Thursday, October 02, 2008

This Coming Sunday's Message

TEXT: Luke 15

TITLE: Thank God, I'm Home

SUPPORTING SCRIPTURES, ILLUSTRATIONS, QUOTATIONS, EXCERPTS:

Unless otherwise noted, all material is from SermonCentral.com

Robert Robinson had been saved out of a tempestuous life of sin through George Whitfield’s ministry in England. Shortly after that, at the age of twenty-three, Robinson wrote the hymn Come, Thou Fount. Come, Thou Fount of ev’ry blessing, Streams of mercy, never ceasing, Call for songs of loudest praise. Sadly, Robinson wandered far from those streams and, like the Prodigal Son, journeyed into the distant country of carnality. Until one day—he was traveling by stagecoach and sitting beside a young woman engrossed in her book. She ran across a verse she thought was beautiful and asked him what he thought of it. Prone to wander— Lord, I feel it— Prone to leave the God I love. Bursting into tears, Robinson said, "Madam, I am the poor unhappy man who wrote that hymn many years ago, and I would give a thousand worlds, if I had them, to enjoy the feelings I had then." Although greatly surprised, she reassured him that the "streams of mercy" mentioned in his song still flowed. Mr. Robinson was deeply touched. Turning his "wandering heart" to the Lord, he was restored to full fellowship. —Kenneth W. Osbeck, 101 Hymn Stories, p. 52

"Every parent is at some time the father of the unreturned prodigal, with nothing to do but keep his house open to hope."

i. (From “The Hurting Parent”, pg. 78ff.) A couple with two daughters still at home received a call from their wayward son late one night. He had called from a hotel and told his mom, “I’m hurting and really hungry…tell me what to do.” His voice drifted off and a strong voice broke in. It was the manager of the Holiday Inn 150 miles from the Farrone’s home. The whole family piled in the car and made the trip. When they arrived they thanked the manager and placed their inebriated, emaciated son in the front seat of the car. The father leaned over and buckled his son in. The stench of alcohol, vomit and weeks on the street was overwhelming. They had to roll the windows down to breath. It was then he felt he understood more completely what the Prodigal’s father did when he embraced him.

No comments: