(John 3:16.)
“God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
One cold, wintry night a poor Irish boy stood in the streets of Dublin―a little city Arba, homeless, houseless, friendless.
He had taken to bad courses, and become an associate of thieves, who were leading him on the broad road to destruction. That very night they had planned to commit a burglary, and appointed him to meet them in a certain street at a certain hour. As he stood there waiting, shivering, and cold, a hand was suddenly laid on his shoulder. It was very dark; he could only see a tall form standing by him; he trembled with fear; but a kindly voice said, “Boy, what are you doing here at this time of night? Such as you have no business in the streets at so late an hour. Go home; go to bed.”
“I have no home, and no bed to go to.”
“That’s very sad, poor fellow! Would you go to a home and to a bed if I provided one?”
“That would I, sharp!” replied the boy.
“Well, in such a street and at such a number (indicating the place) you will find a bed.” Before he could add more, the lad started off. “Stop!” said the voice; “how are you going to get in? You need a pass. No one can go in there without a pass. Here is one for you; can you read?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, remember that the pass is ‘John 3:16’; don’t forget, or they won’t let you in. ‘John 3:16.’ There, that’s something that will do you good.”
Joyfully the lad rushed off, repeating his lesson, and soon found himself in the street and at the number indicated, before a pair of large iron gates. Then his heart failed him, they looked so grand. How could he get in there? Timidly he rang the bell. The night porter opened, and in a gruff voice asked, “Who’s there?” “Me, sir. Please sir, I’m John Three Sixteen,” in very trembling tones. “All right; in with you, that’s the pass,” and in the boy went.
He was soon in a nice, warm bed, and between sheets such as he had never seen before. As he curled himself up to go to sleep, he thought, “This is a lucky name, I’ll stick to it!” The next morning he was given a bowl of hot bread and milk, before being sent out into the street (for this home was only for a night). He wandered on and on, fearful of meeting his old companions, thinking over his new name; when, heedlessly crossing a crowded thoroughfare, he was run over. A crowd collected; the unconscious form was placed on a shutter, and carried to the nearest hospital. He revived as they entered.
It is usual in the Dublin hospitals to put down the religion, as well as the name and address, of those admitted. They asked him whether he was Catholic or Protestant. Sure he didn’t quite know. Yesterday he was a Catholic, but now he was John Three Sixteen. This reply elicited a laugh. After his injuries had been attended.to, he was carried up into the accident ward. In a short time his sufferings brought on a fever and delirium. Then was heard in ringing tones, and oft repeated, “John 3:16! It was to do me good, and so it has.”
These persistent cries aroused the other patients. Testaments were pulled out to see what he pointed. What could he mean? and here one and there another read the precious words, “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” (“It was to do me good, and so it has!” the sufferer cried.) Luther called this verse “The Miniature Bible.” When those poor sick folks read the tender words, and heard the unconscious comment― “It was to do me good, and so it has!” the Spirit stirred within them; God the Holy Ghost used that text then and there to the conversion of souls. There was “joy in the presence of the angels of God” over sinners that repented. The sovereign power of God the Holy Spirit used this one text from the lips of a poor ignorant boy in that hospital ward, and souls were saved.
Consciousness returned, and the poor little fellow gazed around him; how vast it looked! and how quiet it was! Where was he? Presently a voice from the next bed said, “John Three Sixteen, and how are you today?” “Why, how do you know my new name?” “Know it! You’ve never ceased with your John Three Sixteen! and I for one say, Blessed John Three Sixteen!” This sounded strange to the little lad’s ears. To be called “blessed”―he for whom no one cared. “And don’t you know where it comes from? It’s from the Bible.”
“The Bible! What’s that?” The poor little waif had never heard of the Bible—that blessed Book, God’s Word to man. “Read it to me,” he said; and as the words fell on his ear, he muttered, “That’s beautiful! It’s all about love, and not a home for a night, but a home for always!” He soon learned the text, saying, “I’ve not only got a new name, but something to it!”
Days passed on, and there were changes in the ward, but out little friend never felt lonely; he fed on his text and its precious words. Another soul in that ward was to be won for Christ by his means, and now in simple, conscious faith he was to be the agent of blessing.
On a cot near him lay an old man who was very ill. Early one morning a nun came to his bedside, and said, “Patrick, how is it with you today?” “Badly, badly!” groaned the old Man. “Has the priest been to see you?” asked the nun. “Oh, yes; but that makes it worse, for he has anointed me with the holy oil, and I am marked for death. I’m no’ fit to die-oh, what shall I do?” “Patrick, it’s very sad to see you so,” she gently answered. “Look! here are these beads, they have been blessed by His Holiness the Pope, and they will help you to die happy.” She placed them around the man’s neck, and then, wishing him goodbye, went out. But how could a string of beads ease a dying man facing eternity, with his sins unforgiven? Poor Patrick groaned aloud. “God ha’ mercy!” he cried; “I’m such a sinner; I’m no’ fit to die. What shall I do? Oh, what will become o’ me?”
Our little fellow heard his miserable words. “Poor old man,” thinks he; “he wants a pass.” “Patrick,” he called, “I know something that will do you good—quite sure—it has done me.” “Tell me, tell me quickly,” cried Patrick. “If only I could find something to do me good.” “Here it is! Now listen, John 3:16. Are you listening?” “Yes, yes; go on.” “John 3:16― ‘For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’” Through these words Patrick found peace in his dying hour, and entered into everlasting life-another soul brought to Christ in that hospital ward by means of a single text blessed by the Holy Spirit.
Our little friend recovered. For long, John Three Sixteen was his one text. God blessed his simple faith; friends placed him at school, and now he is an earnest hearty worker for the Master.
“Blessed are they that hear the Word of God and keep it.” (Luke 11:28.)