THE CHEERFUL LITTLE DOG THAT LED THE BLIND MAN
The fact that I had a worldly mind was in some ways very fortunate for
William. For, when all is said, this is the world we live in, not the
Kingdom of Heaven. And while I never knew any man who understood the
archangelic politics of the latter place better than he did, there were
constantly occurring occasions down here on the earth, between his
pulpit and the Post Office, when this same New Jerusalem statescraft
rendered him one of the most obtuse and stubborn men in creation. It
was then that I used to feel like one of those cheerful, clever little
dogs we sometimes see leading a blind man through a dangerously crowded
thoroughfare. It was then only that I ever had the delightful
sensation of filling the star rôle in the really great drama of life we
were acting together. And it was usually a deliciously double rôle,
for William never knew that he was led by anything but the voice of God
and the peculiar Scripture wisdom of the prophets, and the man of the
world in the situation who had to be corraled and brought back into the
fold rarely suspected, either, what was happening to him.
In regard to the latter I will say I think some very good people will
be obliged to wait until they actually get in the Kingdom of Heaven
before they experience the shine and illumination of a spiritual
nature. I have seen many a one of this class on William's Circuits,
and they are about the most difficult saints of all to manage, because
they could do what they conceived to be their duty and listen a
lifetime to the gospel without ever catching the least hint of its real
significance. The strongest sermon William could preach on "Sell all
your goods and follow me" never induced a single rich man to do it. He
was fortunate if such a man gave five dollars extra to foreign missions
on the strength of the appeal.
The wonderful thing about William was that these facts never clouded
his convictions or discouraged him. He had a faith over and above the
vain pomps and show of this world. He wore clothes so old they
glistened along every seam, and little thin white ties, and darned
shirts, and was forever stinting himself further for the sake of some
collection to which he wanted to contribute. And all these made him an
embarrassingly impressive figure when he looked out over the gew-gaws
of his Sunday congregation, calling upon them to sell all their goods
to feed the poor, or to lay down their life for Him, or to put on the
whole armor of God and present their bodies a living sacrifice, which
was their reasonable service. Maybe if he had especial "liberty" in
his delivery there would be a lively response of "Amens" from the
brethren. Maybe some old black bonneted sister would slap her hands
and shout a little on the side, but nobody ever really did the things
he told them to do. If they had, William alone could have
revolutionized human society in the course of his ministry. But he was
never aware of his failure. He was like a man holden in a heavenly
vision, a man supping in one long dream upon the milk and honey of far
off Canaan.
For this reason, as I have said, he sometimes blundered in the world
about him and I had to come to the rescue.
We were stationed at Arkville, a small village with two country
churches attached to make up the Circuit, when this incident happened
which will serve to illustrate what I mean. The congregation was
composed for the most part of men and women who worked in a cotton
factory, and of one rich man who owned it. He was that most ferocious
thing in human shape, a just man, with a thimble-headed soul, a narrow
mind and a talent for making money. He had built the church at
Arkville and he paid nearly all the assessments. He was a despot, with
a reputation among his employees of having mercy upon whom he would
have mercy. William never understood him. He regarded Brother Sears
as a being remarkably generous, and capable of growing in grace. Sears
accordingly flattered and honored the church with his presence every
Sunday during the first six months of his ministry.
But there came a dreadful Sabbath when William read for his New
Testament lesson the story of Dives's extraordinary prosperity in this
world, dwelt with significant and sympathetic inflection upon the needy
condition of Lazarus lying neglected outside his gate, afflicted with
sores. Then he capped the climax, after the singing of the second
hymn, by reading out in a deep, sonorous, judgment-trumpet voice:
"And Dives being in torment lifted up his eyes to Abraham in heaven and
begged for a drop of water to cool his parched tongue."
It was a tropical text and William preached a burning sermon from it.
As he grew older the vision of hell seemed to fade and he laid the
scenes of his discourses nearer and nearer the fragrant outskirts of
Heaven, but he was now in his hardy old age, and occasionally took a
severely good man's obtuse pleasure in picturing the penitentiary pangs
of sinners.
