A FAITHFUL old Scotch preacher was coming early one Sunday morning to the meeting place when he was met by one of the congregation.
“I came early to meet you,” said the younger man. “I have something on my conscience to say to you. Sir, there must be something radically wrong in your preaching and work; there has been only one person add in a whole year, and he is only a boy.”
The old preacher listened. His eyes moistened, and his thin hand trembled.
“I feel it all,” he said; “I feel it, but God knows that I have tried to do my best and I can trust Him for the results.”
“Yes, yes,” said the other; “but one convert, and he only a boy, seems to me rather slight evidence of true faith and zeal. I don’t want to be hard, but I have this matter on my conscience, and I have done my duty in speaking plainly.”
The faithful old servant of Christ preached that day with a very grieved and heavy heart. He closed his address with dim and tearful eyes. He wished that his work was done forever and that he was at rest among the graves under the shady trees in the old churchyard. He lingered on after the rest were gone because he wanted to be alone. The place was sacred and very dear to him. It had been his spiritual home from his youth. Here he had prayed over a bygone generation, and here had welcomed the children of a new. And here, yes, he had been told that his work was no longer owned and blessed.
All had gone home. No, one still remained—“only a boy.” He watched the trembling old man. His soul was filled with loving sympathy. He went to him and laid his hand on him. “Well, Robert,” said the old man.
“Do you think, sir, that if I were willing to work hard for an education, I could ever become a preacher?” asked Robert.
“A preacher?”
“Perhaps a missionary.”
There was a long pause. Tears filled the eyes of the old servant of Christ. At last he said, “This heals the ache of my heart, Robert. I see the divine hand now. May God bless you, my boy! Yes, I think you will become a preacher.”
Young Robert did give his heart to Christ, and the Lord blessed him and used him greatly.
Years afterward, there returned to London from Africa an aged missionary. His name was spoken with reverence. When he went into a meeting people arose; when he spoke in public there was deep silence. Princes stood and listened to him; nobles invited him to their homes. He had brought under the influence of the gospel the most savage of African chiefs; he had translated the Bible so that strange tribes both heard and read the Holy Scriptures in their own tongue. It was Robert Moffat who, as “only a boy,” had been won for Christ by the labors of that faithful old preacher.
The aged preacher has long gone to be with Christ. His body rests beneath the trees in the humble place of his labors. But men remember his work because of what he was to that one boy, and of how God used that boy.
Robert Moffat, on one of his visits to England, was telling his audience about the dark land of Africa. Among those who listened to his stories of the wonders and the needs of the gospel in that continent, was a sturdy young Scotch medical student. He had just decided to give his life to the service of Christ.
As he listened to Dr. Moffat he heard him say, “There is a vast plain to the north where I have sometimes seen, in the morning sun, the smoke of a thousand villages where no missionary has ever been.”
“The smoke of a thousand villages!” That young medical student was deeply impressed with these words. Here was something worthwhile for him to do — something hard, but he longed to go where no missionary had ever been, to give himself to the service of One he knew loved him and gave Himself for him. Filled with the new vision, he went to Dr. Moffat Afterward and asked, “Would I do for Africa?”
It was the life decision of David Livingstone, one of the most devoted and well-known missionaries to Africa.
Glory before thee,
Pilgrim, press on;
Share now the sorrow,
Share soon the crown.
Tell forth the Saviour’s fame,
Honor His holy name,
Bear now His cross and shame,
Pilgrim, press on.
ML-11/17/1963