Some years ago an English farmer, William Dorset, was preaching in London. In the course of his sermon he said, “There is not a man in all London whom Jesus Christ cannot save.”
At the close of the meeting a lady missionary in London came to him and said, “Mr. Dorset, did you say that there wasn’t a man in all London that Jesus Christ cannot save?” “Yes, madam, that is what I said.” “Well, there is a man here in London I wish you would see. He says that he is beyond salvation.” “I will go and see him tomorrow morning,” replied Mr. Dorset, “if you will take me to him.” They started out early the next morning for East London, stopped before a high, wretched tenement building. “You will find him,” she said, “in the top story in the back room. You had better go up alone as he will talk more freely with you than if someone else is with you.” Mr. Dorset began to climb the stairs. Each flight of stairs seemed more wretched and filthy than the one that preceded it. At last he reached the top story and found the door hanging by one hinge which he pushed open as best he could. There was not a window in the room but when his eye became accustomed to the darkness, over in the corner he saw a young man lying on a pile of filthy straw. He walked softly across the floor and leaned over the young man and said, “My friend.” The young man looked up with a start and said, “You are mistaken, sir, I am not your friend; you are not my friend. I haven’t a friend in the world.” “Yes, you have,” said Mr. Dorset, “I am your friend and what is better Jesus Christ is your Friend too.” “No,” he replied, “Jesus Christ is no Friend of mine. I have disobeyed His laws. I have trampled Him under foot all my life, and He is no Friend of mine.” “Yes, He is,” insisted Mr. Dorset, and sat down by his side and from the Bible proved that Jesus Christ was the Friend of sinners and his Friend. The young man listened to the story of redeeming love and at last put his trust in Jesus Christ and found pardon. Then he turned to Mr. Dorset and said, “My Heavenly Father has forgiven me. I could die happy if I only knew my earthly father had forgiven me also.” “I will go and see him,” said Mr. Dorset. “No, I don’t wish you to do that. You would only be insulted. My father does not allow my name to be mentioned in his presence. He has taken it off the family register. He has not allowed my name to be mentioned to him for two years.” “I will go and see him anyway,” said Mr. Dorset. He secured his address, and hurried to the West End of London where the father lived. It was in a beautiful mansion. He was met at the door by a liveried servant and taken into the reception room. The father, a fine-looking English gentleman, soon came into the room, and extended his hand in a cordial way towards Mr. Dorset. “I have come to speak to you about your son Joseph,” said Mr. Dorset. The father dropped his hand as if he had been shot. “I have no son Joseph,” he said. “I do not allow that young man’s name to be mentioned in my presence. I have had it taken off the family register. I simply want to tell you if you have had anything to do with that young man, you are being deceived. Good day.” He turned upon his heel and started to leave the room. As he was about to cross the threshold Mr. Dorset said in a gentle voice, “Well, he is your son anyway, but he won’t be very long.” The father turned around quickly and said, “Is Joseph dying?” “Yes, he is dying. I haven’t come to ask you to do anything for him. I do not ask you even to pay his funeral expenses. I will gladly do that; but his Heavenly Father has forgiven him and he says he could die happy if only his earthly father would forgive him too.” “Forgive him,” said the father, “I would have forgiven him long ago if he had only asked it. Take me to him.” The gentleman ordered his carriage and they hurried down to the wretched tenement in the East End of London, hurried up the stairs and to the dark room where the son lay dying. As the father entered the door the son looked up and said, “Father, my Heavenly Father has forgiven me. I could die happy if you would forgive me too.” “Forgive you,” cried the father as he hurried across the floor, “I would have forgiven you long ago if you had only asked it.” The boy was too ill to be moved and the gentleman sank on the floor by his side and took his son’s head upon his shoulder and he died happy, knowing that his Heavenly Father had forgiven him and his earthly father had forgiven him too. God stands ready now to forgive any sinner, even the vilest and most hopeless who will trust Him.