I shall always retain a vivid memory of that service--William standing
in the little yellow pine-box pulpit with his long gray beard spread
over his breast, and his blue eyes shadowed with his dark thoughts of
Dives's torment. I can still see, distinctly enough to count them, the
rows of sallow-faced men and women with their hacking concert cough,
casting looks of livid venom at Sears sitting by the open window on the
front bench, a great red-jowled man who was regarding the figure in the
pulpit with such a blaze of fury one might have inferred that he had
already swallowed a shovelful of live coals. Nevertheless William went
on like an inspired conflagration. There proceeded from his lips a
sulphurous smoke of damaging words with Dives's face appearing and
reappearing in the haze in a manner that was frightfully realistic. I
longed to leap to my feet and exclaim:
"William, stop! You are hurting Brother Sears's feelings and appealing
to the worst passions in the rest of your congregation!"
But it was too late. Suddenly Sears arose and strode out of the house.
Five minutes later William closed with a few leaping flame sentences
and sat down, so much carried away with the sincerity of his own
performance that he had not even noticed Sears's departure.
When he discovered the sensation he had created and the enormity of his
chief steward's indignation, he was far from repentant. He simply
withdrew and devoted an extra hour a day to special prayer for Brother
Sears. It was no use to advise him that he might as well cut off the
electric current and then try to turn on the light as to pray for a man
like Sears. He had a faith in prayer that no mere reasoning could
obstruct or circumvent. And the nearer I come to the great answer to
all prayers, the more I am convinced that he was right. But in those
days I almost suspected William of cheating in the claims he made for
the efficacy of prayer. Thus, in the case of Brother Sears, to all
appearances it was I who brought about a reconciliation by readjusting
one of the little short circuits of his perverse nature.
Brothers Sears was a man who loved to excel his fellow-man even in the
smallest things. He not only felt a first-place prominence in the
little society of the village, he strove to surpass the least person in
it if there was any point of competition between them. It would have
been a source of mortification to him if the shoemaker had grown a
larger turnip than he had grown.
William and I were walking by his garden one day, after he had sulked
for a month, and saw him standing in the midst of it with a lordly air.
William would have passed him by with a sorrowful bow, but I hailed him:
"Good afternoon, Brother Sears! You have a beautiful garden, but I
believe our pole beans are two inches taller than yours on the
cornstalk."
He was all competitive animation at once, measured the curling height
of his tallest bean vine, and insisted upon coming home with us to
measure ours, which, thank heavens, were four inches shorter.
He was so elated over this victory that he apparently forgave William
on the spot for his Dives sermon, and handed him ten dollars on
quarterage to indicate the return of his good will.
"Mary," said William, staring down happily at the crisp bill in his
hand as Sears disappeared, "never say again that the Lord does not
answer prayer!"
For a moment I felt a flash of resentment. Who was it that had had the
courage to beard Sears in his own garden? Who had tolled him all the
way across town into our garden to measure our bean stalk? Who was it
that had thought up this method of natural reconciliation, anyhow? Not
William, walking beside us in sad New Testament silence. Then,
suddenly, my crest fell. After all, I was merely the instrument chosen
by which William's prayers for Sears had been answered. To his faith
we owed this reaction of grace, not to me, who had not uttered a single
petition for the old goat.
From time to time William had queer experiences with the political
element in his churches. This is composed usually, not of bad men, but
of men who have Democratic or Republican immortalities. Apt as not the
leading steward would be the manager of the political machine in that
particular community. There was Brother Miller, for example, at
Hartsville, a splendid square-looking man, with a strong face, a still
eye, and an impeccable testimony at "experience" meetings. He held up
William's hands for two years without blinking, and professed the
greatest benefits from his sermons. No man could pray a more
open-faced, self-respecting prayer, and not one was more conscientious
in the discharge of his duties to the church and the pastor. It never
seemed to disturb him that the portion of the community which was
opposed to the "machine" that elected everything from the village
coroner to the representative, regarded him as the most debauched and
unscrupulous politician in that part of the State. He simply accepted
this as one of his crosses, bore it bravely, and went on perfecting his
remarkably perfect methods for excluding all voters who did not vote
for his candidate. He would confide in William sundry temptations he
had, enlisted his sympathy and admiration because of the struggle he
professed to have in regard to strong drink, although he never actually
touched intoxicants, but never once did he mention or admit his real
besetting sin. He was willing to repent of everything else, but not of
his politics. And St. Paul himself could not have dragged him across
the Democratic party line in that county, not even if he had showed him
the open doors of Heaven.
I do not know what is to become of such Christians. The country is
full of them, and if they cause as many panics and slumps and anxieties
in the next world as they do in this one we shall have a lot more
trouble there than we have been led to believe from reading Revelations.