_The New Goshen Pastorate—An Old Grudge Healed—Dry Bones
Revived—Memorable Year at “Dogtown”—“Death in the Pot”—The
Hittites Captured—The “Jerks”—Other Remarkable Demonstrations—A
Rooster in the Missionary Collection—First Debate—Unpleasant
Sequel to a Horse Trade._
Following the Vermilion pastorate, two years were spent on the New
Goshen Circuit in Vigo County, Indiana. This circuit had ranked among
the best in the conference, but unfortunately had become weakened and
despoiled through internal dissension. A chronic grudge between two of
the most prominent members had leavened the whole lump with its unsavory
effects. It was one of those situations that afford a pastor a splendid
opportunity of losing his ecclesiastical scalp, the very thing that
happened to a number of former pastors who undertook to heal the sore.
It was not Newgent’s policy to take a hand in neighborhood broils, or
to break to the woods in the face of such contingencies, but rather to
“stand still and see the salvation of the Lord.”
His presiding elder told him that his first duty on going to the circuit
would be to get the difficulty adjusted. It was suggested that as he
was a stranger to both parties, he would be the proper one to do it. He
replied that God had not called him to fix up old grudges between church
members, but to save sinners.
“But unless you get this done,” he was told, “you had as well not go, for
you can never accomplish anything until the difficulty is removed. He
said he would not bother the old grudge directly, and that if there were
sinners who wanted salvation, he was sure God could save them in spite
of old, grouchy church members. He proceeded at once to plan a revival
campaign. It is part of his philosophy that if a pastor’s first revival
effort is a success it begets confidence on the part of the people and
paves the way for other victories. It is, therefore, the part of wisdom
to choose the easiest place to begin with. Accordingly, he began a
meeting in the latter part of September at the Rose Hill class, where he
thought there were the fewest hindrances. But the people were still busy
with their farm work, and with the old trouble still visible around the
edges, producing a melancholy Indian summer effect, he had very little
encouragement. Two weeks passed and only four persons could be mustered
for day services. He preached to this quartet of faithful souls, held
prayer and class meetings with them, and encouraged them in every
possible way.
“Tell the people to come,” he said to his little band one day, as if
seized with a sudden revelation, “for we are going to have the biggest
revival they have ever seen. If you can’t tell it on your own faith,
tell them the preacher said so.” They perhaps half-way believed what he
said. At least they did as they were urged, and the crowd was slightly
increased the next day. And with that service the revival really did
begin. The prophecy was fulfilled. It was by far the greatest revival
the community had ever known, abundantly demonstrating the preacher’s
philosophy that when folks want salvation, a few backslidden church
members, even with their bristles up, cannot prevent them from getting it.
New Goshen Class was the head and heart of the circuit, likewise the seat
of the trouble that had been its thorn in the flesh. Newgent proceeded
to carry out his policy of capturing the outposts before storming this
stronghold of opposition. The plan worked admirably. Three meetings were
held, each of which resulted in a sweeping revival. He was now ready for
the Herculean task, the final charge, New Goshen itself!
Here it was seen how God moves in mysterious ways, using the weak things
to confound the mighty. Some two miles from town lived a family, all of
whom were utterly irreligious. The father was a drunkard and a notably
rough character. The oldest daughter was an invalid, but on learning
of the meeting, she was taken with a keen desire to attend. So she
went to visit with a family who lived just across the street from the
church, so that it would be convenient for her. In the first service she
attended, she went to the altar, and was not there long until she fell
into a trance. This was repeated the second and third evenings. One of
her brothers was present the third evening, and when he saw his sister
so strangely affected, conviction seized upon him so intensely that he
likewise fell over in an unconscious condition. When he “came through” he
was a new creature in Christ. One after another of this wicked family was
taken captive by the power of God until all were graciously saved.
By this time the church began to rub its eyes and take notice. The dry
bones were surely beginning to shake and show signs of life. One evening
as the power of God was moving upon the people, the two brethren who were
responsible for the old trouble on the circuit, were seen edging toward
each other, and when they got together, they threw their arms around
each other’s necks and wept like children. The mother of one of the men
was present and when she saw what was taking place, she sent up a shout
that really did wake the dead—the spiritually dead of the congregation.
Walls of opposition suddenly gave way. The fire from heaven fell as it
fell on Sodom and Gomorrah, not to destroy, but to wipe out old scores
and to make men and women alive to God. The fortified city was taken. The
victory was complete.
During this pastorate of two years, over four hundred persons were added
to the church.
One of his most successful and memorable pastorates was that on the
Charlestown Circuit, in Illinois. The circuit had a very unsavory
reputation at the time. It was commonly known by the undignified and
uncomplimentary name of “Dogtown.” Newgent had asked to be sent to the
worst charge the conference had, and the reputation of Dogtown made this
a matter easily determined. His predecessor had been egged and otherwise
badly handled.
