Love Sermon Illustrations

Love Sermon Illustrations

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Sacrificial Love

He gave His back to the smiters, the gentle Son of Man;
Then the smiters smote till their work was done,
And the thornless field was ploughed so deep
That a golden sheaf of life I reap;
'He gave Himself for Me.'

He gave His brow to the thorn-crown, the mighty Prince of Peace;
Then they soiled His face, and they bowed their knees
To the kingliest King Whose love so strong
Fills my heart with joy, my lips with song;
`He gave Himself for me.'

He gave His side to the spear-thrust, the Holy Son of God;
Then they stabbed Him deep, till water and blood
Flowed out in the stream, whose cleansing grace
Makes sinners meet for the heavenly place;
'He gave Himself for me.'

He gave His heart to the judgment, the sinless Judge of all;
Then the wrath of man and the wrath of God
Broke out in the storm that raged until
My debt was paid—my shameful bill;
'He gave Himself for me.'—A. C. Rose

(Isa. 50. 6; Lam. 1. 12; Gal. 2.20; 1 John 4. 10)

The following verses were written by Sir Cecil Arthur Spring-Rice on Jan. 12, 1918, his last night as British Ambassador in Washington, U.S.A.

I owe to thee, my country,
All earthly things above,
Entire and whole and perfect,
The service of my love,
The love that asks no questions,
The love that stands the test,
That lays upon the altar
The dearest and the best;
The love that never falters,
The love that pays the price,
The love that makes, undaunted,
The final sacrifice.

And there's another country
I've heard of long ago,
Most dear to them that love her,
Most great to them that know.
We may not count her armies,
We may not see her King;
Her fortress is a faithful heart,
Her pride is suffering.
And soul by soul, and silently,
Her shining bounds increase,
And all her ways are gentleness,
And all her paths are peace.

(2 Cor. 5. 14, 15; Phil. 3. 20, 21; Heb. 11. 15, 16)

Wonderful Love

Arriving at Chester at 2 a.m. on a cold winter's night, after a rough passage across the Irish Channel, I found I should have five or six hours to wait before the train would arrive to take me the rest of my journey.

The station is a dreary place to wait in at this hour, and season. It is cold, desolate, and terribly draughty, being open from end to end, and not a terminus. I went to the waiting-room and found an old porter, apparently the only man left on the premises at that hour, sweeping out the room. I could not help noticing his face, as it had such a happy, patient look.

`Are you here all night?' I said.

`For many, many years, sir, I've been on night duty here; but I'm almost worn out now.'

`It must be very cold for you, you don't look very strong.'

No, sir, I'm not, and I'm almost racked to death with the rheumatics, but oh, sir, I've had such a blessed time this night, although the cold has gone right through my old bones.'

Curious to know, and but half suspecting the old porter's source of comfort, I said that there was not much comfort in being frozen to death with cold.

'Oh! sir,' said the old man, his face all lighting up, 'it is not that, but what I've been a-thinking of before you came in was that blessed Jesus; and what love it was of Him to go and take a body that could feel, and go through all His sorrow and suffering down here that He might be able to understand all my cold and pain this night, while He's up there in Heaven. I know His feeling for me, and He knows and understands all I suffer; and when I think of Him a-feeling for me and loving me up there, I seem as if I didn't half mind the pain. Oh! 'tis a wonderful thing—His love—isn't it, sir?'

Through God's mercy I was enabled to share my fellow-pilgrim's enjoyment of the Good Shepherd's love, and a happy time we spent together talking of the One dear to both our hearts.—Dr. A. T. Schofield

(Gal. 2. 20; Heb. 2. 18; 4. 15)

Love's Language

In his Child's History of England, Charles Dickens tells the following interesting story:

This is the romance of the father and mother of Thomas a Becket who, for asserting and maintaining that the power of the clergy was superior to the king's power, was murdered by the knights of Henry II in Canterbury Cathedral of which he was Archbishop.

Gilbert Becket, Thomas A Becket's father, a London merchant, made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and was taken prisoner by a Saracen lord who had one fair daughter. She fell in love with him and told him she wanted to marry him, and was willing to become a Christian if they could escape to a Christian country. He returned her love till he found an opportunity to escape with his servant Richard, and returned to England. Then he forgot the fair Saracen maiden.

But the Saracen lady had not forgotten Gilbert. She left her father's house in disguise to follow him and made her way to the coast. The merchant had taught her two English words, 'London' and 'Gilbert'. She went among the ships, saying again and again the same word 'London'. Sailors showed her a ship bound for London, and she paid her passage with some of her jewels and arrived in London.

As the merchant was sitting one day in his office, Richard, his servant, came running in, saying, 'Master! there is the Saracen lady. As I live, she is going up and down calling "Gilbert! Gilbert!”' The merchant saw her in the crowd and went to her. She saw him and fainted in his arms. Soon after they were married.

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