Real people. Real souls. Real opportunities everywhere.
The following are true experiences taken from the life and witness of a faithful soul winner, A. J. Pollock. May such stories inspire us to also venture out from the shore, and let down our nets at the Saviour’s instruction.
Why won’t you let us alone?
Four of us were travelling on a ferry in the West Highlands of Scotland. At the stern of the boat a lady was feeding seagulls which followed in its wake. One of my companions gave her a gospel booklet, and one also to her husband standing at her side.
As I watched, I saw her glance at it, then throw it overboard; her husband followed her example. We expostulated with them, saying that the booklets spoke of the Lord Jesus, and we pointed out to them what a solemn thing it was to reject Him.
Oh, I only wanted to see how the gulls would like it,” she responded flippantly.
“But you’ll have to answer for this act one day,” I replied.
Her husband’s face suddenly turned white with rage, and with a look I shall not soon forget, broke in at this point, saying, “Why won’t you leave us alone?”
What a terrible thing if God had taken them at their word, and let them alone! Instead, because He is not willing that any should perish, He continues, often in surprising ways, to speak even to those who, at present, have no time or interest for Him.
Behold, a Stranger at the door!
He gently knocks, has knocked before,
Has waited long, is waiting still:
We treat no other friend so ill.
If we will open, see, He stands
With loving heart and laden hands;
O matchless kindness! and He shows
This matchless kindness to His foes.
—Joseph Grigg
If only I were one of His sheep!
A dear girl who was terminally ill was anxious to be saved. A friend sent her a Scripture text card through the mail and she read the verse avidly, over and over, hoping to find relief in its words.
The verse was John 10:28, and the designer of the card had inserted to words of explanation as follows, thinking they would help the readers to understand the meaning of the verse, “I give unto them [My sheep] eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of My hand.”
But it did not bring peace to the sick girl. As she sank back on her pillow, she sighed, “If only I were one of His sheep I would be so happy.” However, as the card fell on the coverlet, it turned over and displayed a text on the other side as well.
Picking it up again, she read: “This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners” (1 Tim. 1:15).
“Oh!” she cried out, as this glorious truth enlightened her soul, “If I’m not a sheep, I’m surely a sinner, and Christ Jesus came to save sinners.” There she trusted Him, there He received he, and, putting her upon His strong shoulders, He began her on the journey that would take her safely Home.
How an infidel was saved
Some years ago, a tall, smartly dressed and intelligent young fellow might have been seen, for several evenings in succession, sitting among several hundred men in a restaurant beneath the shadow of St. Paul’s in London.
A two weeks’ gospel mission was in progress. It was my happy work to conduct the services. One night at the close, he came to me and said, “I should like to have a bit of a talk with you tonight, if I may.”
He continued, “I might as well tell you; I’m an infidel. I learned it listening to the Hyde Park preachers—in fact, I’m now one of them myself. But I’ve come to the conclusion that we’re all pure theorizers, and I don’t think any of us get any real satisfaction out of our theories—at least I don’t, that’s for sure.”
“How I came into these meetings at all I can’t say, beyond this,” he said, producing one of the invitation cards. “But I became interested as the talk proceeded, and I felt there was considerable force behind what you said. You seemed to have something that I want, but at present know nothing about—satisfaction.”
Continuing his observations, which I found helpful, he said, “Well, I’m afraid I’m pretty much in the same place tonight as the young man you spoke about, who couldn’t see the necessity for Christ or His death. Would you mind repeating what you said to him?”
I replied, “My objective was to show him that, apart from Christ and His atoning death, his case was hopeless. Let me put it to you now. Suppose I owe your firm £5,000, and I’m totally unable to meet even a fraction of it. Now if they can’t afford to relieve me from my liabilities and I can’t meet their righteous demands, what is to save me from bankruptcy and ruin?”
“Nothing, unless someone comes forward—”
“Excuse my interruption,” I said, “but you must please not introduce any third party into this business. The question is altogether between your firm and me.”
“Well, but,” he said, “if you are to be saved from going under, someone must come to the rescue!”
“No,” I repeated, “you must not introduce anyone.”
“Then in that case, your situation is hopeless.”
“That is exactly your position before God tonight,” I remarked. “As a sinner, God has passed on you the solemn sentence of death, His righteous judgment against sin.” I turned my Bible so he could read Romans 5:12, “So death passed upon all men, for that all have sinned.”
“This sentence,” I added, “has never been revoked, has no equivalent, and knows no commutation. Nothing can substitute for death. Not repentance, reformation, tears, prayers, nor all put together could be accepted by God in lieu of death. Behind you lies a history that you cannot alter, upon you lies a sentence that you cannot evade; therefore if someone is not found to step in between you and your sentence, your case is hopeless, too!
“Who could be found to intervene? If a substitute is to be found, it must be one on whom death has no claim. The whole human race, fallen in sin as it is, could not furnish one to help.”
“But listen to the message from heaven!” I asked my young friend to read Job 33:24, “Deliver him from going down to the pit: I have found a ransom.”
“Who could this be?” I asked. Turning to 1 Timothy chapter 2, I directed him with my finger to verses 5 and 6, “There is one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, who gave Himself a ransom for all.”
“So it was,” I explained, “that in love the divine Jesus—the sinless Son of God—left His glorious home for the shameful cross, so He might die for sinners. What a hum of satisfaction would fill the courtroom if the judge, after imposing the heaviest fine the law required, should then step down from his bench and pay the full amount himself. Wouldn’t he by this act put the criminal as righteously beyond the claims of justice as if he had never been guilty at all?”
“What would you have to say,” I continued, “of a God who righteously passed sentence of death on us as sinners, and then in the person of His own Son—God manifest in flesh—would leave His throne, and at infinite personal cost meet that sentence in laying down His life for us? Is He not to be trusted?”
I’ll never forget the effect on my listener as I read Acts 13:38-39, “Through this man is preached unto you the forgiveness of sins, and by Him all that believe are justified from all things.” Tears fell on the back of my hand as I held my Bible to him to read the verse himself.
“Look there!” he said; “All that believe are justified!”
“What does that have to do with you?” I asked.
“Do with me? Why I’m there,” he pointed to the verse. “All that believe”—that’s me—“are justified!”
He took his place there and then in the happy circle of “All that believe” and went home with the God-given assurance that he was “cleared from all things.”