AFTERNOON IN THE GROVE
One afternoon toward the close of the revival, Betsy and John Calvin
Gilcrest and Henry and Susan Rogers took their lunch-baskets to a shady
grove near the big spring, with the intention of spending the afternoon
in the woods.
"I'm completely worn out," declared Susan, throwing herself down upon a
grassy knoll and tossing her bonnet aside. "I've had enough excitement
for one while."
"And I, too," assented Betsy, as she uncovered her lunch-basket. "Every
nerve in my body is on the war-path. We'll be having the 'jerks,' if
this meeting lasts much longer."
"If you do," remarked John Calvin, as he attacked the wing of a fried
chicken, "I suppose you'll think it an 'evidence of conversion,' as old
Daddy Stratton shouted out this morning when Billy Hinkson fell to the
ground foaming at the mouth."
"'Evidence of conversion,' indeed!" rejoined Betty. "I never felt
further from it in my life. My head is like a ragbag stuffed to
overflowing with all sorts of odds and ends of doctrinal wisdom, and
when I want to get at any one sensible idea, out tumble a dozen or more
that are of no use whatever."
"My head's all confused, too," acknowledged Susan. "Yesterday Dr.
Poague preached on 'Saved by Grace,' and showed that all we have to do
is just to sit still and wait for the Lord's call. I felt real
comfortable under that discourse. But last night old Brother Steadman's
text was, 'Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling,' and he
made me dreadfully uneasy. Now, are there two plans of salvation, or
only one?"
"Why, two, of course," said John Calvin, with laughing assurance. "One
teaches that if you mean to get to heaven, you must keep your horse
everlastingly hittin' the road; the other, that the best way to get
there is just to sit still. I like the 'sittin'-still plan' best,
myself," he declared, with boyish frivolity.
"This is what puzzles me," said Betsy, ignoring her brother's
irreverent summary of the two seemingly conflicting doctrines, "grace"
and "works": "if it be true, as so many of our learned brethren teach,
that nothing good that one can do merits salvation, then it seems to me
that, in accordance with every principle of justice, nothing bad that
one can do ought to merit damnation. Therefore, why should not I do the
thing that pleaseth me best, whether it be good or bad? If I'm one of
the 'elect,' nothing will keep me out of heaven, anyway."
"If you're of the elect, Betsy, you won't ever want to be wicked,"
Henry said gravely, speaking for the first time.
"Then, I fear I'm not of the elect."
"Oh, yes, I hope you are--only you're not yet converted. When you are,
you'll see things differently." Henry was of a devout, reverent
temperament, with a vivid imagination in spite of his quiet,
self-contained manner. He had been greatly stirred by what he had seen
and heard during the last ten days.
"But, Henry," began Betsy, argumentatively, "if I'm among the chosen at
all, I'm as much chosen now as I will ever be; for I'm a sheep, not a
goat--'Once a sheep, always a sheep,' you know."
"Well, sis," teasingly interrupted John Calvin, "if you're a sheep,
you're surely one of the black ones; and it'll take a mighty heap o'
scrubbin', I tell you, to get you white."
"And you," rejoined his sister, playfully, "I fear must be a
goat--judging by the way you're always butting in, and interrupting
serious converse."
"Oh," answered John Calvin, lightly, "I ain't bad enough to be classed
with the goats, nor good enough to be a sheep, even a black one. That
other parable about the wheatfield fits my case better. I reckon I'm
just one of those useless tares."
His sister retorted: "The parable also declares that 'he who sows the
tares is the devil,' and I hardly believe you are prepared to call your
parents the devil, although they put you into the church by having you
baptized in infancy." Then, resuming her conversation with Henry, she
said, "If I am of the elect at all, Henry, I am elected already, before
conversion, am I not?"
"To be sure," Henry replied. "God chose his people before the
foundation of the world."
"Bosh!" exclaimed Susan, impatiently. "You don't know what God was
doing before the foundation of the world, and I doubt if any of those
wise brethren up at the camp do, either."
"Besides," added the irrepressible John Calvin, "the catechism says
we're made of the dust of the earth; and before the foundation of the
world, there wasn't any dust. So, the elect must mean some other
folks--not us of this world, at all."
"Doubtless the inhabitants of Mars or Jupiter," observed Betty,
laughing in spite of herself at John's flippant remark.