It was a serious question with the conference as to whether a pastor
should be appointed to it, as it had proven itself so unworthy. Besides,
it was a proposition that few men were willing to face, Newgent being the
only aspirant for the situation. The salary the preceding year was $180,
and there was not a church paper taken on the entire charge.
Dogtown, the place which gave the name and largely the reputation
to the circuit, was a straggling village noted only for its general
cussedness. Newgent declared that it had never been named after a good
dog, but more likely after the lowest bred cur in the country. The name,
however, was partially a corruption of Diona, by which name the town
had been christened; but the appropriateness of the former name was so
evident that it naturally stuck, and the original name was well nigh
forgotten. Though the place was utterly fallen from righteousness—if it
ever possessed any—and was inclined to evil and evil only, it had the
one advantage of being well churched. It had two church-houses, each
serving as the home for two denominations. Thus, four denominations
were diligently casting their pearls into this swine-wallow only to
have them trampled under foot. The Methodists and Baptists occupied one
house, and the Cumberland Presbyterians and United Brethren the other.
They suffered no inconvenience through lack of room, as the combined
membership of the four churches numbered only fourteen, seven of whom
belonged to the United Brethren.
It was one of those melancholy days, a Sunday afternoon in September,
when the new circuit rider arrived to fill his first appointment at
Dogtown. Of course the seven members of his flock were present to take
his measure. The task was soon done. They were crestfallen when they
saw as their spiritual advisor an unpretentious, boyish-looking fellow,
somewhat below the standard size, and possessing little of the air and
dignity and gravity of a ripe circuit rider, according to their staid
notions. The faithful seven, like the proverbial birds of a feather,
occupied a portion of the house to themselves; their long faces turned
full upon the pastor, added to the melancholy of that autumn afternoon.
Nor did the small sprinkling of stray sheep throughout the plain old
building serve to any considerable extent as a counter-irritant.
Newgent was keeping a “stiff upper lip” as he introduced the services.
The preliminary exercises were about finished, and he was about to begin
the sermon; the congregation was droning out a familiar tune when a raw,
strapping native came stalking in. He presented a unique appearance. He
was barefooted, his trousers were rolled up to his knees, he wore no
coat, and his checked shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. No sooner was
he seated than another in exactly similar manner and costume followed.
One after another followed until upwards in thirty came in, all dressed
exactly alike, and so timing their movements as to give time for each
to be seated before another followed, making the procession as long as
possible—to the amusement of the pastor and the stray sheep, and the
utter consternation of the faithful seven.
It struck the witty Irishman at once that they were not trying to install
him as the Presbyterians do their pastors, but rather to forestall
him after the manner of Dogtown; and he made up his mind not to be
forestalled. He was certain they did not want any religion and he had
no religion to throw away. He had his subject in mind, but he thought
it best to select a more appropriate one. Accordingly, he announced as
his text, “Oh, man of God, there is death in the pot.” He talked about
twenty minutes, putting in the entire time telling his funniest stories,
and pouring in one broadside after another of his Irish wit and humor.
It was a diplomatic move. All seemed heartily to enjoy the “sermon,”
except the seven members of his own congregation. The proceeding was
most too irregular for their conventional tastes. The members of his
uniformed guard were especially delighted. Every witticism was greeted
with vociferous applause, by the stamping of their bare feet, clapping of
hands, and unrestrained, boisterous laughter.
“I would not black my boots to hear a long, dry sermon,” said the
preacher by way of conclusion. “You are a fine looking set of fellows. I
have been sent by the conference to preach to you, and I am sure we will
get along well together. Now, if you see me at any time looking hungry,
or if it is near night, take me in. I am an Irishman and easily pleased.
And if I see any of you near my home, I will treat you the same. But,
gentlemen, I have the most beautiful little wife you ever set eyes on.
Now, I expect to bring her with me the next time, and you must be sure to
put your boots on and fix up a little.”
When he dismissed he went back among this raw element, shaking hands
and talking freely with each one. Much of his time between that and the
next appointment was spent studying “mischief”—loading up for the next
discharge. His second talk was even more humorous than the first, having
been prepared especially for the crowd and the occasion. In the meantime
his fame had been spread broadcast, and an immense crowd was present to
see and hear the “wild Irishman.” A number were congregated at the door
for the purpose of greeting him upon his arrival at the church.
At the third appointment he had an overflow crowd. As he was walking down
the aisle to the pulpit, a brother whom he recognized as one of the true
and blue seven of the first service, plucked him aside and whispered:
“Parson, you’ve got ’em. You’re the smartest feller that ever struck this
place. These fellers say you’ve got to have order if they have to fight
for it.”
