Fruit in Season

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sch 0035. Rev. Hans Astrup preaching at a Sunday morning service at Tabor. Sch 0035 "Pastor Hans Astrup holder gudstjeneste". ("Rev Hans Astrup holding a Sunday Service"). Rev Ylvisaker standing up against the wall. The place is called Tabor. Picture in book: "Unkulunkulu in Zululand" by Andrew Burgess, 1934

An old preacher was met one of his deacons, whose face wore a very resolute expression.

“I came early to meet you,” he said. “I have something on my conscience to say to you. Pastor, there must be something radically wrong in your preaching and work; there has been only one person added to the church in a whole year, and he is only a boy.”

The old minister listened. His eyes moistened, and his thin hand trembled on his broad-headed cane. “I feel it all,” he said; “I feel it, but God knows that I have tried to do my duty, and I can trust him for the results.”

“Yes, yes,” said the deacon, “but ‘By their fruits ye shall know them,’ and one new member, and he, too, only a boy, seems to me rather a slight evidence of true faith and zeal. I don’t want to be hard, but I have this matter on my conscience, and I have done but my duty in speaking plainly.”

“True,” said the old man; “but ‘Charity suffereth long and is kind. . . beareth all things,believeth all thins, hopeth all things.’ Ay, there you have it; ‘Hopeth all things’! I have great hopes of that one boy, Robert. Some seed that we sow bears fruit late, but that fruit is generally the most precious of all.”

The old minister went to the pulpit that day with a grieved and heavy heart. He closed his discourse with dim and tearful eyes. He wished that his work was done forever, and that he was at rest among the graves under the blossoming trees in the old churchyard. He lingered after the rest were gone. He wished to be alone. The place was inexpressibly dear to him. It had been his spiritual home from his youth. Before this altar he had prayed over the dead forms of a bygone generation, and had welcomed the children of a new generation; and here, yes, here, he had been told at last that his work was no longer owned and blessed!

No one remained—no one?—”Only a boy.” The boy was Robert Moffat. He watched the trembling old man. His soul was filled with loving sympathy. He went to him and waited for him to speak. “Well, Robert?” said the minister.

“Do you think if I were willing to work hard for an education, I could ever become a preacher?”

“A preacher?”

“Perhaps a missionary.”

There was a long pause. Tears filled the eyes of the old minister. At length he said: “This heals the ache in my heart, Robert. I see the divine hand now. May God bless you, my boy. Yes, I think you will become a preacher.”

Many years later there returned to London from Africa an aged missionary. His name was spoken with reverence. When he went into an assembly, the people rose. When he spoke in public, there was a deep silence. Nobles invited him to their homes. He had brought under the Gospel influence the most savage of African chiefs, and he had given the translated Bible to strange tribes. His name was Robert Moffat.

God does not promise that fruit will come immediately, but He does promise that His Word will not return void. When you are tempted to give up remember that God blesses faithfulness.

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