When the afternoon shadows began to lengthen there began to gather
around the new-made brush arbor on Post Oak Ridge a number of men and
boys. These were mostly idlers of the community, who had nothing in
particular to do, so had come early to the arbor. But when the last
faint streaks of the dying day were fading, the more substantial
citizens of the community began to gather at this spot of interest. They
came from every direction. Every path seemed to lead to the arbor ridge.
Some came in wagons, some in buggies, some on horseback, others walked.
Everybody, almost, was there. Grandma Gray was there. She sat serenely
in her big willow rocker, which Nolan had placed just in front and to
the left of the speaker's stand. Her age-wrinkled face was all aglow
with the joy of full salvation. Aunt Sally Perkins was there. Poor old
Aunt Sally. She was notorious as a shouter and a hypocrite. Nobody had
any confidence in her as a Christian, but she was much given to sitting
in the "amen" corner, and on this particular night she came into the big
arbor and deposited her scanty self right on a front bench. And there
she sat, wrapped in her old grey shawl, peeping out from beneath her old
black bonnet. Old Brother Bunk was there. For a quarter of a century he
had been a true and tried member of Mount Olivet Church, but of late he
had been much wrought upon by the holiness agitation. "Spooky" Crane was
there. Crane was a harmless half-wit who lived alone in a shanty at the
back of Deacon Gramps' field. He always made it a point to attend every
religious service far and near, of whatever faith, and he had the
capacity for adjusting himself to his surroundings to such an extent
that he joined every religious movement with which he came in contact.
Roguish boys found great amusement in giving him pennies to sing for
them. Jim Peabody was there. But that was to be taken only as a matter
of course, for Jim always went to church. He went, not because he was
religious, but because he was otherwise. He made loud boast of his
infidelity. He had given himself extensively to the reading of Bob
Ingersoll and other authors notorious for things other than goodness, so
in his own vain imaginations he was a masterful scholar. He said there
was no God, and that any man who prayed was a fool. But the cause of
infidelity had suffered a terrific blow when one time Nolan Gray, as he
was going to Dobbinsville, saw a huge wagon-box turned bottom side up,
with the wagon on top, in a ditch by the side of the road. As he drew
near he heard coming from under the box the low muttering tones of a
man's voice. As he stood near the box and listened he heard a most
eloquent prayer. He took a long pole from a fence near by and pried one
edge of the box up, and who should emerge from beneath but Jim Peabody.
When the hour of service arrived, Jake Benton and the evangelistic party
did not arrive with it. Owing to the lateness of the train, Jake had
been unable to get around at the appointed hour. Finally the familiar
rattle of Jake's wagon was heard, and now all was breathless expectancy.
When the party arrived at the arbor, all eyes were fastened upon the
Evangelist. If he had been a ghost moving about in the twilight of that
summer evening, he would have been regarded with no more superstition by
that rustic people. There was nothing whatsoever extraordinary in the
physical appearance of Evangelist Blank. He was a man of average height
and scant weight. His rather pallid face was covered with a scanty
well-trimmed beard. His deep-set blue eyes sparkled with a pleasant
earnestness. Any lack of physical attractiveness was amply atoned for by
the splendid qualities of the man's soul. He was a mighty man of God. He
had an unusual grip on the upper world. He had large capacities for
moving God on his throne. A heavenly atmosphere pervaded the realm of
his personality.
When this man stepped onto the platform of the large brush arbor that
summer evening, and took his seat and faced that audience, there was a
stillness that was painful. The awful stillness was broken when the
Evangelist arose and said, "Praise God for his matchless salvation." He
made a few preliminary remarks and the corp of singers began to sing.
And such music seldom issues from human lips. It was not overwhelming in
point of its artistic qualities. The compositions were of the simplest
sort. But the singers sang from out of the abundance of redeemed souls,
and there was a heavenly inspiration accompanying the songs that simply
overwhelmed the hearts of sinners and overjoyed the hearts of saints.
One song that especially gripped the audience ran thus:
"Do you triumph, O my brother, over all this world of sin?
In each storm of tribulation, does your Jesus reign within?"
CHORUS:
"I am reigning, sweetly reigning, far above this world of strife;
In my blessed, loving Savior, I am reigning in this life."
