How strikingly forceful is the first word in that well-known sentence!
Nearly two thousand years ago these familiar words fell from the lips of our blessed Lord. Today the same words go forth in equal vigor in the gospel of His grace.
That there should be room when He graciously uttered them is conceivable: but when you think of the crowds of blood—bought guests who have entered the portals and taken their places at the festive board in the heavenly house—crowds from Pentecostal times, crowds from the Roman arenas, from Spanish dungeons, crowds from the quiet bedchamber, or the ocean wave—that there should yet be room is wonderful.
How immense must be that house! How full of love that heart which still permits the words to go forth: "Yet there is room!”
Thank God, there is room still; but how much longer? We cannot say. Perhaps the space is limited; maybe the seats will all be filled soon. Can we, are we permitted to say: "Yet there's room for millions more?”
Perhaps not millions! Perhaps not thousands! Perhaps not hundreds! Perhaps not tens!
"Some guest will be the last.”
Reader, are you waiting to be among the last ten?
The Master of the house will rise up one day and close the door. Then woe to him who was just on the threshold, but not over it; not far from the kingdom, but not in it. See to it that you are inside. The invitation still goes out: "Yet there is room." This is true while you read this paper; it may not be true tomorrow, for once the door is shut no matter what plea is urged, or cry raised, or importunity used, it will then be too late.
Friend, consider your loss should you be excluded. "Yet there is room.”