The Value of a Soul

If I offered you a crisp one hundred dollar bill would you take it? Now if I took that same $100.00 and crinkled it in my hand and then offered it to you, would you still take it? What if I took the crinkled money and put it in my garden and got it all dirty? How about then?

I believe you would still take the money because you would recognize that no matter if it’s crisp and new or crinkled and dirty the value is still the same. It will still spend at the store. I believe that’s the way with a soul. It matters not to God where that soul has been or how broken and dirty it is, they are still of great value to God and should be to us.

I am reminded of the old poem, “The Touch of The Master’s Hand” that my Dad used so many times when preaching about and to the lost. I want to see every soul through the eyes of compassion. Let’s value every one we meet and those who enter our church doors. No matter how ragged, soiled or broken, just one touch of His hand can make them a New Creature.

It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
Hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
“What am I bid, good people”, he cried,
“Who starts the bidding for me?”
“One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?”
“Two dollars, who makes it three?”
“Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three”,

But, No,
From the room far back a gray haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as the angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said “What now am I bid for this old violin?”
As he held it aloft with its’ bow.
“One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?”
“Two thousand, Who makes it three?”
“Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone”, said he.

The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
“We just don’t understand.”
“What changed its’ worth?”
Swift came the reply.
“The Touch of the Masters Hand.”

And many a man with life out of tune,
All battered and scarred by sin,
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin.
A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone.
But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Master’s Hand.

written by: Mary B. Welch

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