When this and several other hymns equally inspiring had been sung,
Evangelist Blank arose and said, "Let us pray." At this the audience
began to make arrangements to stand, for it was the custom in Mount
Olivet Church in those days to stand while the preacher "made" his
prayer, as Deacon Gramps expressed it. But the Evangelist had the notion
that when the heart is humbled before God the body should be in a like
position, so he reverently and unpretentiously knelt beside the rough
board pulpit. The four singers on the platform knelt simultaneously with
the Evangelist. This placed the members of Mount Olivet in a rather
embarrassing position. They disliked the idea of being so unreligious as
to sit erect during prayer, and they could not bear the humiliation of
kneeling at a holiness meeting. A few of them under the press of the
circumstance did kneel. A few stood up. Most of them sat with bowed
heads. "Spooky" Crane easily adjusted himself to the situation and
promptly knelt in the straw, and with his face in his hands peeped
between his fingers at the Evangelist. Jim Peabody, the infidel, sat
arrogantly erect with an impish snarl on his lip. To him the whole
business of praying was a huge piece of foolishness--except, of course,
when under the wagon-box. Aunt Sally Perkins knelt beside the front
bench and clapped her hands hysterically during the prayer. And Deacon
Gramps had slipped under the outer edge of the arbor, where he sat on a
low bench with his elbows on his knees and chewed his tobacco most
vigorously.
Evangelist Blank, himself, led in prayer. His prayer, like himself, was
simple, but mighty. It ran something like this:
"O Lord of heaven and earth, we thank thee for this hour. We have come
here in thy name; we plead no worthiness and no efficiency of our own.
Thy blood and thy grace is all our plea. We would not thrust ourselves
into thy holy presence on any human merits. But in thy name and through
the blood of Christ our Saviour we come boldly before thee. We praise
thee, Lord, for thy great salvation, by which thou dost save us and
sanctify us. O Lord, make thyself mighty in the salvation of this people
among whom we have come to labor. Let thy matchless power be manifested
and thy righteous name be exalted. Be thou lifted up before the people.
Lord, we rededicate ourselves at this hour to be used of thee in the
salvation of men. Come into these temples of clay afresh at this hour, O
Lord, and let the fire of thy holy presence consume all the dross that
may be in us. Anoint our feeble lips to speak the unsearchable riches of
Christ ... Hear us, Lord, we ask in Jesus' name. Amen."
This prayer made a profound impression on the audience. When it was
finished, a few other songs were sung, and then Evangelist Blank arose
to address the audience. There was something about the preaching and
personality of this man that made him a unique figure in the field of
preacherdom. In the first place, he was masterful in his knowledge and
use of the Holy Scriptures. He knew God's Book. By patient study and
long practice he had brought himself to the place where he could readily
bring to his defence an impregnable line of Scriptural proof to sustain
the propositions that he held. He was not only proficient in the
Scriptures, but he had a thorough training covering the whole range of
ministerial and theological thought. He had the happy and unusual
combination of those qualities of mind that make for forceful oratory
and clearness in theological thought. And last, and far from least, he
walked with God. He had a yearning for the lost of earth's millions.
On that evening when he faced for the first time his brush-arbor
audience, it was plainly to be seen that he did not lack for something
to say. He did not let his sermon get in the way of his message. He went
right to the heart of his subject, which he announced as Salvation. He
took for his text Titus 2:11, 12: "For the grace of God that bringeth
salvation hath appeared to all men, teaching us that, denying
ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and
godly in this present world."
His sermon ran partly thus: "My friends and brethren, we are here this
evening to conduct this service in the fear of God. Almost a year ago I
received a letter from Brother Benton urging me to come to his place to
hold a revival. Owing to my many calls, I was unable to come until the
present time, and now at last we are here in the name of God. We expect
him to give us a gracious out-pouring of his Holy Spirit. The text that
I have read in your hearing introduces my subject, the subject of
Salvation. I feel the burden of this message pressing upon my heart.
Since Jesus saved me from a life of sin I have had a consuming desire to
get others to press their way into this grand experience. I shall not
promise to keep within the bounds of homiletical order tonight, but I do
promise to keep within the bounds of God's Holy Word and the leadings of
his Spirit." These introductory remarks were stated with a simple
earnestness born of a desire to see men saved.
The Evangelist first proceeded to show what salvation is. He said it is
a divine work of grace in the heart, wrought by the blood of Jesus
Christ. He explained that it means deliverance from sin. He said that if
the Bible teaches anything at all, it teaches that the individual must
have a vital connection with Jesus Christ.
Next the Evangelist set forth the conditions of salvation. "First," he
said, "a man must be sorry for his sins; secondly, he must repent of his
sins; and, thirdly, he must forsake his sins."
He dwelt at great length on the effects of salvation in the heart. He
said that if a man's religion did not have any effect on him, it was
worthless. A man's religion must make him a new creature, he argued. He
declared that salvation makes a man love even his enemies. He said
salvation cleanses a man from inward and outward filth.
By the time Evangelist Blank had illustrated and amplified all his
points he had consumed the major portion of an hour and a half of time.
During this time the entire audience was held spellbound by his simple
and earnest eloquence.
All this was strange theology to the members of Mount Olivet Church. It
was a stinging rebuke to their crooked and hypocritical lives.