Follow thou Me

Chapter I

“Sooner or later, we find out that life is not a holiday, but a discipline. Earlier or later we shall discover that the world is not a playground. It is quite clear that God means it for a school. The moment we forget that, the puzzle of life begins. We try to play in school. The Master does not mind that so much for its own sake, for He likes to see His children happy; but in our playing we neglect our lessons. We do not see how much there is to learn, and we do not care. But our Master cares. He has a perfectly overpowering solicitude for our education; and because He loves us, He comes into our school sometimes and speaks to us. He may speak very softly and very gently, or very loudly. Sometimes a look is enough, and we understand it like Peter, and go out at once and weep bitterly. Sometimes the voice is like the thunder-clap, startling a summer night.

“But one thing we may be sure of : the task He sets us to is never measured by our delinquency. The discipline may seem far less than our desert, or, to our eyes, ten times more, but it is not measured by these. It is measured by God’s solicitude for our progress; measured solely by God’s love; measured solely that the scholar may be better educated when he arrives at his Father’s home.” Drummond.

“And now, little children, abide in him; that when he shall appear, we may have confidence, and not be ashamed before him at his coming” (I John 2:28).

November 28th. I am just entering upon the tenth year of my work as a minister of the gospel, and the third year of the pastorate of Saint Paul's Church.

My congregation has met every obligation this year; and, at the same time, has almost completed a handsome stone church, which is, without doubt, a masterpiece of architectural genius — a real “triumph of mind over matter."

Mary and I have just made a thorough inspection of the entire structure. The workmen have just placed a memorial window which we dedicated to our angel boy.

This beautiful work of art represents a shepherd on the home-side of a swollen, turbulent stream, holding a lamb in his arms, which he has just borne across; while the sheep, led by the mother of the lamb, are, one by one, leaving the quiet pasture and braving the rushing torrent to find the fold on the other side. It bears this inscription: “I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me." The thought was suggested by a little poem that gave us so much comfort in our sorrow. I can only trust that it may help some sorrowing parents to find the meaning of their bereavement.

During the coming year I trust my people will lift the debt that remains on the church. Then I want them to consider the support of a foreign missionary and the establishment of a mission here in the city.

December 2nd. I preached twice yesterday to large attentive congregations ! This morning one of the leading dailies of the city contains a picture of our “handsome new church, and her popular pastor." Underneath there is a notice of the services of yesterday, abounding in such phrases as these: “eloquent divine/' “strong sermon of deep thought," “the large cultured audience held spellbound," etc. There have been times when this flattering notice would have been very gratifying to me. But the very words that rang as eloquence on yesterday have the harsh jangle of the tinkling cymbal today. I have only to turn to the social column of the same paper and read some of the social announcements, to learn a few facts about the lives of some of my members that make my heart sick. I sigh wearily: “It is one thing to preach sermons that please people, and quite another thing to reach the consciences, and influence the lives of those same people." And yet, I have tried to lift a high standard of Christian living and show a high ideal of Christian character. I have preached of the

IO emptiness and vanity of low sensual living; and still, Mrs. Mauldin continues to give card parties and serve wine to the young men and young women of our church, of other churches, and to those who belong to no church.

Percy Armstrong, president of the most fashionable club in the city, and his beautiful young wife are still leaders in the gayest circle of the corrupt society of the city. As owner and proprietor of the Belle Vue Hotel, of course, he is also the owner and proprietor of a “high-class” bar. I could mention the names of others, who listen to my sermons and praise them on Sunday, and through the week attend theatres, play cards, dance, or indulge in other forms of pleasure hurtful to the Christian life. Yes, when I study the roll of my church carefully, I fear that few persons who hold their membership in St. Paul’s Church are Christians in the real meaning of the word. And when I look into things, and see them as I do this morning, I am deeply troubled.

Among the notices of religious services held in the city yesterday, I see an account of a Convention of a body of Christian workers, known as the “Eleventh Hour Laborers.” They are holding their meetings in a large gospel tent, and immense crowds are attending them. Notably, among the ii many converts, the reporter mentions Tom Callahan, a saloon-keeper of a very disreputable part of the city. No mention is made of a conversion in any other congregation !

Downstairs I hear Mary singing :

“Not at death I shrink nor falter,

For my Saviour saves me now;

But to meet Him empty-handed,

Thought of this now clouds my brow.”

