Precious Story From The Life Of Evangelist “Gipsy” Smith

Proverbs 25:11, “A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.” Proverbs 27:21, “As the fining pot for silver, and the furnace for gold; so is a man to his praise.”

Five minutes of praise will do more for a person than a lifetime of criticism. I ran across the following picture on Facebook today and it captivated me. I had to ponder the picture for a minute to fully understand its meaning. ...

Criticism Verses Praise

The picture shows the contrast between being critical versus praising our children. The Bible teaches in Proverbs 27:21, “As the fining pot for silver, and the furnace for gold; so is a man to his praise.” Human beings love to be praised. This should not come as a surprise, because we are all created in God's very own image, and God loves to be praised. There are 150 chapters in the book of Psalms. Interestingly, the word praise is found 150 times in Psalms, one mention for each chapter. God loves to be praised and He is worthy!

Isaiah 42:8, “I am the LORD: that is my name: and my glory will I not give to another, neither my praise to graven images.” God is a jealous God. Exodus 34:14, “For thou shalt worship no other god: for the LORD, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God:” Wow! God's name is jealous! The Lord loves to be bragged on, just as we do! That is because we are created in God's image (Genesis 1:27).

Rodney 'Gipsy' Smith (1860-1947)

When I saw the preceding picture, which contrasts the different results you get when either criticizing or praising others, I was reminded of a wonderful story I read years ago about Evangelist Rodney “Gipsy” Smith (1860-1947). When he was a young lad, and had just got saved, Gipsy recalls the kindness of an elderly man that changed his life. As a poor Gypsy boy, Gipsy was used to being despised and shunned away by society, but an elderly Christian man befriended him with a few kind words of PRAISE which transformed his life:

BUT, although I was a mischievous boy, I was not a really bad boy. I knew in my heart what religion meant. I had seen it in the new lives of my father, sisters, and brother. I had seen the wonderful change in the gipsy home--the transformation that had taken place there. I had seen the transformation-scene if I had not felt it, and in my heart there was a deep longing for the strange experiences that I knew to be my father's. I remember well a visit that my father paid to Bedford about this time. 

I shall never forget my thoughts and feelings while I listened to the people as they spoke of John Bunyan. They took us to see the church where he used to preach, and showed us his monument. During our stay in the town, I spent some portion of every day near the monument. I had heard the people say he had been a tinker and a great sinner, but had been converted, and that through his goodness he became great. And, oh! how I looked up as he stood on that pedestal, and longed to be good like him. And I wondered if I should always live in the "wagon" and spend a life of uselessness. I walked to the village where John Bunyan was born, and went into the house he had lived in. I stood and wept and longed to find the same Jesus Christ that had made Bunyan what he was. I never lost sight in my mind's eye of the bright visions that visited me while I was in Bedford. 

I had got it into my mind that religion was a thing, which first took hold of the head of the house, and then stepped down in the order of ages. My heart was heavy because I felt that I was standing in the way of my sister Tilly, who was younger than I. I remember one evening sitting on the trunk of an old tree not far from my father's tent and wagon. Around the fallen trunk grass had grown about as tall as myself. I had gone there to think, because I was under the deepest conviction and had an earnest longing to love the Saviour and to be a good lad. I thought of my mother in heaven, and I thought of the beautiful life my father, brother, and sisters were living, and I said to myself, "Rodney, are you going to wander about as a gipsy boy and a gipsy man without hope, or will you be a Christian and have some definite object to live for?" Everything was still, and I could almost hear the beating of my heart. 

For answer to my question, I found myself startling myself by my own voice: "By the grace of God, I will be a Christian and I will meet my mother in heaven!" My decision was made. I believe I was as much accepted by the Lord Jesus that day as I am now, for with all my heart I had decided to live for Him. My choice was made forever, and had I at once confessed Christ, I believe that the witness of the Spirit would have been mine, the witness which gives one the assurance of acceptance. I knew I had said "I will" to God. I made the mistake of not declaring my decision publicly, and I believe that thousands do likewise. The devil tells them to keep it quiet. This is a cunning device by which he shuts hundreds out of the light and joy of God's salvation.

