“I have no doubt Peter took Paul out on those three walks.  If there had been a man that could have taken me to the very spot where the Master sweat those great drops of blood, do you think I would not have asked him to take me there?  Now, you ministers, don’t you believe the people want preaching like that?  They do.  They want to hear about the Lord.”

I remember that I was sitting in that convention where I could easily see the faces of the people.  It was a sight not to be forgotten.  I remember that sea of eager upturned faces as distinctly as I remember Mr. Moody’s talk.  The people sat so still, as though in a spell, with eyes big and shining with something wet, and occasionally a slight twitching of emotion and a handkerchief called into service.

Mr. Moody talked in that natural way of his, so quiet and yet so intense in its quietness.  That’s what people want—­Jesus brought to them, simply and naturally.  And Moody knew it.  It took years of hard self-discipline for him to be able to talk as he did.  Such talking takes study and hard work.  But it’s all worth while if we can make Jesus plain to men in all His wondrous winsomeness.

"A More Excellent Way."

Then there’s another way of telling the story of Jesus to men.  It’s a yet better way. Tell it with your life. That was Jesus’ own plan.  He lived what He taught.  He proposed coming down into each one of us and living His life over again in us.  He does just that now.  Then as men meet us they are meeting Him, too, in us.  The things that marked Him will be noticed in us.

The intense hatred of sin, the purity, the gentleness and patience, the warm sympathy, the constant self-forgetfulness and self-sacrifice, the eagerness to win men, the tireless going wherever men could be helped—­these may be in us as they were in Him, and will be, as we let Him live in us.  And men will recognize the Jesus-story being lived in their midst.  Jesus wants to reach out through us to men.  And He will; He will; more than we ever know or will know.  This is the best telling of the story.

I am told that in the Palace of Justice in Rome there is a remarkable chamber where visitors are sometimes taken.  The remarkable thing about it is the decorations.  The ceiling and walls and even the floors are covered with strangely painted frescoes.  That is, they seem strange as one enters.  They seem grotesque.  They do not harmonize.  They are out of touch with each other, and make a bewildering maze of confusion.  But there is one spot in the chamber, just one spot upon the floor, where, if you stand, everything falls into place.  The artist’s conception stands out perfect in perspective and color and beauty.

To the great crowd of men in this old world life seems a good bit like that Roman chamber.  Things seem out of harmony—­sin, pain, confusion, unsatisfied longings, unconquered weaknesses, broken plans, and disappointed ambitions.  But there is one spot, a central point, just one, where all that concerns you will come into harmony, and bring heart-rest.