Dear Mary, I wonder if you feel the same doubts and fears that now distress my heart. I wonder if you are in the same conflict, or do the words fall unconsciously from your lips?

I believe I will leave all these cares and go for a walk; perhaps the power of God’s sunshine and the free, fresh air of heaven may dispel these perplexities.

December 4th. The gloomy forebodings of yesterday have given way to brighter thoughts, and sweeter hopes. I cannot account for these fogs that fall at times upon my spiritual being; and which, from their more frequent occurrences on that day, I have called “Blue Mondays.” My health is robust; I preach without feeling any fatigue; therefore, I know it is not physical reaction. But whatever the cause, it is fortunate for me that they do not last long. If they did, I should be utterly unfitted for the duties of my calling. Tonight I am to assist in a marriage ceremony. One of my members, Florence Rigsley, is to become the bride of the Rev. James Andrew Watson, the son of a prominent minister in the city. Florence is one of the most active workers in the St. Paul's Church; a leader of the Young People's Societies; teacher in Sunday School, and a devoted member of the missionary societies. May God abundantly bless their united lives.

December 5th. Yesterday morning I congratulated myself that the fogs of “Blue Monday" had cleared away, leaving me in a frame of mind to enjoy a wedding feast. However, last night, just as I began to feel the influence of the scene of splendor, suddenly a conviction, similar to that which I had felt on Monday, seized my heart ; and this question presented itself to my consciousness: “Is this Christianity? Is this the teaching of the lowly Nazarene, whose test of discipleship was this: Tf any man will be my disciple, let him deny himself'?"

I realized all at once that selfishness is as truly a sin against God and humanity as vice itself; and I knew that it would be as great a miracle for one to be converted to Christ while surrounded by all the subtle allurements of that dainty perfumed life, as was the conversion of Tom Callahan.

I have been wondering ever since if anyone can follow Christ in such an atmosphere as that with which these people have surrounded themselves. I am not sure that I have ever witnessed just such a scene as that presented last night. The costly array of the bride and her attendants, the jewels of gold and precious stones, worn by those who call themselves Christians, the brilliant display of costly wedding presents, the subtle perfume of rare flowers, the glitter of cut-glass and silver plate, the magnificent yet harmonious decorations, altogether produced such an irresistible charm that few people who have felt it have much relish for real Christianity. It is like trying to serve two masters. Yet, God forbid that I should judge.

Mary was impressed in the same way; yet she looked a little further, as she usually does, and saw the practical as well as the ethical side of the matter. After we reached home last night she said musingly: “That wedding must have cost enough to support both a foreign and a home missionary for a year.” I agreed with her, but was too busy with my own thoughts to talk.

This morning at breakfast I said that I was going down to the tent meeting, as I wished to know for myself just what was being taught down there.

Mary answered very promptly, “If you will wait until I plan dinner and see after the children a bit, I will go with you.”

“Oh, there is plenty of time,” I answered; “yet I doubt whether you would enjoy the meeting, as I have heard of some very extravagant things being done and said by these people.”

“Yet,” she answered, “I have been told that they are very earnest and unworldly ; and it seems to me that I can't associate George Mayhew with anything fanatical. Anyway, I will go this morning; and if it is not a well-conducted meeting, why, I need not go any more.”

The fact is I have some misgivings about Mary going to a meeting of that kind. Her conscience seems morbidly sensitive, and she has never recovered her wonted spirits since the death of our oldest child. I am afraid this teaching will not prove wholesome for her. But there, she is calling. I shall try to shield her from any fanatical teaching.

Later. — We reached the tent this fnorning in the midst of a testimony meeting. A member of the convention, noticing my ministerial attire, invited me to take a seat on the stand. This I declined, but moved to a seat near the front, on one side of the stand. There I could see the congregation. Peopie were there from all parts of the city. I noticed some of my own flock, — people of thought and culture, others gay and thoughtless. Then there were people from the “streets and lanes of the city,” and from the “highways and hedges of life.” What is it that brings this mixed multitude together? People of such different tastes, and such widely differing environment, I always supposed could not mingle together either in the church or in the drawing-room. With the wealthy, cultured class, I have always associated the stone church, with its symmetrical architecture, its grand pipe organ, and its cushioned pews. With the other classes, I have associated the little wooden chapel, or the street corner. But here all elements gather from time to time under a huge temporary tabernacle. What magnet draws them together ? What power causes giddy, thoughtless Evelyn Wayne to sit and listen quietly to song and sermon? What brings that hungry, longing expression into faces that have been hardened by earthly care? I tried to find an answer to these questions as I sat and listened to a sermon that was neither mighty in argument, nor eloquent in diction; yet it commanded attention, and at its close, many knelt at the rough pine bench for prayer. I left the tent with the question still unsettled.