“That’s what I’ve been fishing for,” said Newgent. He began a revival
at this time. Ere long the great, rough fellows who laughed so heartily
at his jokes were crowding to the mourner’s bench, shedding tears
of penitence, crying for mercy, and piercing the air with shouts of
victory as one after another emerged into the light and liberty of God’s
children. A marvelous work was wrought in that sin-polluted community.
As the lives of these hardy backwoodsmen were transformed by the power
of Christ, they became as potent for righteousness as they had been for
evil. Just how many were converted could not be definitely ascertained.
One hundred sixty-one members were added to the United Brethren Church,
besides those that joined the other churches of the town.
There was an appointment some few miles from Dogtown named Liberty. It
was practically dead as a church, there being but five names on the
roll, and they represented very little in spiritual assets. He began a
revival campaign here immediately following the meeting in town, which
proved even more far-reaching in its results. He has always regarded it
as the most remarkable revival in his entire ministry. The power of God
in the conviction of sinners was irresistible. Strong men and women were
stricken unconscious in almost every service. As many as fifty persons
could be counted lying in an unconscious condition at one time.
A peculiar feature of this revival was the presence of that strange,
nervous phenomenon among the people, known as the “jerks.” This strange
manifestation prevailed in many of the early revivals where unusual
power was displayed. It was especially prevalent in what is known as the
great Cumberland revival which swept over the eastern part of Kentucky
and Tennessee. Whatever the explanation of this phenomenon, it usually
accompanied a deep emotional state, saints and sinners alike being
subject to it. The mystery of it and the fact that it often became
quite violent, especially on persons who resisted the influence of the
meetings, gave it much weight in these early revivals. Peter Cartwright,
in his well-known autobiography, describes the physical effects of the
jerks as follows:
“No matter whether they were saints or sinners, they would be taken
under a warm song or sermon, and seized with a convulsive jerking all
over, which they could not by any possibility avoid, and the more they
resisted, the more they jerked. If they would not strive against it and
would pray in good earnest, the jerking would usually abate. I have
seen more than five hundred persons jerking at one time in any large
congregation. Most usually persons taken with the jerks, to obtain
relief, would rise up and dance. Some would run but could not get away.
Some would resist; on such the jerks were usually very severe.”
The meeting was accompanied by a variety of spiritual demonstrations,
remarkable both in their character and extent. It was entirely beyond
human control. It continued four months, day and night. Most of the
time there was no preaching, for there was no opportunity for a sermon,
and none was needed. The people would gather, singing and shouting
as they came, and the singing, shouting, and praying would continue
spontaneously. Penitents would go to the altar without an invitation,
often as soon as they arrived.
The entire community was charged with a peculiar spiritual atmosphere,
the limit of which seemed distinctly drawn. It was termed the “dead
line.” On reaching this line the individual, whether a Christian or not,
would at once be seized with intense religious emotion. On passing out of
this region the change was as distinctly felt as on entering it.
So great was the interest in the surrounding country that six schools
were closed. One teacher sent to the church for help. Some brethren went
to see what was the matter, and found the entire school practically
prostrate with conviction. School was turned into prayer meeting.
A number, including the teacher, were converted, and school was
indefinitely suspended.
The pulpit and platform were smashed into kindling wood at one of the
services. People performed physical feats utterly impossible under
ordinary circumstances, such as walking across the house on the backs of
the pews with their faces turned straight upward. Late one night after
the service had closed, a family in the neighborhood heard singing in the
direction of the church. Not knowing what it meant, they investigated.
But on approaching the church they noticed that the singing was overhead
as if produced by an invisible choir in the upper air.
Whatever question may enter the mind as to the nature of these phenomena,
there is no question as to the genuineness of the work of grace wrought
in that section of country. It was swept as completely by the revival as
a prairie is swept by fire. And the effects were abiding, even the more
extraordinary forms of spiritual fervor continuing indefinitely.
This was a season of strenuous physical activity on the part of Rev.
Mr. Newgent. This meeting lasted four months, and for three months in
addition he was in revival meetings continuously.
From being the worst circuit in the conference, Dogtown suddenly became
the best. It reported the largest salary. And that year it led the entire
denomination in the number of church papers taken. Prizes were offered
by the publisher for the largest club in any conference, and also a
sweepstakes prize for the largest club in the Church. Newgent won both
the conference and the sweepstakes prize, which was the more remarkable
when we recall that there was not a paper taken on the charge when he was
appointed to it.
