In the Evening Mr. Moody Speaks on the Prodigal Son

Said Mr. Moody: We have for our text to-night a man—the one we have been singing about. The trouble was with him, he started wrong; and that Is the trouble with nine-tenths of the men who are away from God In this city to-night. If anyone had told that young man he needed the grace of God to keep him in his journey, he might have laughed at it. I don’t know why he wanted to get away; perhaps he could not agree with his elder brother; may be he thought his father was too strict because he wouldn’t let him stay out late nights; perhaps his mother had died praying for her wayward son, and he thought if he should get away into some new place he would he able to forget all about her prayers that troubled him every lime he thought of them.

So he went to his father and said, “I think I could get on better if you would divide your estate and give me my share and let me go away.” So he did it, and I think the old man made a very great mistake. There is nothing worse for a*young man than to have plenty of money. People talk a great deal about self-made men, but I tell you I have a thousand times more respect for a rich man’s son who turns out well than for a poor boy who has to work his own way in the world. There is nothing that puts temptations in a young man’s way like having plenty of money.

Well, the young man took his money and went off. I have no doubt he was very well received and became a very popular man in that distant country. Perhaps he went down to Egypt to get as far away from home as possible”. He was well educated; could sing comic songs, and do other things to please his friends, He was at the opera four nights a week, and spent the others at the theatre and billiard rooms. Plenty of friends as long as his money lasted, which might have been five years or so, and then he got to the end of his rope, like a poor fellow I once knew who had plenty of friends and money, and after a while got into jail, but not one of his sporting friends ever came near him. Some Christain people did come to see him in prison, and that woke him up to understand who his real friends were.

After a while the prodigal began to be in want. All his friends were gone, He had lost all. He had got down very low; but he didn’t get down low enough to beg. There was no meaner thing for a Jew than to take care of swine, but I had a thousand times rather be a swineherd than to be around the streets and do nothing. He was ragged and hungry; and then he began to think of his father's well-filled table, but that wasn’t long enough to reach away to him in that far-off country. We find that no one gave him anything to eat. Ah, my friends, that is just the way with the Devil; he will lead you down, down, down, and when he gets you deep into the pit of ruin, instead of feeding you, he will laugh at you and mock you.

There was another thing he lost, viz.: his testimony. When some of those old friends of his would laugh at him he might straighten himself up and say to them, “You call me a beggar! Why, my father's servants dress better than you do!" And they laughed and said: “Your father’s servants—why, you have not got any father.” No one believed him; he had lost his testimony. And just so has every backslider from God lost his testimony. You never can get any food for the soul in the devil’s country. There he was, away from home, starving, even for the food the swine would eat—but no one would give him even that. Sin had taken him away from home, away from God; now the question is, how did he ever get back!

When the man began to come to himself he woke up to the fact that the best friend he had in the world was his father. There was one thing that the prodigal never lost: he lost his work, he lost his food, his home, his testimony; but he never lost his father's love. His father loved him right on through it all. I find that a good many men, who are living in sin, wonder why it is that God does not answer their prayers. Well, God loves them too much to answer their prayers. Suppose the son had written his father a letter saying, “I am in want; please send me some money.” The father would have loved him too well to answer that prayer. If you have gone off into a foreign country, If you have got away from God’s table, His arms will not reach you there to feed and clothe you. He wants you to go home to Him. One day a neighbor came down from his native country, and found the young man there. “ Why do you not go home?’ said he.

“Well, I don’t know, I am not sure my father will receive me.”

“Your father—he loves you as much as he ever did.”

“Mv father—did you see him!”

“Yes, I was talking with your father one day last week.”

“What did he say! Docs he ever apeak of me!”

“Ever speak of you! He never speaks of any one else. He dreams of you at night.” Oh, if there is a poor prodigal here to-night, do not go on in that terrible delusion that your Father has forgotten you.