"Betsy," presently said Henry very earnestly, "I've watched you and
Susan closely all during this revival, and I do believe that you both
are really under conviction. The belief in your own wickedness and in
the total depravity of the human heart is the first link in the
chain--as Brother Weaver says."
"But I do not believe in 'total depravity,'" maintained Betsy, stoutly.
"If the human race was utterly depraved to start with, how could one
keep growing worse and worse all the time?"
"Ah, Betty," said Henry, "I reasoned just as you do, once; but now I
understand these things better. Although I am of myself utterly vile
and worthless, the mercy of God has taken hold of me and clothed and
hidden me in the righteousness of his dear Son, and now I----"
"Henry," interrupted Betsy, with sudden sweetness, for the time sobered
by his earnest face and voice, "you mustn't feel hurt by anything I
have said. You know I jest over the most solemn subjects, and see the
ludicrous side of everything; but I can be impressed by real
earnestness, and I have never doubted that you are sincere in all you
say."
"Yes," said Susan, "I'd sooner doubt my own eyesight than your
sincerity, Henry. I can understand and believe in that at least; but in
other things I must be a bigger simpleton than even the 'wayfaring
man'; for the way of salvation is anything but plain, if it includes
the doctrines of our churches. I can't understand them at all."
"Understand them!" exclaimed Betsy. "Who can? Why, whenever one of our
learned ministers is on the subject of 'reprobation,' 'predestination,'
or 'effectual calling,' his reasoning is so subtle and his logic so
ingenious that it must puzzle the elect angels themselves to understand
his arguments."
"But you surely believe in the beautiful doctrine of grace?" Henry
asked earnestly. "You believe that the saints will persevere and get
home at last to glory, don't you?"
"We'll tell you more about that when we get there ourselves--if we ever
do," replied Susan.
"If the saints do persevere to glory," remarked John Calvin, "some of
'em are makin' a mighty poor start of it here below. Look at Sam
Ruddell, drunk half his time, and too lazy and mean to do any honest
work at any time; yet he claims to be one of the elect, and the church
accepts him as such."
"And, Henry," Betty pursued mischievously, "in spite of your hopeful
view about Sue and me, I, for one, am not under conviction, if every
truly convicted penitent believes himself a 'sinner above all
Galilee'--that's the orthodox phrase, isn't it? I'm not nearly so bad
as Sam Ruddell, nor as Zebuel Simmons, who beats his wife."
"Ah, but my dear little girl," said Barton Stone, who, with Dudley, had
just come up, and had laid his hand gently upon the girl's shoulder,
"you must remember that training and environment are the measure of
guilt or innocence."
"You'll think me a reckless girl, I'm afraid, Brother Stone," Betsy
answered, laughing and coloring. "I shouldn't have made that speech had
I known that you and Mr. Dudley were within hearing. But, nevertheless,
I do not believe that I am the chief of sinners; others who have had
just as good opportunities are as bad as I am, I'm sure."
"Besides, if everybody who gets up in meeting and says he's the chief
of sinners, is really so, there would be more chiefs in this
neighborhood than in all the Indian tribes taken together," put in John
Calvin, pertly, unabashed by the presence of parson and schoolmaster.
"The trouble with so many ministers," said Dudley, as Betty, Susan and
John Calvin strolled away, "is that they seem to think that furnishing
people with doctrine is equivalent to awakening them to conviction and
supplying them with faith."
"Too true," assented Stone rather sadly. "Dogma and doctrine contain
very little of the true essence of faith. But the time is coming when
people will begin to search the Scriptures for themselves; and then,
just as the walls of Jericho fell before the blasts of the trumpets, so
will the whole superstructure of human theology, whose four
corner-stones are bigotry, intolerance, superstition and speculative
doctrine, crumble into nothingness. Even now the walls are beginning to
tremble. When this human-built edifice shall have fallen, and all the
debris shall have been cleared away, then shall arise upon the one true
foundation, Jesus Christ, a glorious structure, pure, consecrated and
untrammeled, the church of the living God."
"Do you really believe," inquired Dudley, "that there will ever be a
union of all the sects of Christendom?"
"A union of sects? Never!" replied Stone, emphatically. "Such a thing
is impossible from the very nature and meaning of sect. But union, or
rather unity, of Christian people there will surely be. Our Saviour's
prayer was that all his people might be one. That petition will
certainly be answered."
"We seem very far from the realization of that prayer now," said
Dudley, thoughtfully.