i6

On the way home we passed a little group of negroes, carrying on an animated conversation. I do not know what they were discussing, I heard only one sentence." an old weather-beaten philosopher, with impressive gesture, made this statement just as we passed the group: “Wall, dere ain't no use in talkin'; no man ain’t open to convicshun when he is already done went forward in his own mind and decided de case.” This quaint little speech was not meant for my ears; and yet I still hear it. Am I blinded by prejudice? Am I not open to conviction? All through this week I have been conscious of an inward debate like the following: “These Eleventh Hour Laborers are more or less fanatical. Their work is extravagant and unreal. Then, too, they appeal to the emotional nature ; therefore their work will not stand. I appeal to the higher conscience of my congregation, and address them through the intellect.”

“How do you know these people are fanatical? Have you given them a quiet hearing, unbiased by your own opinion? How do you know they appeal to the emotions? Is George Mayhew a man who would likely be led away by light, emotional, or fanatical teaching?”

“I am a workman of a different type, and preach by example as well as from the pulpit. I have never been a worldly person; and I have striven, day by day, to furnish my people a living example of a humble, earnest Christianity. Of course, I am conscious of failure, but still I am pressing on.”

“But are worldly people really influenced by your example to lead holy lives? Have you witnessed changes wrought in men's lives as a result of your ministry? Do you influence abandoned sinners to come to Christ?”

“Perhaps my work is conservative. Christ’s message to one Church was: That which ye have already, hold fast till I come.’ ”

“Are you sure that all, or even the majority of your members have saving faith in Christ — something to hold till He comes — something that will stand the test of His coming? Is there not need for radical work in Saint Paul’s Church? Does it occur to you that the worldliness that you know exists among its members may, in a measure, at least, be due to lack of spiritual power on your part ? It takes supernatural power to lead souls to Christ in any condition of life. Human eloquence can’t do it. Personal magnetism and a beautiful example may excite admiration; but they can’t lift men out of the mire of sin and show them a Saviour. Besides, do you remember John Inskip, under whose preaching you were brought to Christ ? Did he not i8 give testimony to the same experience and preach with the same power as do the leaders in this convention? Do you recall any very fruitful ministry in which these doctrines are not emphasized ?”

“I suppose they may do good in a way; but •what good comes of preaching in these side issues? I am told that Dr. Heath, the president of the body, actually teaches healing for the body as part of the work of redemption; and I am told that tomorrow morning he will preach on the 'Second Coming of Christ/ Why not preach the gospel of repentance to sinners, instead of inviting a promiscuous congregation to pry into God's own secrets? I wonder if he ever heard of Henry Jones, who refused to plant a crop because he said that Christ would come before it would be harvested? His fanaticism caused his family great suffering and privation, which he escaped by going around holding meetings. It is very fitting for men of mature, quiet minds to study these things out for themselves; but I do not think it safe or wise to preach about them. If it were not for these little streaks of fanaticism, I believe I could enter into this meeting with interest, even if I do not agree with them in all points of doctrine.”

Anyway, I will go back tomorrow and hear Dr. Heath.

December 6th. I went to the tent this morning strongly entrenched in my own opinion, my own theory; and I came home just as much at sea as ever. On the way to the meeting I kept saying to myself: “To be ready for death is to be ready for Christ's coming. I wonder if I had better tell Dr. Heath the case of Henry Jones, and warn him of the danger of preaching on this subject?" However, I did not have the opportunity, for when I reached the tent, the leaders of the meeting were engaged in prayer. Dr. Heath was kneeling very low, with his face buried in his hands, in deep, but silent, intercession. The sight impressed me very deeply. As I stood at the end of the bench, for Mary to pass to a seat, she silently knelt and joined in the prayer. Almost mechanically I followed her example; but I can hardly say that I prayed. My mind was full of confusing thoughts.

By the time the season of prayer was over, the tent was rapidly filling. After a song service there was the usual testimony meeting. Some of the testimonies were, it seemed to me, extravagant; others, mechanical and dry; but many were full of the very freshness and joy of heaven.