Still I was not satisfied. A few days afterwards I wandered one evening into a little Primitive Methodist Chapel in Fitzroy Street, Cambridge, where I heard a sermon by the Rev. George Warner. Oddly enough, I cannot remember a word of what Mr. Warner said, but I made up my mind in that service that if there was a chance I would publicly give myself to Christ. After the sermon a prayer meeting was held, and Mr. Warner invited all those who desired to give themselves to the Lord to come forward and kneel at the communion-rail. I was the first to go forward. I do not know whether anybody else was there or not. I think not. While I prayed the congregation sang: "I can but perish if I go, I am resolved to try, For if I stay away I know I must for ever die."

And "I do believe, I will believe, That Jesus died for me, That on the cross He shed His blood From sin to set me free."

Soon there was a dear old man beside me, an old man with great flowing locks, who put his arm round me and began to pray with me and for me. I did not know his name. I do not know it even now. I told him that I had given myself to Jesus for time and eternity—to be His boy forever. He said:

"You must believe that He has saved you. 'To as many as received Him, to them gave He power to be the sons of God; even to them that believed on His name."'

"Well" I said to my dear old friend, "I cannot trust myself, for I am nothing; and I cannot trust in what I have, for I have nothing; and I cannot trust in what I know, for I know nothing; and so far as I can see my friends are as badly off as I am."

So there and then I placed myself by simple trust and committal to Jesus Christ. I knew He died for me; I knew He was able to save me, and I just believed Him to be as good as His word. And thus the light broke and assurance came. I knew that if I was not what I ought to be, I never should be again what I had been. I went home and told my father that his prayers were answered, and he wept tears of joy with me. Turning to me, he said, "'Tell me how you know you are converted?" That was a poser for a young convert. I hardly knew what to say, but placing my hand on my heart, I said, "Daddy, I feel so warm here." I had got a little of the feeling that the disciples had when they had been talking with Jesus on the way to Emmaus: "Did not our heart burn within us?" The date of my conversion was the 17th of November, 1876.

How my father rejoiced at my turning to the Lord. He said to me: "I knew you were such a whole-souled boy that, before the devil spoiled you, I coveted you for Jesus Christ. I knew that you would be out-and-out one way or the other. I seemed to see that there were in you great possibilities for Jesus Christ."

Next morning I had, of course, as usual to go out and sell my goods. My first desire was to see again the little place where I had kneeled the night before ere I commenced my work for the day. There I stood for some minutes gazing at the little chapel, almost worshipping the place. As I stood, I heard a shuffling of feet, and turning round I saw the dear old man who had knelt by my side. I said to myself, "Now that I have my goods—clothes-pegs and tinware—with me, he will see that I am a gipsy, and will not take any notice of me. He will not speak to the gipsy boy. Nobody cares for me but my father." But I was quite wrong. Seeing me, he remembered me at once, and came over to speak to me, though he walked with great difficulty and with the aid of two sticks. Taking my hands in his, he seemed to look right down into my innermost soul. Then he said to me: "The Lord bless you, my boy. The Lord keep you, my boy." I wanted to thank him, but the words would not come. There was a lump m my throat, and my thoughts were deep beyond the power of utterance. My tears contained in their silver cells the words my tongue could not utter.

The dear old man passed on, and I watched him turning the corner out of sight forever. I never saw him again. But when I reach the gloryland, I will find out that dear old man, and while angels shout and applaud, and the multitudes who have been brought to Christ through the gipsy boy sing for joy, I will thank that grand old saint for his shake of the hand and for his "God bless you!" For he made me feel that somebody outside the tent really cared for a gipsy boy's soul. His kindness did me more good than a thousand sermons would have done just then. It was an inspiration that has never left me, and has done more for me than I can describe. Many a young convert has been lost to the Church of God, who would have been preserved and kept for it, and made useful in it, all for the want of some such kindness as that which fell to my lot that day. [emphasis added]

SOURCE: http://www.cblibrary.org/biography/gs_text/gs_ch_08.htm

Please don't miss those last statements dear friend. Gipsy said that many young converts have fallen away from usefulness for God, who would have gladly served Christ, has someone simply extended some kindness toward them. I can testify firsthand about the woeful lack of compassion and kindness in many churches today.

Honestly, if it weren't for my maturity in the Lord (having been saved now for 41 years since 1980), I would have quit church altogether because of the horrible abuse, unkindness and hatred toward me from the Harvest Baptist Church on Guam between 2014 and 2021. Incompetent pastors' Marty Herron, Joe Hansen, Jared Baldwin and Gary Walton are ungodly. Those evil men caused me much mental anguish, grief and suffering for seven years, simply because I befriended them with THE TRUTH.

