I have known the Lord for many years and say that what counts for me is not only what Jesus Christ meant to me years ago, but what He means to me today. I hope He means more to me today than when I bowed the knee to Him.
I was not brought up in a Bible-loving home, nor did I attend any church or Sunday School where the Word of God was taught. My home, however, was a good home, a working home, a poor home, and a home where my mother loved my father and my father loved my mother. I cannot overemphasize that. I find it very difficult to say much about my early years without giving a wrong impression. But any impressions I have of my parents are good ones, and I thank God for that.
My father was a founding member of the old Independent Labor Party. Consequently my home was as “red” as it could be. If I learned any song, it would be the “Red Flag” and the “Internationale.” If I learned anything, it was Communism.
My father was gassed in the First World War, and we did not see much of him. It was not long before he left this scene, and I do not know if I shall ever see him again. I recall the words of the poet, “Twixt the saddle and the ground, mercy sought and mercy found.” How can I know what happened on his deathbed?
If we had poverty before, then we were going to have more of it after he died. I can see my mother bending over a washtub, scrubbing clothes. There came times when she could not meet the bills, but never once did she send us to answer a call from the baker or butcher to say that she was not in, or that she could not pay. She worked hard to pay the bills, and keep out of debt. She hated debt, and we as children learned to hate debt. I know there is a world of difference between a Christian home and a good home, but ours was at least a good one.
Things were rough, so I left school before the age of 14. I went away with the boxing group of a fair ground, and fought anyone who would fight me to make a shilling or two. I assure you that nothing of God or good is seen in such circles.
Eventually I returned home and tried to settle down. Some time after, a friend asked me what I was doing on the Sunday. I answered that I was doing nothing, but inquired why. He replied that he had been going to a little Gospel Hall and would like me to come as well.
“A Gospel Hall!” I said, “Not me! You won’t see me in a place like that.” Seeking to persuade me, my friend explained that I would enjoy it. They give you a meal, and encourage you to remain for the evening gospel meeting. He even suggested that
I could come for the Bible class early, get the tea, and leave the gospel meeting early.
I went with him. We walked down a little alley, climbed up a stairway, entered and sat down. They sang a few little choruses with which I was unfamiliar. The leader then began to pray. I had had enough; I stood up and left right in the middle of his prayer. I can say this, however, that in spite of my exit, I had made a link, and those believers began praying for me.
Some time later, on a Saturday night, I went into a pub to have a drink. As I was at the bar, a Salvation Army lassie came in to sell their paper, the War Cry. When she asked me to buy one, I agreed to–on one condition–that she stand on the table and sing a song. I intended making a fool of her, and never expected her to agree. I thought that even if she did, the song would be “Daisy Bell,” or some popular song. Putting me on the spot, she said she would if I would get the men to be quiet. That was a different matter! I didn’t want to be seen as the chairman of a religious meeting in the pub where I was drinking. However, having been put on the spot, I said, “Silence, boys! The girl is going to sing.” The words she sang were these:
On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suff’ring and shame;
And I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.
I had never heard such words in my life. As I looked at the face of that lassie, I said to myself, “Boy, what a fool you have been. You tried to make a fool of her, and she has made one of you.” I realized that here was a girl for whom the things of God were absolutely real. Jesus Christ certainly meant something to her.
Until that night in the Five Ways Pub, I used to think that being a Christian meant you were a sissy. Here was a girl who was certainly not weak. To stand in front of cursing, drinking men and sing of Jesus, she had more backbone than I had. I would have fought any of them, but never could have stood to do a thing like that. Here was a girl who was the answer to all I had said about “religion.” I used to believe that religion was the opiate of the people. It kept them from rising against employers or society because if God wanted it that way, well, so it would be. It was not the belief for a boxer.
I was deeply moved, but I was not converted then. Time passed by. Then early in the month of July, one evening, on my way for a drink, I saw a marquee being put up just opposite the pub. I wondered what was going on. A circus perhaps. But the tent was too small for that purpose. I went up to it and inquired. “We’re going to have a gospel mission. Would you come?”
I promptly replied, “Oh! no, not me. Goodbye,” and I was gone.
Another evening, on my way to the pub, I passed the tent and heard singing. I leaned against the fence and listened. I must confess the singing was rather bright and not what I really expected. I did not know what they were singing, but I said to myself that it was rather attractive. However, I did not go in.
Another evening, on the same journey to the pub, I saw a young lady coming toward me, giving out tracts. At the time, I did not know what they were, but observed that every time she met someone, she stopped, spoke with them, and gave them something. I concluded that, whatever it was, she would give me one. Sure enough, she did. She also invited me to the gospel service held in the tent down at the bottom of the hill.
I refused the invitation with the words, “No, I don’t want to go there.” However, the young lady kept on. I know what I’m talking about–that young lady is now my wife! She pressed me. I decided that I would go.
I entered the tent and sat at the back. I spent a pleasant evening, really. Yet I left the meeting not remembering a word of what the preacher had said. I’ll say this, however, if you will understand and pardon the expression, “There was a good taste left in my mind.” I later found that one of the fellowships responsible for the mission was the little Gospel Hall where I had gone before and left halfway into a prayer. But for many months they had prayed for me.
