What is the worst thing that might happen?

Not only must something be done to evangelize the millions, but everything must be done, and perhaps amid variety of effort the best thing would be discovered.  “If by any means I may save some” must be our motto, and this must urge us onward to go forth into the highways and hedges and compel them to come in.  Brethern, I speak as unto wise men, consider what I say.

Are we more concerned about our own comfort and safety then we are about the souls of men?   What is the worst thing that might happen?  You might get hit in the head with a stone and have blood running down your face; or, you might have someone point a gun at your face and threaten to blow your brains out.

Once recommenced, the fruitful agency of field-preaching was not allowed to cease.  Amid jeering crowds and showers of rotten eggs and filth, they continued to storm village after village and town after town.  Very varied were their adventures, but their success was generally great.  One smiles often when reading incidents in their labors.  A string of pack horses is so driven as to break up a congregation, and a fire engine is brought out and played over the throng to achieve the same purpose.  Hand-bells, old kettles, marrowbones and cleavers, trumpets, drums, and entire bands of music were engaged to drown the preachers' voices.

In one case the parish bull was let loose, and in others dogs were set to fight.  The preachers needed to have faces set like flints, and so indeed they had.  John Furz says: "As soon as I began to preach, a man came straight forward, and presented a gun at my face; swearing that he would blow my brains out, if I spake another word.  However, I continued speaking, and he continued swearing, sometimes putting the muzzle of the gun to my mouth, sometimes against my ear.  While we were singing the last hymn, he got behind me, fired the gun, and burned off part of my hair.

After this, my brethren, we ought never to speak of petty interruptions or annoyances.  The proximity of a blunderbuss in the hands of a son of Belial is not very conducive to collected thought and clear utterance, but the experience of Furz was probably no worse than that of John Nelson, who coolly says, "But when I was in the middle of my discourse, one at the outside of the congregation threw a stone, which cut me on the head: however that made the people give greater attention, especially when they saw the blood run down my face; so that all was quiet till I had done, and was singing a hymn."

Of course, there is a huge difference between many of these men and our current Christian culture.  If you do not have love in your heart for the lost, (enough love to risk your own safety) stay in your houses and in your church buildings for God will not be glorified by guilt-driven sacrifices or your prideful display and mis-guided air of superiority.