I saw that the Devil had deceived them. They were preaching “Lordship” salvation, misunderstood repentance, promoting Martin Luther as a born-again believer, and promoting Satan's corruptible seed. Despite my love toward them and kindness to help them see, they were arrogant and stiff-necked, full of sinful pride. Instead of dealing kindly with me for loving them enough to help them see THE TRUTH, they forced me out of Harvest Baptist Church on Guam and ostracized me, turning the whole church congregation against me.

Guam is a small island and when a large local church shuns, ostracizes and bans you from their church, it adversely affects you. Everywhere I went on Guam I was shunned, hated and mistreated. People made faces at me. Others refused to even look at me or wave back when I befriended them with God's love. If it weren't for God's love in me, I would have quit church and never returned because of those wicked ungodly pastors and staff at Harvest Baptist Church. Pastor Herron even disparaged me, calling me the church's “enemy.” We will see in eternity who is the “enemy.” I told THE TRUTH, for which they ruined my life, robbed me of my church family, took away the only friends I had, and left me destitute for seven years without a church to attend. I pray and beg God to avenge me, and deal with them treacherously as they did to me for seven long and painful years on Guam (Romans 3:4; Galatians 6:7).

In view of the preceding true account of what Harvest Baptist Church on Guam did to me and to hurt my family, forcing us all out of their cult, I can greatly appreciate what Gipsy Smith is saying. Even the smallest of kind words could have made all the difference in the world, had Harvest's pastors simply cared enough to reciprocate God's love toward me, as I kindly did toward them. When you love someone, you tell them THE TRUTH. Proverbs 12:17, “He that speaketh truth sheweth forth righteousness: but a false witness deceit.” The Bible associates righteousness with telling THE TRUTH. 

I know the inexplicable excruciating pain of soul that comes from being hated, banned, shunned and ostracized from one's own church family, simply because I TOLD THE TRUTH. God knows that in love I have regularly prayed for the leaders and people of the Harvest Baptist Church on Guam (HBCG), for God to open their blind eyes. Sadly, Satan has a stronghold on the Bob Jones University (BJU) camp, which includes the Harvest Baptist Church on Guam that employees their corrupt graduates. HBCG broadcasts BJU's chapel services, full of deadly Calvinist doctrines.

I love my name “David,” named after the humble shepherd boy David in the Old testament. Psalms 119:140, “Thy word is very pure: therefore thy servant loveth it.” Psalms 119:104, “Through thy precepts I get understanding: therefore I hate every false way.” h

According to Christianity Today:

For years, Rodney Smith did not know when he had been born. He was the son of a Gypsy, had no records and would not have known how to read them if he had. "A good aunt of mine took the trouble to get someone to examine the register of Wanstead Church (England), and there found an entry giving the date of the birth and christening of Rodney Smith. I discovered that I was a year younger than I took myself to be. He was born on this day, March 31, 1860.

While he was still young, his mother died, an event that made a deep impression on him. Living all together in a wagon, he had seen his mother come to know Christ just days before her death. All the knowledge she had to go on was a Christian song she had heard many years before as a child and a few words her husband had overheard, but not understood, while locked in jail. The power of the Holy Spirit made that little knowledge sufficient and she died singing.

Rodney himself was a mischievous boy, a poacher, a liar, a thief--and a successful salesman. His quick tongue and quicker legs got him into and out of scrapes.

Soon there was a dear old man beside me, an old man with great flowing locks, who put his arm round me and began to pray with me and for me. I did not know his name. I do not know it even now. I told him that I had given myself to Jesus for time and eternity—to be His boy forever. He said:

"You must believe that He has saved you. 'To as many as received Him, to them gave He power to be the sons of God; even to them that believed on His name."'

"Well" I said to my dear old friend, "I cannot trust myself, for I am nothing; and I cannot trust in what I have, for I have nothing; and I cannot trust in what I know, for I know nothing; and so far as I can see my friends are as badly off as I am."

So there and then I placed myself by simple trust and committal to Jesus Christ. I knew He died for me; I knew He was able to save me, and I just believed Him to be as good as His word. And thus the light broke and assurance came. I knew that if I was not what I ought to be, I never should be again what I had been. I went home and told my father that his prayers were answered, and he wept tears of joy with me. Turning to me, he said, "'Tell me how you know you are converted?" That was a poser for a young convert. I hardly knew what to say, but placing my hand on my heart, I said, "Daddy, I feel so warm here." I had got a little of the feeling that the disciples had when they had been talking with Jesus on the way to Emmaus: "Did not our heart burn within us?" The date of my conversion was the 17th of November, 1876.