One of the greatest impediments a man has got is his terrible pride. This young man says: “I went away with abundance. I went away in grand style, and now I have got to go back in rags.” Perhaps his pride kept him away for some time. One day he came to himself and made up his mind to return to his father’s house. He got down on his knees and buried his face in his hands like Elijah upon Mount Carmel, and he began to think. “Well I don’t know but I had better go home. I think perhaps I had. There is no one in the world who loves me as much as my father,” and he just lets his mind go back to the past; it sweeps over his whole life; it goes down into his childhood; he remembers his father and mother—how they loved him, and how they watched over him. He thinks of the tears of his mother. I cannot help but think he had lost his mother—for there is no one who could be more interested in the boy than his mother, and it don’t say anything about her. He says, “I remember the morning I left home, how the old man wept and sobbed over me. I remember how he prayed that morning around the family altar, how he asked the Lord God of Heaven to save his boy from sin, and how he asked that God might send His angels to watch over me. And now here I am, shoeless, coatless, and just covered with these miserable rags.” Then he took a look out in the future, and saw dark it looked. “Why, the very servants are better off than I am; there is bread enough and to spare in my father's house;” and the young man came to himself, and said, “I will.” This is the time that his heart turned back to his God. I would to God that we could get thousands to say that word to-night, “I will arise and go to my Father.” Nine-tenths of the battle was won when be said, “I will arise and go to my Father.” I see him on his way, and there is joy up yonder now; they ring the bells of Heaven. I see the guardian angel that watches over him, and the moment he came to himself then there was joy on high. Now the prodigal is out on his way—see him! I can just imagine his feelings as he came over the border in his native land,—“It may be father is dead. If he is, may be I may not get a warm welcome."

There is the old man out on the flat roof. Many a time he has been there before. Many a time his eye has been looking in the direction where his boy went. He cannot tell him by anything he has on; but love is keen. He sees his boy afar off. He starts for him. You can see his long white hair floating through the air; he leaps over the highway; the spirit of youth has come upon him. The servants look at him and they wonder what has come over him. It is the only time God is represented as running, just to meet a poor sinner. “And when he saw him a great way off he had compassion on him." He did not wait for him to come. He did not say, “He went away without cause, I will not go to meet him." And when he meets him he falls upon his neck, and be weeps over him; and the servant comes running out to see what is the matter. And the boy begins to make his speech: “Father, I have sinned against Heaven and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son!" And just as he was going to say, “Make me as one of thy hired servants," the father interrupts him; and he says to one servant, “Go bring the best robe and put it on him;" and to another, “Go to my jewel-box and get a ring and put it on his finger;" and to another one, “Go and get the shoes;" and to another, “Go and kill the fatted calf." What joy there was in that home!

My friend, don’t you know that since then that story has been repeated nearly every day— prodigals going back—and I never yet heard of any man going back that did not get a warm welcome. I have got a letter here, i think it is one of the last letters I received from England. The letter goes on to state that a son and husband had left his father's house—left his wife and children without a cause; and now in closing up the letter, the sister says: "He need not fear reproach, only love awaits him at home.” That man may be here to-night. My words may reach him, and if so I beg him to return from his erring ways. Listen, your sister says that no reproach or harsh words will meet you on your return home, only love will welcome you when you enter the door. The father of the Prodigal did not reproach his boy. And so God does not reproach the sinner. He knows what human nature is—how liable a mortal is to go astray. It is human to err. He is always ready to forgive and take you back. Christ says He will forgive; He is full of love, and compassion, and tenderness. If a poor sinner comes and confesses, God is willing and ready to forgive you.

There was a lady that came down to Liverpool to see us privately; it was just before we were about to leave that city to go up to London to preach. With tears and sobs she told a very pitiful story. It was this: She said she had a boy 10 years of age who had left her. She gave me his photograph, and said, “You stand before many and large assemblies, Mr. Moody. You may see my dear boy before you. If you do see him, tell him to come back to me. Oh, implore him to come to his sorrowing mother, to his deserted home. He may be in trouble; he may be suffering: tell him for his loving mother that all is forgiven and forgotten, and he will find comfort and peace at home.” That young man may be in this hall to-night. If he is, I want to tell him that his mother loves him still.

I may not be speaking to Arthur to-night, but there may be a great many real Arthurs who have left their father's house. Let me entreat you to go home. Send a dispatch that you are coming, and start at once. And oh! what joy there will be in those sorrowful homes when these long-lost prodigals return! By-and-by you will learn that your mother is dead, and then nothing will ever comfort you for having broken her heart. Wanderer, arise and go to thy father, who loves thee, to thy mother, who weeps over thee, and let us pray that multitudes of lost souls wandering from God may be this very night brought home.