We Forget God God Remembers

The Fire We Forgot
Text: Isaiah 1:3 – “The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib: but Israel doth not know, my people doth not consider.”
Introduction
It was a beautiful day.
Children laughed. Mothers adjusted hats and gathered baskets. Fathers waved from the pier. It was church day—an outing—a Sunday-school picnic on the water.
1,300 souls, mostly women and children from St. Mark’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Little Germany, boarded the General Slocum.

They sang hymns. They wore their Sunday best—wool dresses, boots, and layered collars, not knowing that those very clothes would become their tombs. They waved to friends and family on the shore—unaware that in less than an hour, they'd be remembered only by scorched railings, sunken cork, and the echo of screams.

It was June 15th, 1904.
It was New York’s greatest tragedy…
And yet you’ve probably never heard of it.
Because the world forgets.
I. Clinging to Life with Burned Hands
When the fire broke out below deck, it was just a spark. It could’ve been a cigarette. A candle. An ember in the hold.
But when a worker opened the wrong door, the fire found its breath—and the flames exploded forward with the wind.

The captain—whether in panic or pride—turned the ship into the wind. The fire surged toward the people. There was no escape.
Steel railings grew so hot that passengers clung to them in desperation—only to find their hands fused by fire.
They held on because it felt like life. But by the time they let go—it was too late.

How many today are clinging to things already killing them? They hold to religion, pride, false hopes—until the judgment burns through the lies. And then they let go… only to find it’s too late.
II. Trust Betrayed
The 2,400 life preservers—rotting cork, wrapped in canvas and stitched with rusting wire—looked safe. But they were filled with dust.
They had been shedding cork for years—so much so that every morning, the crew would hose down the decks to wash it away.

The captain had even ordered the oldest preservers thrown overboard to hide the evidence. He knew they wouldn’t float.
And yet… he boarded the ship. And so did the inspectors. The fire marshals. The city officials. The bribe-takers and box-checkers.
They all knew. But the only ones who died… were the ones who trusted them.

Am I my brother’s keeper? Yes, you are. And the God of Justice will call every man into account.
Betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss?
III. The Day Was Beautiful… Until It Wasn’t
The boat was nearing Hell Gate, a narrow, dangerous stretch of water. But the true Hell Gate had already opened.
Mothers, in panic, strapped cork-filled life jackets onto their children and tossed them into the water to escape the flames…
Only to watch them sink like stones.

Almost no one could swim. Entire families jumped in together—then vanished beneath the waves.
Others were trampled in stampedes, crushed by falling timbers, or scorched beyond recognition.

The General Slocum ran aground just shy of North Brother Island—close enough to see hope, but too far to reach it.
Some were rescued by hero nurses and tugboat crews. But for most, it was over… before noon.
IV. A Ship Built to Impress—Now a Tomb in Flames
The General Slocum was no ordinary vessel. Built in 1891, she was once the pride of the Knickerbocker Steamboat Company. At over 260 feet long, with three decks and an elegant dining salon, she carried immigrants, tourists, and church groups up and down the East River. Painted in bright whites and adorned with polished brass, she was a floating palace—a marvel of modern convenience.

But that was thirteen years and thousands of corners ago. By 1904, her hull was tired. Her hoses were brittle. Her lifeboats were painted in place. Her life preservers—all 2,400 of them—had sat exposed to sun, salt, and rot.

But it didn’t matter. She looked the part. She was still beautiful. And in New York, that was enough.

Just like so many churches today—shiny, proud, applauded… but hollow. Built to impress, not to save.
V. The Rush, the Noise, and the Need to Forget
New York City in 1904 was a city reborn—five boroughs merged into one Gotham. Skyscrapers clawed the clouds. The subway had just opened. The world pulsed to the beat of elevated trains, horse hooves, shouting vendors, and church bells.

And down Park Row, Newspaper Row, the titans of media jostled for space and headlines—Pulitzer, Hearst, The Tribune, The Sun, The Times. Their presses thundered. Their boys hollered. Their headlines sold tragedy like candy.

And the General Slocum gave them what they craved—The Big One. More dead than the Hindenburg. More than the Great Chicago Fire. Over 1,000 souls—burned, drowned, or trampled.

And the ink ran thick. “Extra! Extra! Read all about it!” Instant books. Woodcut sketches. Tear-jerking headlines. They printed grief faster than bodies could be recovered.

And then, as quickly as it came… It was gone.

Because the world forgets.
VI. The Pastor, the Coffins, and the Ice
Reverend George Haas of St. Mark’s watched his entire church drown. His wife—burned. His daughters—gone. Entire families, pillars of Little Germany, wiped out in an hour.

The funeral homes couldn’t keep up. The city ran out of coffins. They laid bodies on slabs of ice, hoping to delay decay long enough for families to identify what was left.

Some were so burned, so bloated, so disfigured—they never were. They buried them anyway. In rows. In silence. In houses, not churches—there were too many for sanctuaries to hold.

And then the city moved on.

Because the world forgets.
VII. But God Does Not Forget
The General Slocum was raised… repaired… and sold as a coal barge. Its name and glory scrubbed. Its memory buried beneath business.

The owner blamed the women and children for panicking. The secretary lied about the age of the life vests. The captain tried to cover his tracks—but was caught, convicted, and jailed. Tammany Hall buried its shame beneath corruption and paperwork.

But God saw it all.

“Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?” (Genesis 18:25)

Every bribe. Every skipped inspection. Every child’s last scream. God heard. And He remembers. Because though the world forgets… God never does.
VIII. God’s Vengeance for the Innocent
The city could forget. The newspapers could bury the headline. The politicians could shrug it off as a tragic accident… But Heaven took notes.

“For the LORD is a God of judgment: blessed are all they that wait for him.” (Isaiah 30:18)

These were God’s people. Sunday school teachers. Deacons. Choir members. Children learning the Word of God. And there is a terrible warning in Scripture for those who harm His little ones:

“But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.” (Matthew 18:6)

God has placed angels over children:
“Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.” (Matthew 18:10)

“Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.” (Romans 12:19)

The blood of those children cries from the water like Abel’s from the ground.
IX. A Beautiful Day… Until It Wasn’t
As the families waved goodbye, as the band played, as the Slocum pulled away from the dock under clear blue skies… Nobody knew.

Because life doesn’t announce tragedy. It just happens. You don’t get to schedule your repentance. You don’t get to decide when you’ll surrender. You don’t get to plan the moment you’ll meet God.

And when that moment comes, only one thing matters:
Were you on board with Christ… or just dressed for church?
X. The World Forgets… But God Remembers
Let’s not lie to ourselves. We forgot the General Slocum. We forgot the children. We forgot the smoke. We forgot the screams.

And we’ll forget again. Because that’s what the world does. But God—God remembers His own.

“Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? … Yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands…” (Isaiah 49:15–16)

You may lie in an unmarked grave. You may vanish in tragedy. Your name may be lost to history… But not to Jesus.
XI. The Invitation
I don’t know when your “Hell Gate” is coming. I don’t know what spark is waiting in the hold. But I know this:

“It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.” (Hebrews 9:27)

You are not promised a peaceful death. You are not promised a tomorrow. But you are promised a Savior—today.

“Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.” (Romans 10:13)

Don’t wait until the deck is on fire. Don’t cling to a railing that burns your soul. Don’t trust a life preserver made of dust.

Come to Christ.
His cross is not cork. His blood is not canvas. His salvation will not sink.