SETTLED QUESTIONS.
Dear Friends: I should bear a burden on my conscience, if I did not come
to you to-day with the 'old, old story.'
"Over the tent which has been prepared for the President of the United
States there glows, done in evergreen, this single word, '_rest_.'
"As I pass it, I am reminded of another and a different rest: the rest
from every burden, every anxiety, every pain, every sin; who has rested
in those everlasting arms? There is coming a day when all this throng of
human life gathered here shall wait for the coming of the King. Yea,
even the 'King of kings.' Should that time be to-day, who is ready? Do
you know his power? Do you know his grace? Do you know his love? Through
the atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ, every one of you may have that
King for your father; I am commissioned, this day, to bring this
invitation to each one of you; 'Come unto me all ye that are heavy
laden, and I will give you rest.' Will you come?------Pardon this
interruption--no, I will not ask your pardon: it is never an
interruption to bring good news from the King to his subjects. I will
not weary you with a long presentation; I have only this message: you
are all invited to come to the Lord Jesus Christ, and be saved from
every possible calamity; you are all invited to come now. I am going to
ask the Tennesseeans to sing one of my favorites:
"'Brother, don't stay away;
For my Lord says there's room enough,
Room enough in the heaven for you.'"
Never were tender words more tenderly sung! Never did they steal out
upon the hearts of a more hushed and solemn audience. That matchless
word of gospel had touched home. There were those in the crowd who had
never realized before that the invitation was for them.
Following the hymn came another, suggested also by Dr. Vincent: "Steal
away to Jesus." It is one of the sweetest as well as one of the
strangest of African melodies; and as the tender message floated up
among the trees, a strange hush settled over the listeners; many tears
were quietly wiped away from eyes unused to weeping.
"Now sing 'Almost persuaded,'" said Dr. Vincent, his own voice tremulous
with his highly wrought feeling. Many voices took that up. Even the
Chautauqua girls sang, all but Eurie. With the sentence:
"Seems now some soul to say,
Go, spirit, go thy way;
Some more convenient day
On thee I'll call."
Flossy tamed her anxious, appealing eyes on Eurie, but she was laughing
merrily over the attempt of a feeble old man near her to join in the
song, and Flossy whispered sadly to Ruth: "Eurie has not even as much
interest as that."
The spell of the message and the music lingered, even after Dr. Vincent
had gone again. There was no more grumbling; there was very little
laughing; a subdued spirit seemed to brood over the great company.
"We could almost have a revival, right here," said one thoughtful man,
looking with searching eyes, up and down the sea of faces.
"I tell you, no grander opportunity was ever more grandly improved than
by those few words of Dr. Vincent's. They touched bottom. He will meet
those words again with joy, or I am mistaken."
But the waiting was over; suddenly the Chautauqua bells began to peal;
strains of martial music, and the roll of drums, mingled with the
booming of cannon; and almost before they were aware, even after all
their waiting, twenty thousand people stood face to face with their
nation's chief.
"When the president's head appears above this platform, I hope it will
thunder here," had been Dr. Vincent's suggestion several hours before.
Thunder! That was no comparison! I hope even _he_ was satisfied. Then
how that song of greeting rung out; tender still, even in its power:
"Let the hearts of all the people circle him with prayer." No better
gift for him than that.
After the cheering and the singing, and the very brief speech from the
president himself, came the address of welcome by Dr. Fowler of Chicago.
His first sentence sent the multitude into another storm of cheers. Said
he: "The work that I thought to do, has been done by twenty thousand
people." How could they help doing it again after that? Chautauqua had
not dropped her colors in this plan of an afternoon given to the
president.
The address of welcome from first to last rang with the gospel
invitation, "come;" no better word than that even for their chief;
"honor to whom honor is due," quoted the speaker, and then followed his
graceful tribute, but it closed with a tender, dignified, earnest appeal
to the President of the United States to 'rest' in the same refuge, to
enlist under the same flag, to be loyal to the same Chief, whom they
were met to serve.
"Out of my heart," said he: "as a man who recognizes God as the supreme
ruler of us all, I bid you come with us, and we will do you good, for
the Lord hath spoken good concerning Israel."