There were no collections, no pressing for anything, good singing and a nice crowd. I thought, “Well, it wasn’t so bad after all. Perhaps I’ll come back again.” So I went again and again. I started sitting at the back, but it was not long before I was at the front.
One evening, I spoke to the evangelist, brother Victor Cyril. “Surely you don’t believe all this nonsense you were preaching about, do you?”
“As a matter of fact, young man, I don’t think it is nonsense. I do believe it.”
“Ah,” said I, “it’s a jolly good job you’ve got. How much do you get?”
“As a matter of fact, young man, I don’t get a stipend at all.”
I had met a man, the likes of which I had never met before. He had given up his business, preferring to serve God, never taking anything “of the Gentiles.” He looked only to the Lord to meet his needs. I could not say to him what I had said about some preachers.
As the preacher looked at me, he asked if I still did not believe the Bible.
I replied, “Ah, no, that old book, I don’t believe it. It is just a pack of contradictions.”
“That’s interesting. Could you show me one?”
“I could show you 101,” I replied.
He then invited me to sit down with him and asked, “Now which is the first one?” I told him he knew the first one, the one every ignoramus trots out in similar circumstances. “You say everybody originated from Adam and Eve. Now Adam had two sons, and one killed the other, then trotted off and married someone. Whom did he marry?”
“Now just a minute,” he replied, “you said you would show me,” handing me his Bible. Now this was a different matter. I knew the story of Adam and Eve, but I could not tell where it was found. I looked in the book of Revelation for the first chapter of Genesis.
Finally, “Young man, is this what you mean?” He opened his Bible and showed me that Adam did not have only two sons. In fact the most important one was Seth. Then he showed me from Chapter 5:4, that Adam had sons and daughters.
He not only told me, he showed me from the Word of God. I did not know what to say to him. “Well,” he said, “that’s one, and we have 100 more coming up. What’s the next one?”
“Well, you know the next one.” I went to the story of Joseph. I told him the Bible says in one part that he was sold to the Ishmaelites, and in another part to the Midianites. “To whom was he sold?” I asked.
He reminded me again that I had promised to show him. However, I had not the faintest idea where to find the story of Joseph. Finally, he opened to the passage and explained it to me. I didn’t know what to say.
“Well, we have 99 more to come. Let’s have the third,” he said. Oh! I thought I would be better getting out of that Old Testament; it was a bit out of my depth.
I went to the New Testament and the story of Bartimaeus. The question was, “Did Jesus meet Bartimaeus before or after Jericho?” Again, as he handed me his Bible with the reminder of my promise to show him, I had not the foggiest idea where to find the story. Then he showed me, explaining that because stories are similar, they are not necessarily the same. The man’s name does not appear in both accounts.
On he went, and I was glad that that day I not only met a man who knew his God, but also knew his Bible. He opened it repeatedly for my benefit. I became tremendously conscious of the fact of my utter ignorance of the Word of God. All I had learned like a parrot was some of the oft-repeated alleged contradictions.
He then looked at me and said, “You can believe every word in the Bible and die and go to Hell. I have something to tell you.” He told me I was a sinner. There really was no need for him to tell me that, for I knew it. I had not lived the years I had lived and in the way I had lived without knowing what sin was. I knew, too, that deep in my own life, there were many things I had hated myself for, things I knew would have broken my mother’s heart if she had known. That day, I listened to a person telling me I was a sinner. I could have knocked him down; I did not want him to tell me that. He then went a step further. “Would you take Christ as your Saviour?” He told me the story of Calvary–of a God who loved me, and of a Christ who died for me.
Now I cannot explain this to you; I only know how true it was and how real it was. I only know that I suddenly became conscious of the fact that there was a God. If you had asked me if there was a God prior to this man speaking to me, I would have spat on the ground and replied, “No, there is no God.” Now I suddenly became conscious that there was One, and I now knew somehow or other, but I cannot explain it, that the only One who could meet my need was the Person the preacher had spoken to me about.
Now I hope you will not misunderstand me, but that day it seemed I trusted the preacher. I looked at that man and was absolutely convinced that he would never tell me that which he did not believe to be true. He had told me now that if I would sink on my knees and ask God to save me, He would do it. That day, I cried, “Oh, God, You know I’m a sinner. Save me!”
At that moment, I did not feel a bit different. I meet some folk who say that when they asked God to save them, they could jump over the moon, everything in the garden is lovely, the burden rolls away. I know this is true for some, but it was not for me. I don’t want you to misunderstand me: I was saved that day. I met Jesus Christ that day. I didn’t feel any different, but it is not my tears of repentance or my prayer–it is the blood that atones for the soul. And God knew that I meant what I had said.
I did not know what to do. I got up and said to the preacher, “Well, er…er…Good night, sir.”
