When I was in Ohio a few years ago, I was invited to preach in the state prison. Eleven hundred convicts were brought into the chapel, and all sat in front of me. After I had got through the preaching, the chaplain said to me:
“Mr. Moody, I want to tell you of a scene which occurred in this room. A few years ago, our commissioners went to the Governor of the State, and got him to promise that he would pardon five men for good behavior. The Governor consented, with this understanding — that the record was to be kept secret, and that at the end of six months the five men highest on the roll should receive a pardon, regardless of who or what they were. At the end of six months the prisoners were all brought into the chapel. The commissioners came; the president stood on the platform, and putting his hand in his pocket, brought out some papers, and said, ‘I hold in my hand pardons for five men.’”
The chaplain told me he never witnessed anything on earth like it. Every man was as still as death. Many were deadly pale. The suspense was awful; it seemed as if every heart had ceased to beat. The commissioner went on to tell them how they had got the pardon, but the chaplain interrupted him.
“Before you make your speech, read out the names. This suspense is awful.”
So he read out the first name, “Reuben Johnson will come and get his pardon.” He held it out, but none came forward.
He asked, “Are all the prisoners here?” The warden told him they were all there.
Then he said again, “Reuben Johnson will come and get his pardon. It is signed and sealed by the Governor. He is a free man.”
Not one moved. The chaplain looked right down where Reuben was. He was well known; he had been there nineteen years. Many were looking around to see him spring to his feet. But he himself was looking around to see the fortunate man who had got his pardon. Finally the chaplain had caught his eye, and said, “Reuben, you are the man.”
Reuben turned around and looked behind him to see where Reuben was. The chaplain said the second time, “Reuben, you are the man,” and the second time he looked around, thinking it must be some other Reuben. He had to say three times, “Reuben, come and get your pardon.”
At last the truth began to steal over the old man. He got up, came along down the hall, trembling from head to foot. When he got the pardon he looked at it, went back to his seat, buried his face in his hands and wept. When the prisoners got into the ranks to go back to the cells, Reuben got into the ranks, too, and the chaplain had to call him, “Reuben, get out of the ranks; you are a free man! You are no longer a prisoner.”
And Reuben stepped out of the ranks. He was free!
That is the way men make out pardons. They make them out for good character or good behavior; but God makes out pardons for men who have not got any character. He offers a pardon to every sinner on earth if he will take it. I do not care who he is or what he is like. He may be the greatest libertine that ever walked the streets, or the greatest blackguard who ever lived, or the greatest drunkard, or thief, or vagabond. Christ commissioned His disciples to preach the Gospel to every creature.