The Personal Touch | Page 3

life."
He said to me, "Do you believe this?" I said, "Certainly." He said, "Are

you a Christian?" and I replied, "Sometimes I think I am, and again I
am fearful." Then he said, "Read it again." And I read it once more. His
question was again repeated, and I answered it in the same manner as
before. Then he seemed to lose his patience, and the only time I can
remember Mr Moody being sharp with me was when he turned upon
me and said, "Whom are you doubting?" And suddenly it dawned upon
me that I was doubting Him who said I was possessed of everlasting
life because I believed on the Son and on the Father who had sent Him,
and in spite of this possession and His sure Word of promise
concerning it, I was sceptical. But as I sat there beside him I saw it all.
Then he said, "Read it again." And I read it the third time, and talking
to me as gently as a mother would to her child he said, "Do you believe
this?" I said, "Yes, indeed I do." Then he said, "Are you a Christian?"
And I answered, "Yes, Mr Moody, I am." From that day to this I have
never questioned my acceptance with God.
For some reason Mr Moody always seemed to keep me in mind. He
came into my church in the early days of my ministry, told me where
he thought I was wrong and suggested how I might be more greatly
used of God. He advised me to give my time wholly to evangelistic
work, and when I said to him one day that I was going to take up the
pastorate after three years of experience in general evangelism, he
seemed disturbed. To him more than to any other man, I owe the
greatest blessing that ever came into my life.
Through Mr Moody I met the Rev F.B. Meyer, and one sentence which
he used at Northfield changed my ministry. He said, "If you are not
willing to give up everything for Christ, are you willing to be made
willing?" That seemed like a new star in the sky of my life, and one day
acting upon his suggestion, after having carefully studied the passages
in the New Testament which relate to surrender and to consecration, I
gave myself anew to Christ and I shall never be able to express in
words my appreciation of what this man of God to whom I have
referred, did for me by personal influence.
All along the way I have been brought in contact with men whom God
has signally blessed, and I am persuaded that there are many to-day

whose hearts are hungering for a blessing, who are waiting as I was
myself, for someone to speak to them personally, and help them out of
darkness into light; out of a certain kind of bondage into a glorious
freedom. The personal touch in Christian work, to me, means
everything.
CHAPTER II
A General Principle
I have been amazed in my study of the biographies of men and women
who have been specially used of God, to see how almost universal is
the rule that they have come to Christ, or to an experience of power,
through the personal influence of a friend or acquaintance. Preaching is
not enough, it is sometimes too general; the impressions of a song may
soon be effaced, but the personal touch, the tear in the eye, the pathos
in the voice, the concern which is manifested in the very expression of
one's countenance; these are used with great effect, and thousands of
people are to-day in the Kingdom of God, or in special service, because
of such influences being brought to bear upon their lives.
John Wesley is a notable illustration of the influence of the personal
touch. Peter Bohler of the Moravian Church, came into his life when he
was in sore need of just such assistance as he seemed able to give. Dr
W. H. Fitchett of Australia, writes:--
"The Moravians of Savannah taught him exactly what Peter Bohler
taught him afterwards in London, but the teaching at the moment left
his life unaffected. Wesley's own explanation is, 'I understood it not; I
was too learned and too wise, so that it seemed foolishness unto me;
and I continued preaching, and following after, and trusting in that
righteousness whereby no flesh can be justified.'
"The truth is that Peter Bohler himself, had he met Wesley in Savannah,
would have taught him in vain. The stubborn Sacramentarian and High
Churchman had to be scourged, by the sharp discipline of failure, out of
that subtlest and deadliest form of pride, the pride that imagines that the
secret of salvation lies, or