Poor Eurie! What a place she had chosen if she desired to hear no more
preaching. What were all these exercises, but sermons, one after the
other, strong warm unanswerable appeals to be loyal to the Great Chief?
Certainly Dr. Deems was not the man to forget the Greater in his
greeting to the under ruler; nor did he.
"Let me speak to you in closing," said he, "to you and to this assembly,
out of my heart. We shall never all stand together again, until that
great white throne shall stop in mid heavens, and we shall stand to meet
the Chiefest of all chiefs. O men and brethren, shall we not all prepare
to meet there? Mr. President, every day prayer is made for you; we are
hoping to meet with you in heaven. Brave men who stood beside you in the
late war, and have gone on ahead, are hoping to greet you there. May you
have a good life, a happy life, a blessed life; and may other tongues
more eloquent than mine, more eloquent than even my brother's who
preceded me, bid you welcome one day to the general assembly of the
first born. Amen and amen."
What could better close the matchless greetings than to have the
Tennesseeans circle round their president and sing again that ringing
chorus:
"I've been redeemed,
Been washed in the blood of the Lamb."
"I don't know what will become of the grumblers," Marion said as they
rested in various stages of dishabille, and talked the exciting scenes
over. "They have been shamefully left in the lurch; they were going to
have this affair a demoralizing dissipation from first to last, unworthy
of the spirit of Chautauqua. And if more solemn, or more searching, or
more effective preaching could be crowded into an afternoon than has
been done here, I should like to be shown how. What do you think of your
choice of entertainments, Eurie? You thought it would be safe to attend
the president's reception, you remember."
"I don't tell all I think," Eurie answered, and then she went out among
the trees.
Truth to tell, Eurie had heard that from which she could not get away.
Dr. Vincent's words were still sounding, "you are invited to come to
Jesus and be saved; you are invited to come _now_." There had been
nothing to dissipate that impression, everything to deepen it, and the
thought that clung and repeated itself to her heart was that plaintive
wail:
"Almost persuaded, now to believe."
That was certainly herself; she felt it, knew it; in the face of that
knowledge think how solemn the words grew:
"Almost will not prevail,
Almost is but to fail;
Sad, sad that bitter wail,
Almost,--but lost!"
Was that for her, too? In short, Eurie out there alone, among the silent
trees, felt and admitted this fact: that the time had actually come to
her when this question must be decided, either for or against, and
decided forever.
Sunday morning at Chautauqua! A white day. There can be none of all
that throng who spent the 15th day of August, 1875, in that sacred
place, who remember it without a thrill. A perfect day! Glorious and
glowing sunshine everywhere; and beauty, such perfect beauty of lake and
grove! The God of nature smiled lovingly on Chautauqua that morning.
Our girls seemed to think that the perfect day required perfection of
attire, and it was noticeable that the taste of each settled on spotless
white, without color or ornament, other than a spray of leaves and
grasses, which one and another of them gathered almost without knowing
it, and placed in belt or hair. Outward calm, but inward unrest, at
least so far as some were concerned; Marion Wilbur among the number.
It was a very heavy heart that she carried that day. There was no
unbelief; that demon was conquered. Instead there was an overpowering,
terrible _certainty_. And now came Satan with the whole of her past life
which had turned to sin before her, and hurled it on her poor shrinking
shoulders, until she felt almost to faint beneath the load; she lay
miserably on her bed, and thought that she would not add to her burden
by going to the service, that she knew already too much. But an appeal
from Flossy to keep her company, as the others had gone, had the effect
of changing her mind.
Armed each with a camp-chair, they made their way to the stand, after
the great congregation were seated. A fortunate thought those
camp-chairs had been; there was not a vacant seat anywhere.
Marion placed her chair out of sight both of stand and speaker, but
within hearing, and gave herself up to her own troubled thoughts, until
the opening exercises were concluded and the preacher announced his
text: "The place that is called Calvary."
She roused a little and tried to determine whose voice it was, it had a
familiar sound, but she could not be sure, and she tried to go back to
the useless questionings of her own heart; but she could not. She could
never be deaf to eloquence; whoever the speaker was, there was that in
his very opening sentences which roused and held her. Whatever he had to
say, whether or not it was anything that had to do with her, she _must_
listen. Still the wonderment existed as to which voice it was.