Near the close of his memorable meeting at Dogtown, he announced that
he would take a missionary offering the following Sunday, and urged the
people to come prepared. The missionary meeting was full of enthusiasm,
as all his meetings were when a collection was involved. As he was
exhorting the congregation to give freely to send the gospel to the
heathen, the door opened and a boy bearing in his arms a large rooster
came walking down the aisle. As an evidence that the old-time Dogtown
spirit was not wholly dead, some mischievous fellows planned to have some
fun at the preacher’s expense by putting a rooster in the missionary
collection. The bird was not only large, but also quite game, and was
almost too much for the lad who was to do the presentation act in behalf
of the gang. As he proceeded toward the pulpit, his courage began to fail
and he hesitated, possibly waiting to see what sort of effect he was
producing. The preacher took in the situation at a glance.
“Come on,” he said to the half-frightened lad, “I’m the fellow who likes
chicken.”
With this encouragement the boy went forward and placed his gift in the
hands of the preacher, who received it smilingly and thanked him for
his generous contribution to the missionary cause. He asked one of the
brethren in the “amen corner” to care for his charge while he finished
the service. He kept the rooster until fall and took it to the annual
conference. In presenting his report, he related the incident and asked
in a jocular vein what should be done with the rooster. A dignified,
sober-minded brother moved that the rooster be sold and the proceeds be
reported to the missionary fund, and that the undignified proceedings be
closed. The motion carried.
“All right,” said the wiley Irishman, assuming the pose of an auctioneer,
“how much am I offered for the rooster? How much do I hear? How much?”
Some one ventured a bid. “Sold,” said the preacher-auctioneer amid a
roar of laughter, and the conference proceeded to more serious matters.
[Illustration: A Unique Missionary Offering.]
It was on this charge that he had his first debate. His popularity
and success in winning converts led to a challenge from a brother in
the Christian (Disciples) church, who was then serving as pastor at
Charlestown, Illinois. The question discussed was the divinity of Christ.
Newgent took the positive position, affirming that “Christ is the very
and eternal God apart from his human nature.” The debate was held at
Salisbury, Illinois, creating a great deal of interest and attracting a
large crowd. That the contest resulted in an easy victory for our subject
was attested by the fact that he received an offer from the elders of
his opponent’s church of fifteen hundred dollars a year to become their
pastor, which, at that time, was considered an enormous sum.
“I would not preach your doctrine for fifteen hundred dollars a year,” he
said, “to say nothing of losing my time and self-respect.”
“We are not asking you to preach the doctrine,” they said, “all we ask
is that you become our pastor; you are at liberty to preach your own
convictions.” But he was not on the market.
Another interesting experience during this pastorate came as the sequel
to a horse trade. One of his neighbors, a brother in the Church, coveted
his fine driving horse, and bantered him for a trade. “I have the very
horse you need,” he urged, and offered what seemed to be a fair bargain.
And after the usual ceremonies and preliminaries, the deal was pulled off.
The next day being Sunday, the pastor hitched up his new horse early, and
taking his wife and babe, started for his appointment. The animal soon
showed signs of treachery, arousing the suspicions of its owner, but they
went on. They got on quite well until they came to a low swale in the
road over which the water stood several inches deep. When they were about
half-way across, the horse stopped and looked back to see if they were
coming. But they had also stopped. Newgent, who had some knowledge of
“horseology,” saw that they were in for it. It being a warm, summer day,
an innumerable multitude of mosquitoes soon collected to express their
sympathy and to divert the attention of the unfortunate family from their
troubles.
“Here’s a chance to show that we can keep sweet,” said the preacher to
his wife, “even under trying circumstances.”
The circumstances were indeed trying, for he spent a couple of hours
trying to argue the horse out of his position, but the horse was not open
to conviction. At the same time he was making a desperate effort to keep
sweet, which, with the mosquitoes diligently plying their trade—as it was
too good a business opportunity for them to let pass—and the hour for the
morning service passing, was not as easy a task as it would have been
under less trying circumstances.
“Well,” he finally said to his wife, sweetly, “we are going out of here.”
“When?” was her meek reply.
“Just as soon as possible.” And removing his boots and some other parts
of wearing apparel that could be temporarily dispensed with, he got out
of the buggy and carried the baby to a dry place. He then removed his
wife to the shore, after which he proceeded to unhitch the horse from
the buggy, or rather to unhitch the buggy from the horse, as the buggy
was movable and the horse was not. A strategic plan was then inaugurated
by making a natural appeal to the animal’s stubbornness. This was
done by hitching the horse to the rear axle-tree of the buggy, which
proved a decided success, at least to the extent of getting both the
horse and buggy out of the water. Newgent then hitched up according to
the conventional style, and with his family started homeward in deep
meditation. He filled no appointment that day. He found it difficult to
see the point in his neighbor’s argument that “this was the very horse
he needed,” unless it was to stimulate the grace of patience, which is a
much-needed quality in a preacher. Since then he has stoutly maintained
that it is a bad thing for a preacher to swap horses—unless he is sure he
can make a better trade.