Today is the 31st October, I saw a mask for sale in Tescos and it was worthy of something out of Buffy. I quite like the jack o lanterns and the bobbing apples, but I don't much like the fear selling that goes round at this time of year or the glamourisation of devils. So I thought I'd pass on one of my favourite stories of one of my favourite heroes of faith in honour of All Hallows Eve.
At the beginning of the last century, in the north of England there lived a holy man of God. His name was Smith Wigglesworth. He was used in many miracles, healings and he was a gifted teacher, leading by example rather than force of character, though he was no pushover as this story attests.
One night as Wigglesworth lay sleeping he was awoken by that weird feeling that one gets when one knows that one is not alone. The stink in the room was nauseating and a tremendously powerful presence was apparent. Wigglesworth fumbled for the bedside candle, lit it and focussed on the figure of the Evil One himself sitting at the bottom of the bed.
Imagine, the once beautiful now tortured face of the fallen angel. A form that once sang and danced before the throne of God now twisted by unspeakable evil within feet of an ordinary, rather elderly man.
Now Wigglesworth was a Yorkshireman, a race reknown for their unflappability and plain speaking, but surely he would be horrified by this frightful apparition. So, what did he do?
"Oh, its only you" he said. And he blew the candle out and went back to sleep, secure in faith, heart and spirit.
Wigglesworth gave glory to God and nothing else. Amen.
At the beginning of the last century, in the north of England there lived a holy man of God. His name was Smith Wigglesworth. He was used in many miracles, healings and he was a gifted teacher, leading by example rather than force of character, though he was no pushover as this story attests.
One night as Wigglesworth lay sleeping he was awoken by that weird feeling that one gets when one knows that one is not alone. The stink in the room was nauseating and a tremendously powerful presence was apparent. Wigglesworth fumbled for the bedside candle, lit it and focussed on the figure of the Evil One himself sitting at the bottom of the bed.
Imagine, the once beautiful now tortured face of the fallen angel. A form that once sang and danced before the throne of God now twisted by unspeakable evil within feet of an ordinary, rather elderly man.
Now Wigglesworth was a Yorkshireman, a race reknown for their unflappability and plain speaking, but surely he would be horrified by this frightful apparition. So, what did he do?
"Oh, its only you" he said. And he blew the candle out and went back to sleep, secure in faith, heart and spirit.
Wigglesworth gave glory to God and nothing else. Amen.
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