In Practice.
We may now consider that Abe had really commenced practice as a local
preacher, and before long the numerous demands made upon him
professionally showed the estimation in which he was held among the
people. But there was one thing which gave him considerable trouble,
and that was his preparation for the pulpit. This was a great toil to
him, but he counted himself abundantly rewarded when he found that God
made his simple, earnest sayings a blessing to the people to whom he
preached. Abe had no quiet room in his house into which he could
retire for the purpose of meditation. His home was full of children,
and each of the little rooms resounded with their merry or troubled
outcries from morning till night. His study was elsewhere. There was
one spot more sacred to him than any other in the world, and that was
at the old tree-root on Almondbury Common, where, years before, he
found the blessing of Divine pardon. To that Bethel he often turned
his steps, and there would he run through his sermons with no audience
but the old tree and the little brook; and although his earnest
addresses produced no manifest change either on the stoical old elm, or
the unstable stream, the practice of speaking did him good, and helped
to make him more effective when he came to address a more appreciative
assembly.
His frequent visits to this sacred and secret spot began, by-and-by, to
be known among his acquaintances, and some of them determined to go and
watch him, and make fun of it. They accordingly went and hid
themselves where they could both see and hear all that passed. Abe
came and began the service, prayed and preached with great liberty,
considering the irresponsive audience before him; but while he was
preaching and pointing out the folly and danger of sin, and exhorting
to repentance, his words were reaching unknown ears, and searching
their way into more hearts than he was aware of. These spies were
caught in their own net; they felt the truth of the simple preaching.
They knew those words applied more to themselves than anything else.
They listened in fear and silence, and when they would gladly have got
beyond the sound of his voice, they dared not move lest he should
discover them, and make his discourse even more personal. When the
preacher had prayed earnestly, and had retired from his rural
sanctuary, the hidden and moveable part of his congregation were glad
to get away. Some of the callous ones endeavoured afterwards to chaff
Abe about the open-air service, but most of them were glad to say
nothing on the subject, inwardly determining never again to venture
profanely within the sacred precincts of the good man's sanctuary.
Abe gradually grew in the esteem of the people throughout the entire
Circuit, so that his coming to preach was quite an event of interest
among them. They knew he was in earnest for his Master's glory; and
though he sometimes said and did things which some men would shrink
from, and some would condemn if done by others, no one was displeased
at them in little Abe. He was a favourite, and special privileges were
accorded him, so that he could say and do just as he pleased. He knew
this quite well, and, though he seldom fell into the error of using it
as a license, it had the effect of bringing him out in his own true
character.
Sometimes he became very happy in the pulpit, and fairly jumped for
joy. He was preaching at Shepley, and, as was his frequent custom, he
had a brother local preacher in the pulpit with him, to assist in the
preliminary exercises. On this occasion our old friend T. Holden acted
as his curate. Abe was blessed with great liberty during the delivery
of the sermon: he wept, clapped his hands, stamped his feet, and
rattled his clogs together. Brother Holden shuffled about to make room
for him as well as he could in the narrow area of the pulpit, but he
was not quick enough; down came Abe's foot on the curate's toes, almost
capsizing the preacher, without in the least disconcerting him. "Moind
thee toas, lad, steam's up, I mun jump a bit." And he did jump, the
more freely, too, when his assistant retired from his exalted position,
and left him all the pulpit to himself. It is evident from this little
event just narrated, and others which might be given, that Abe did, in
time, overcome his nervousness in the pulpit; being "plogged," and
"breaking down," became things of the past, and he began to feel as
much at home in the pulpit as in his own house. So far did he show
that "practice makes perfect."