George Mayhew spoke of his conversion as a fact that he had never doubted ; but still his experience as a Christian had not been a victorious one.

He had long sought an established experience ; and at last had found his needs all fully realized in Christ. By the grace of God, he had yielded himself, as a lump of clay into the hands of the Divine Potter, to be moulded, to be transformed.

I was busy thinking : “Here is George Mayhew, whom I have always regarded as a model type of Christian manhood, loyal to the Church, and faithful to all of her ordinances; one whose ideals of Christian living and thinking were far and away beyond that of any other young man of my congregation. A successful business man — wealthy, educated, traveled — a social favorite.” I had never dreamed of George Mayhew seeking anything that did not come in an easy, appropriate way. I did not know that he needed a higher, or deeper Christian experience; and was greatly surprised when I learned that he had found it, of all places, in a tent meeting.

The next to speak was Tom Callahan, who said, “I don't suppose God ever saved a greater sinner than Tom Callahan. I have heard men speak of the time when they prayed at their mother's knee ; but, until last Saturday night, I don’t remember ever knowing what it was to use God’s name except in blasphemy. I knew that there was a God ; and that I was a sinner in His sight, but I never dreamed that it was possible for my life to be changed. Christian people looked down on me and my business, and they had a right to do it. God only knows the blackness of it all. Mothers have begged me, with tears, not to sell whiskey to their boys, and (may God pity me) to their girls, too. I have had little children with downcast eyes plead with me to try to get their fathers, and, sometimes, their mothers, to come home sober, and bring them something to eat.” Here the strong man broke down and buried his face in his hands, and wept. Then he went on : “My heart bleeds when I think of the lives my business has helped to curse ! But God has saved me! Glory to His Name! The ground has drunk every drop of the accursed liquor that was in my bar. Please pray that I may serve this merciful, gracious God as faithfully as I have served Satan !”

While Tom Callahan was talking I kept thinking : “What an object lesson for temperance workers!” I have heard lecturers read the ioth Psalm, and hurl all of its bitter epithets against the saloon-keeper. I am not apologizing for the liquor business. I hate it, and wish it was truly legislated out of every state of the Union, and every country of the world. But in fighting the business, let us not forget that back of every saloon is a man, and that man has a soul, and no matter how soiled that soul has become, its value can only be estimated by the price that Christ paid for it— His blood!

Dr. Heath’s sermon was based on two texts: “Watch ye and pray always, that ye may be accounted worthy to escape all these things that shall come to pass, and to stand before the Son of man” (Luke 21 136) . “And he said unto them. Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature” (Mark 16:15).

He opened his sermon with a short Bible reading, which showed that the early Christians were taught by the apostles to expect the Lord’s return to earth — it was their “blessed hope.”

At first I tried to rehearse my theories on His coming. But, as a matter of fact, I soon found that I had thought very little of His coming; and when I had thought of it, I had always put it in the dim, uncertain, shadowy future — an event that I knew would surely come to pass some day. I thought He would come after the heathen world should be converted; when good should at last triumph over evil throughout the world. However, I soon forgot to defend my position, and I became engrossed in one of the most masterly arguments, as well as one of the most deeply spiritual sermons I had ever heard. His first text he applied to private individual conduct — standing daily before the Son of man, clothed in His righteousness, washed in His blood, filled with His Spirit, and watching unto prayer. The outcome of such living would be God's great throbbing, living love, manifesting itself in the activities of the second text.

Some of his interpretations of prophecy were new to me ; and it will require time for me to study them, so as to be able to reject them, or adopt them. However, these things did not form the burden of his sermon. The point of his argument was directed to the practical bearing of his subject upon Christian conduct. He lifted an exalted standard : “If Christ should come today, are your life and work such that you could meet Him with joy? Do you love His appearing? Are you doing His will? Is your life in harmony with His plan for you? If so, it is really a part of His everlasting kingdom; and His coming will be the crowning joy of your life — the great completion of your task."

It is hard to describe the effect that these words produced upon my inner consciousness. I could not assure myself that my life in all points was in harmony with God's plan. Somehow, it seemed as if I had forfeited something that, all at once, seemed very important. Another thing — this man preached like one to whom the simple gospel of the Son of man is today a living power — the greatest power in the world: greater than all the evils of society; greater than all political wrongs; greater than the love of money and all its blight upon mankind; greater than the liquor traffic; greater than the superstition and darkness of the heathen world ; in short, greater than all the combined forces of hell. His preaching was different from the ordinary preaching.

