By:
M. Lucado
A
revival can begin with one sermon. History proves it. John Egglen had never
preached a sermon in his life. Never.
Wasn’t
that he didn’t want to, just never needed to. But then one morning he did. The
snow left his town of Colchester, England, buried in white. When he awoke on
that January Sunday in 1850, he thought of staying home. Who would go to church
in such weather?
But
he reconsidered. He was, after all, a deacon. And if the deacons didn’t go, who
would? So he put on his boots, hat, and coat and walked the six miles to the
Methodist Church.
He
wasn’t the only member who considered staying home. In fact, he was one of the
few who came. Twelve members and one visitor. Even the minister was snowed in.
Someone suggested they go home. Egglen would hear none of that. They’d come
this far; they would have a service. Besides, they had a visitor. A
thirteen-year-old boy.
But
who would preach? Egglen was the only deacon. It fell to him.
And
so he did. His sermon lasted only ten minutes. It drifted and wandered and made
no point in an effort to make several. But at the end, an uncharacteristic
courage settled upon the man. He lifted his eyes and looked straight at the boy
and challenged: “Young man, look to Jesus. Look! Look! Look!”
Did
the challenge make a difference? Let the boy, now a man, answer. “I did look,
and then and there the cloud on my heart lifted, the darkness rolled away, and
at that moment I saw the sun.”
The
boy’s name? Charles Haddon Spurgeon. England’s prince of preachers.
Did
Egglen know what he’d done? No. Do heroes know when they are heroic? Rarely.
Are historic moments acknowledged when they happen?
You
know the answer to that one. (If not, a visit to the manger will remind you.)
We seldom see history in the making, and we seldom recognize heroes.
But
we’d do well to keep our eyes open. Tomorrow’s Spurgeon might be mowing your
lawn. And the hero who inspires him might be nearer than you think.
He
might be in your mirror.
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