"Yes!" assented Stone. "That evil spirit of intolerance, the curse of
the Corinthian church, besets the churches to-day. We must first
overcome that foe before unity is possible. But some day--and I pray
that it may be in my day," he continued with flashing eyes--"when the
storm and stress of this battle are over, there will ring out, mingling
with the shouts of victory from every rank and company of the Lord's
hosts, this one clear, dominant note, 'Unity of all of Christ's
people!'"
After a moment, he continued: "Clergy nor presbytery nor synod has the
right to stand between the people and the Bible, with authoritative
creeds and confessions of faith; for the Bible is its own interpreter;
and 'Equal rights to all, special privileges to none,' is a doctrine
that will some day be adopted in religion as well as in civil and
political matters."
"Ah, Stone," Dudley replied, "that is indeed laying the ax to the very
root of the tree of denominational intolerance. If you make public such
opinions, you will be branded as a heretic."
"I can stand that," Stone answered simply. "'Orthodoxy' and 'heresy,'"
he continued after a pause, "are in truth variable terms in religion.
The 'orthodoxy' of this generation may perhaps be considered by the
next as ignorance and superstition; and what is to-day denounced as
'heresy' in the father, may become 'orthodoxy' in the son."
Henry Rogers, who for some time had remained a deeply interested but
silent listener, sitting with his back against a tree, his hat shading
his eyes, presently asked Stone what he thought of the singular
manifestations at the camp-meeting.
"I hardly know what to reply," said Stone. "Many things connected with
this revival are mystifying to me; and, besides," he went on,
smilingly, "your question places me in an embarrassing position, as,
you know, I was largely instrumental in starting the meeting at this
place. If I say I do not believe that these manifestations are
conducive to good, you, Henry, I can see by the quickening sparkle in
your eye, will immediately impale me upon one horn of my dilemma by
asking me why, after seeing a similar excitement at the southern
Kentucky revival, I should help to start this one. And if I say I do
not believe that these manifestations are the work of God, there sits
Abner, ready to confound me with arguments, psychological,
philosophical and common-sensical. So what am I to answer?"
"But, Stone," Abner exclaimed, "you surely do not deny the work of the
Spirit in conversion, do you?"
"Certainly not," Stone replied. "The Bible plainly teaches that without
the unceasing instrumentality of the Holy Spirit there can be no real
conversion; but nowhere in the Bible can I find it taught that we
should seek in supernatural signs and special revelations, rather than
in the clear and unchangeable testimonies and promises of the gospel,
for evidence of our acceptance with God. In fact, I can find in the New
Testament no account of any miraculous manifestation being sent for the
sole purpose of converting any one, although there are instances where
a miracle did attend the conversion."
"What about Paul?"
"The voice and the great light were, I think, sent more for the purpose
of making him an apostle than for the purpose of converting him."
Abner smiled. "You certainly dispose of Paul's case in a cool, offhand
way; but how about the 'Philippian jailer'?"
"You misunderstand me," said Stone; "whether Paul and the Philippian
jailer were miraculously converted or not, I am not prepared to say. My
statement was, that when a miracle did accompany any case of
conversion, it was sent for some other purpose. Incidentally the
miracle may have converted the jailer, but I do not think it was sent
for that purpose."
"Then, in the name of reason and common sense, what do you think it was
sent for?" asked Dudley.
"To free the two apostles. Through their imprisonment the gospel was
enchained. For example, suppose some malicious boy hurls a stone to
break a neighbor's window, and, in so doing, hits some one inside the
house. He did not therefore throw the stone for the purpose of hitting
the person, did he?"
"You're a Stone too many for me," laughed Abner. "Your subtle
reasonings and hair-splitting distinctions are too much for me to
attempt to disprove, on such a broiling hot day as this."
"Brother Stone! Brother Stone!" shouted a voice from the brow of the
hill back of them. Looking up, they espied among the trees a man waving
and beckoning.
"Coming!" shouted Stone in reply. "I have an appointment at three
o'clock with some of the brethren," he explained. "It must be fully
that hour now; so I must hurry back. After all this excitement is over,
I will talk further with you, Dudley, on the subject we were
discussing. Will you return with me now?"
"No," replied Abner, throwing himself down at full length on the grass
under the big elm, and drawing his hat over his face. "I'd rather stay
here and commune with nature. I want to think over what you've been
saying--and see if I can't find arguments to confute you."