How my father rejoiced at my turning to the Lord. He said to me: "I knew you were such a whole-souled boy that, before the devil spoiled you, I coveted you for Jesus Christ. I knew that you would be out-and-out one way or the other. I seemed to see that there were in you great possibilities for Jesus Christ."

Next morning I had, of course, as usual to go out and sell my goods. My first desire was to see again the little place where I had kneeled the night before ere I commenced my work for the day. There I stood for some minutes gazing at the little chapel, almost worshipping the place. As I stood, I heard a shuffling of feet, and turning round I saw the dear old man who had knelt by my side. I said to myself, "Now that I have my goods--clothes-pegs and tinware--with me, he will see that I am a gipsy, and will not take any notice of me. He will not speak to the gipsy boy. Nobody cares for me but my father." But I was quite wrong. Seeing me, he remembered me at once, and came over to speak to me, though he walked with great difficulty and with the aid of two sticks. Taking my hands in his, he seemed to look right down into my innermost soul. Then he said to me: "The Lord bless you, my boy. The Lord keep you, my boy." I wanted to thank him, but the words would not come. There was a lump m my throat, and my thoughts were deep beyond the power of utterance. My tears contained in their silver cells the words my tongue could not utter.

The dear old man passed on, and I watched him turning the corner out of sight forever. I never saw him again. But when I reach the gloryland, I will find out that dear old man, and while angels shout and applaud, and the multitudes who have been brought to Christ through the gipsy boy sing for joy, I will thank that grand old saint for his shake of the hand and for his "God bless you!" For he made me feel that somebody outside the tent really cared for a gipsy boy's soul. His kindness did me more good than a thousand sermons would have done just then. It was an inspiration that has never left me, and has done more for me than I can describe. Many a young convert has been lost to the Church of God, who would have been preserved and kept for it, and made useful in it, all for the want of some such kindness as that which fell to my lot that day. ...

SOURCE: https://www.christianity.com/church/church-history/timeline/1801-1900/rodney-smith-gypsy-evangelist-11630515.html

Kindly, I want to reiterate the most important words of Gipsy Smith, that I want to convey to you dear friend, so that we may all be edified from it:

“Many a young convert has been lost to the Church of God, who would have been preserved and kept for it, and made useful in it, all for the want of some such kindness as that which fell to my lot that day.”

SOURCE: http://www.cblibrary.org/biography/gs_text/gs_ch_08.htm

We've all been to pathetic churches, where we were made to feel like they couldn't care less if we ever came back. That is what the shameful senior pastor of Campus Church at Pensacola Christian College (PCC) did to me in 2021. Pastor Redlin is a cold, calloused and superficial type guy, as phony as they come. The way you treat people speaks volumes about your walk with God, or woeful lack thereof. Kindly said, I wasn't impressed at all with Jeff Redlin or Tim Zacharias as the pastors of Campus Church. They are extremely shallow men who lack compassion for others. The way you treat people matters, it really does!!!

Sadly, during the summer of 2021, Pastor Jeff Redlin treated me like garbage at Campus Church. As a divorced person he made me feel unwanted, unloved and looked down upon. After kindly expressing my frustration personally to him, about his woeful lack of concern and compassion for me as a hurting human being, he brushed me off and never bothered to contact me again. It is very obvious to me that Pastor Redlin couldn't care less if I ever come back to Campus Church. People know if they are wanted or not. Humbly said, Jeff Redlin is not a man who loves people or walks closely with Jesus. When you truly walk with Christ you'll care, because Jesus cares!!!

The fact of the matter is that Redlin criticized my website ministry, falsely accusing me of finding “weakness” in other preachers. No, I am rebuking damnable heresies and the devil-dog pastors who preach a false gospel and misunderstanding of repentance. What Pastor Redlin flippantly calls “weaknesses” is sending multitudes to burn in Hell forever! Sadly, Jeff Redlin is a spineless jellyfish, a yellowbellied pastor, who merely goes through the motions of living the Christian life, parasiting off of the churches for a much undeserved 6-digit annual salary. It is sickening!!! Calvinism is NOT a weakness in other preachers, it means they are unsaved infidels on their way to the everlasting Lake of Fire to be tormented day and night.