But when he reached the sentences: "Jump the ages! Come down here to
Chautauqua Lake to-day, O Son of God! O Son of Man! O Son of Mary! When
the prophet of old said, 'He shall see of the travail of his soul and
shall be satisfied,' did he look along the centuries and see the
gathered thousands here, who have just sung, 'Tell me the old, old
story'? What story? Why, the story of the place that is called
Calvary!"--Marion leaned forward and addressed the person next to her.
"Isn't that Dr. Deems?" she said.
"Yes indeed!" was the answer, spoken with enthusiasm.
And Marion drew back, and listened. That sermon! Marion tried to report
it, but it was like trying to report the roll of the waves on the
Atlantic; she could only listen with beating heart and flushing cheek.
Presently she listened with a new interest, for the divisions of the
subject were: "God's thought of sin," and "God's thought of mercy."
Though the morning was warm, she shivered and drew her wrap closer
about her. "God's thought of sin! She was in a mood to comprehend in a
measure what a fearful thought it might be.
"Some men," said the speaker, "make light of sin." Yes, she had done it
herself. "Where shall we learn what God thinks of it? On Sinai? No. God
spoke there in thunder and lightning, till the very _hills_ shook and
trembled.
"And what were they doing down below? Dancing around a golden calf! I
tell you it is only at Calvary that we can learn God's idea of sin. For
at Calvary, because of sin, God the Father surrendered his communion
with God the Son, and on Calvary God _died_! Will God ever forgive sin?
Many a one has carried that question around in his soul until it burned
there."
Now you can imagine how Marion tried no more to write; thought no more
about eloquence; this question, which had become to her the one terrible
question of life, was being looked into.
"How will we find out? Go by science into nature, and there's no proof
of it; God never forgives what seems to be the mistake of even a
reptile!"
I cannot tell you about the rest of that sermon. I took no notes of it;
my notes ended abruptly in the middle of a sentence; one cannot write
out words that are piercing to their hearts. I doubt if even Marion
Wilbur can give you any satisfactory account of the wording of the
sentences. And yet Marion Wilbur rose up at its close, with cheeks aglow
not only with tears, but smiles; and the question, "Will God ever
forgive sin?" she could answer.
There was a place where the burden would roll away. "At the place called
Calvary." She knew it, believed it, felt it,--why should she not? She
had been there in very deed, that summer morning. He had seen again of
the travail of his soul, he was one soul nearer to being satisfied.
There were other matters of interest: those two Bibles, symbol of the
Chautauqua pulse,--that were presented to the nation's highest officer;
the address which accompanied them--simple, earnest gospel; the hymn
they sang,--_everything_ was full of interest. But Marion let it pass by
her like the sound of music, and the words in her heart that kept time
to it all were the closing words of that sermon:
"Here I could forever stay,
Sit and _sing_ my life away.
This is more than life to me,
Lovely, mournful Calvary."
It was so, all day. She went to the afternoon service; she listened to
Dr. Fowler's sermon, not as she had ever listened to one before; the
sermon for the first time was for her. When people listen for
_themselves_, there is a difference. She felt fed and strengthened; she
joined in the singing as her voice had never joined before; they were
singing about _her_ Saviour. Then she went back to her tent.
"I am not going to-night," she said to the girls. "I am full, I want
nothing more to-day."
"Preached out, I declare!" said Eurie. "Are you going to write out your
report for the paper? I wouldn't, Marion. I would go to the meeting. I
am going."
"No," said Marion in answer to the question, and smiling at the thought.
How strange it would seem to her to spend _this_ Sabbath evening thus.
How many had she so spent!
"I am glad to-morrow is the last day," she said, sinking into a chair;
"I want to go home."
And Flossy and Ruth looked at each other, and sighed. How well these
girls understood one another! Why can't people be frank and speak so
that they can be understood?
Suppose Marion had said: "No, I am _not_ going to write my report, I am
going to pray." Suppose she had said; "Yes, I want to go home to
_practice_."