“Oh,” he said, “I’ll walk up over the hill with you.” Well, we walked up over the hill, and we reached the house. I said good night to him. “Oh,” he said, “I’ll just come in.” Without asking permission, he opened the door and marched right in, at twelve o’clock at night. My mother had been wondering where I had gone. There she was waiting.
The preacher never gave me a chance. He looked at my mother and said, “Mrs. Ford, I think Stan has something to tell you.”
Well, I didn’t know what to tell her. I said, “Well, Mom, I got myself a bit religious tonight.” It was the only way I knew how to put it. But my little mother looked up at me, and burst into tears. She had cried many a time when her boy had rolled home drunk. She had cried many a time when he had been out fighting and had returned all black and blue. But that day she cried because she knew that, if it was true, there was going to be a difference in our house.
And what a change there was in our house! I was the first in the family, but praise God, every member has the Saviour now. What a difference He has made. I knew before very long that something had happened. I say to my utter shame that before I knew Christ as Saviour, I had a job to put two words together without swearing. If someone had dared tread on my toes, I would have hurled at them every bit of filth I could think of, followed by my fist as well. I confess to my shame that if ever there was a rough fellow, I was that one. However, from the day I trusted Christ as my Saviour, I haven’t used that language.
When Christ came in and saved my soul, He washed my mouth. The desire went, for every man in Christ is a new creature.
After my conversion, I still carried on fighting; that was how I made my living. A brother in our meeting was always on me about my boxing. I remember him coming to me on one occasion and saying, “Dear brother Ford, I can’t understand how any Christian can do what you are doing.”
I honestly didn’t know what to say. I looked at him and asked, “Well, how do you get your living, Mr. Johnson?”
“You know I’m a dentist,” he replied.
“Well, I try to get teeth out another way, and that’s all there is to it.” I saw nothing wrong with it.
There came a time when God had dealings with me. I was to be fighting in London. On this occasion, I bid farewell to the man that led me to Christ, Mr. Victor Cyril (and you will understand there was a great attachment between us). Looking at me, he said, “Well, we should pray about it, son, shouldn’t we?”
I had never before prayed about fighting, but he was the preacher, and he said we ought to pray about it. We knelt down, and he started. Well, you have never heard such a blood-thirsty prayer in all your days! His prayer went something like this: “Lord, this young man is going up to London to fight. Give him all the power in his punches. Let him hit the other fellow so that he will not be recognizable…” I opened my eyes and looked at him. There he was praying like an angel.
When he was finished, I got up from my knees. He walked out of the tent without saying a word. I could stand it no longer:
“Mr. Cyril, do you think you were right praying like that?”
He put his hand on my shoulder, looked me right in the eyes and said, “Son, if you’re doing something you can’t pray about, it is about time you gave it up.” My heart went down into my boots.
I traveled up to London. For me the difficult time was not when I was between the ropes. It was the nervousness which comes just before I got in the ring. Generally, I would take a newspaper and look at it. On this occasion, however, the only thing I had was a New Testament. I was in the dressing room, awaiting the ends of the preliminary fights, when a Jewish doctor came in. He was a good doctor, and he was looking at some of the lads who had had preliminary bouts. I was there waiting for the weigh-in when he came over to me as I held my New Testament. He looked at it and looked at me, and with a grin on his face, he said, “These two things don’t go together, do they?”
“Well, I make them go together very well,” I replied. But I was not as sure as I sounded. This was the second occurrance in the same day. I realized that even the world has its standards.
I got into the ring and fought, and was able to win. But when I got on the train going home that day, it seemed as though the wheels of the train mocked me, saying, “Call yourself a Christian. Call yourself a Christian. Call yourself a Christian. Call yourself a Christian.” I did call myself a Christian and I was seeking to live for the Lord. If ever God had dealings with me, He did that day.
Sometime after, I was sitting on a bench in the park. I opened my Bible to 1 Timothy 3, and this is what I read: “A bishop then must be…no striker.” I looked at it and said, “If it’s wrong for a bishop, then it’s wrong for me. I’ll get out of it.” That day I bowed the knee and I said, “Lord, if You want me to, I’ll give it up. Then You will find me something else to do.”
Within an hour, without my even seeking it, someone came to me and offered me a job. It was not the job I wanted; it was digging potatoes. This man had potatoes left in, and the frost was getting at them. He asked me if I would go and dig them up for him. I said, “Lord, if You will, I will,” and that day I did.
Now you will understand that much water has passed under the bridge since then. As a raw, ignorant young fellow, I took Christ as my Saviour. As best I could, I sought to live for Him as He led me. However, the day came when I was prepared to lay everything on the altar for Him. I say this honestly, that I have many regrets in life, but never once have I regretted taking Christ as my Saviour; never once have I regretted saying, “Lord, You be the Lord of my life.”
What a wonderful Saviour and Lord He is! If I have any ability at all, and if I can do anything at all today, I owe it all to Him. I owe it all to a God who loved me, a Christ who died for me, and a Holy Spirit who indwells my heart and life. I can do nothing more than say to you, I commend to you Jesus Christ. He is a wonderful Saviour. Will you not receive Him today?