During the altar service that followed the sermon, an invitation was given for those who had not realized the Divine harmony in their lives, to come and yield themselves to God ; and I saw Mary quietly leave my side, and kneel among the seekers at the altar.

I tried to enter into the spirit of the meeting ; but still something seemed to be in the way. I was conscious of a variety of feelings. At times I would feel a deep penitent longing to kneel beside Mary at the altar, then a vague shivering dread would be followed by an impatient desire for the service to close.

Moreover I was rather hurt that Mary should seek help in her Christian life without coming to me for it. Besides, several of my flock had found a new life, or a brighter experience at the tent meeting. This seemed a reflection on my work as a pastor, I formed a mental resolve not to go back to another service, and to persuade Mary not to go again, thinking that I could teach her when we reached home that the old paths were safer than new ones. But before the service closed the great Teacher spoke to her heart, and I could see in her radiant face something that needed no words to explain. Yet, I cannot understand why I need to seek another work of grace in my heart. I believe in growth.

When we were away from the crowd, Mary said : “Will, I really did not know the way was so simple. Today I was telling Miss Heath my difficulties, failures, and struggles ; and she said : 'My dear, you must leave off trying to make yourself holy, and simply take Christ for all you need/ Turning to Romans 5:10 she read: 'For, if when we were enemies, we were reconciled by the death of his Son, much more being reconciled, we shall be saved by his life/ It all seemed so new, but so sweet and satisfying. As I began to grasp the truth, a quiet, restful peace stole into my heart, pervading my whole being.”

I answered in as firm a tone as I could command : ''Mary, your life has been beautifully consistent; you mustn’t pay too much attention to this sudden stirring of your emotions. When you are meeting the varied engagements of life, you cannot maintain such feelings as these.”

“I am not talking about feelings — I have just learned more about Christ. I don’t think you understand me, dear,” she answered gently.

I am rather sorry now that I said what I did to this remark, for I am sure that she was not boasting any superior knowledge or spiritual attainment. Yet my sense of wounded love made me answer in a voice that was cold and stern, complaining of a barrier of wonderful knowledge and spiritual understanding suddenly coming between us.

“Oh, Will,” she said, “please don’t talk that way ! I haven’t learned anything new or deep at all. I have just found rest.” I made no reply; for I was convinced that I did not understand her at all. In fact, I was then, and am still, far from being at rest in my mind. So we walked on some time in silence. I was busy trying to settle this inner turmoil that has been stirring to the very center of my being these last few days. The little woman who walked by my side was silent too; but hers was the deep hush that followed the Master’s whisper : “My peace I give unto thee.”

Just before we reached home Mary said in a musing sort of way : “I was reading the other day of a party crossing an African desert. Thirsty and hot and travel-worn, they looked across the burning sand, and saw what appeared to be a sheet of sparkling water ; but when they hastened to quench their thirst, they found it was only a mirage. After another day of weary travel, they really reached an oasis. As they rested beneath the welcome shade, and drank the cooling water from the spring, I imagine they could hardly have been persuaded that it was only another mirage !” The little story made its own application.

December 8th. Friday afternoon, and no sermon outlined for Sunday morning, or evening! I spent yesterday visiting the sick and strangers of my flock. Friday morning I always observe a fast, and spend the time as nearly as possible in prayer and self-examination.

This afternoon I feel must be used in preparation for Sunday. The house is perfectly quiet; and yet, for some reason, I cannot collect my thoughts; I cannot command my mind to do its work. What is the matter? Have these strange scenes and experiences, through which I have been passing, upset my nerves? I cannot help feeling rather glad that the meeting at the tent will not continue through another week.

I have thought of preaching from the text : “But grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ.” I have given the subject much thought, and have a store of beautiful illustrations that I had expected to use; but, somehow or other, it seems that they have all vanished from my mind, or become insipid, and unsatisfactory. Usually, when alone in the quiet of my study, I can rid myself of all disagreeable thoughts, and become absorbed in any work that I wish to do. But today, the stillness only oppresses me; and I am haunted by the question: “After all, is this a suitable text for your congregation ? Would not something else be more to the point?” The fact is, I am all at sea.