousand years, break out and exclaim, "O saints, I have
something else to say." Again they will tell their tales, and
again you will interrupt them with "Oh, beloved, I have thought
of another case of God's delivering mercy." And so you will go
on, giving them themes for songs, finding them the material for
the warp and woof of heavenly sonnets. "Go home," he will soon
say, "go home to thy friends, and tell them how great things
the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion on thee."
Wait awhile; tarry his leisure, and ye shall soon be gathered
to the land of the hereafter, to the home of the blessed, where
endless felicity shall be thy portion. God grant a blessing for
his name's sake!
</p>
<p>
</p>
<ol>
<li>
<a name="note1"></a>The London Female Dormitory.
<p>
</p>
</li>
</ol>
<br>
<br>
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