# The Lutheran Pioneer_St. Louis_1899_S11 # Machine transcription, uncorrected — CHI Digital Archive (demonstration) The Lutheran Pioneer. i e—aNeas=q?O —esaowaas=o«oo=awaooeowwasa=aoeoeoOQqQnQaQ=$=$=$S$S$SmmmSm es Substitution. * That is a long word. Do you know what it means? One day the children at school were told that Christ’s work was a work of substi- tution. One of the boys inquired what sub- stitution meant. The teacher requested some one in the class to answer the question; but the answer could not be given. He then told the children the following story: In a little town in Germany there lived a blacksmith, a large, powerful man. In the village there was a small inn, where men used to gather when anything of interest occurred. It had but one room, with a small window high up on the wall and but one door opening to the street. ‘The blacksmith was there one day with his friends talking about the village affairs. It was a warm day, and the door was wide open, when suddenly, right there in the doorway, stood a dog of monstrous size, his long, red tongue hanging from his mouth, -which was covered with foam, his blood-shot eyes glaring at the men, who seemed turned into stone. There was no way of escape; the window was too small and high, and no one could pass the dog, who was raving mad, and would spring upon the first that moved. A few seconds, which seemed hours, passed, and then the smith said, ‘‘My friends, I am the strongest man here. I think I can hold the dog while you escape. While I hold him, go quickly out and close the door; bring a gun and shoot the dog through the window. My dear old mother! But Jesus will take care of her.’’? With that he turned to the dog, just springing at him, caught him by the throat in his powerful grasp, while the others went silently out and quickly as they could brought their best marksman, who shot the dog, but not till the poor blacksmith’s strength was quite gone. He stood before them covered with blood. The mad animal had wrenched his head this way and that, and torn with his teeth the hands and arms of the heroic man, who through all the terrible pain never let go his hold. , The people crowded anxiously around him; but he said to them, ‘‘Be quiet, my friends. I know I shall become mad. You cannot help me; but I will take care that no harm comes to any one through me. Go home and pray that God will not let me suffer long.’’ Then he went to his shop, the people fol- lowing, silent and weeping. He took his strongest chain, fastened one end around his . body and the other to his anvil. ‘‘Now,’’ he said, ‘‘now it is done; bring me food while I can eaf, and keep away when my fits of mad- hess come on. Pray for me—lI leave the rest with God.’’ A few days of agony passed, and then he died. The whole countryside mourned for him. People from all the towns around came to his funeral. They built a monument over his grave and inscribed upon it: ‘tHe died forus.”” And every year, at the anniversary of his death, the village people walk in pro- cession to his tomb and cover it with flowers. ‘‘Now, children,’’ said the teacher, ‘we call this substitution. This man died for his friends. He took their place and thus be- came a substitute for them.’’ And then the teacher told the children of One who died for His enemies. ‘While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.’? He took our place, and suffered and died in our stead. He is the sinners’ substitute, and His work is a work of substitution. ——s +o oo A Thankful Heart. An aged pastor relates the following: An incident occurred in my first pastorate which I shall never forget. In the congrega- tion was a widow, old and poor, who lived in an old log house at the edge of a dense woods, with an insane son. I remember my first visit to her as though it had been but yesterday. As I walked toward her humble abode, I tried to recall all the comforting passages of Scrip- ture that might suit her sad lot. It was with a sad and heavy heart that I stood upon the door-step. And after I had knocked upon the door, I expected it to be opened by a sad- faced woman who carried her sorrows upon her face. I expected to be greeted by a tale of woe. I even expected her to question the goodness of her God. But I did not know her then. ‘he door opened and a kind, lovely old face looked into mine and a cheerful voice bade me enter. We entered into a conversation, and what a conversation it was! She told me how God had blessed her; how He in His goodness had given her everything needful for her life and comfort. As she spoke, I looked around her poor old home, destitute of almost everything we think necessary to make a home. Did I hear aright? Yes, for there she sat with a face expressing the gratitude of her heart. I must see her garden. As we walk around the very small plot of ground, she said she be- lieved that God had blessed her little garden more than all the rest. I must break bread with her. As we sat around the poorly-fur- nished table and partook of that frugal meal, she said, ‘‘How good God has always been to me; I have always had enough to eat, a roof to cover me and clothing to keep me warm.”’ I looked upon her almost in reverence. I thought how many people upon whom God had showered His blessings never return to thank Him; how many people whose lives have fallen in pleasant places are continu- ally complaining against Him; but here this woman to whom God, we would say, had given very little indeed, was pouring out her heart in thanksgiving and praise to Him for all that He had done to her, a poor and un- worthy creature. She seemed to me to stand there with a crust of bread in one hand and a cup of water in the other and saying, all this and Jesus, too. I can never forget that woman, I never want to forget her. Her memory has been a bene- diction to me and it may be that the story may help and cheer others. ——~- Po oe The Lord’s Corn. A mission station in the Indian Territory was at one time my house, says a missionary’s wife. Tobaccowell, one of our neighbors, was a member of the little mission church, and like many a white professing Christian, was zeal- ous for the mission cause only by spasms. One Sunday he listened to a sermon on Chris- tian Giving. At the close of the service he said to the missionary: ‘‘Me plant big corn- field next week. Me make it ten pieces; plant all, then one piece be the Lord’s corn.”’ He did so. The part of the field to be de- voted to the Lord was ploughed and planted with great care. But when the time for hoe- ing had arrived, our neighbor hoed his own corn, but did not find it convenient to hoe the Lord’s. As the season advanced, the Lord’s corn, uncultivated and dwarfed, and Tobacco- well’s well hoed, tall and thrifty, produced a sad and striking contrast. : The sight of that corn field has been a life- long lesson to me; and whenever I find myself more devoted to my own personal interests than to the glory of God, I say to myself, “Tam neglecting the Lord’s corn.’’ > + 2