Various Ways out of Difficulties.
Almost any one can get into trouble, but it is not always so easy for
any one to get out again. Abe knew both ways,--the way in and the way
out,--and many a time he had to run the gauntlet, and save himself as
best he could.
There is an amusing story told of a little passage which the Rev. P. J.
Wright once had with him. They met on a Sunday morning at the Honley
railway station. Mr. Wright was at that time Superintendent of the
Circuit, and was on his way to preach at Woodroyd, whilst Abe was going
to Honley on a similar errand. After exchanging the ordinary
salutations, the reverend gentleman said, "Well, Abe, what are you
going to give them at Honley this morning?" On being informed of Abe's
subject, he further inquired how he intended to treat it; whereupon his
companion began to give an outline of his sermon. When he had
finished, his interrogator rejoined, "Why, you are wrong, altogether,
Abe, you must change the order of your divisions, and put the first
last, and the last first; you have got the cart before the horse."
"Ne'er moind," said Abe, "I'll back her up th' hill. Good-morning,
sir." "Cart before the horse" was no insuperable difficulty with Abe;
he knew how to manage his own pony, and must drive in his own way; he
was not very particular which came first so long as he could "mak' her
goa." He took what suited his mind best, and paid very little
attention to the rules of sermonizing; he was in this respect a law
unto himself, and the favour with which his humble ministrations were
received was a sufficient excuse for him.
We have heard a sermon described as a thing having three or more heads;
it is said to be sometimes altogether void of body or matter of any
sort; at other times it appears as a skeleton, without form or
comeliness, having only the barest outline. Perhaps this in some
measure explains why some people so seldom attend our places of
worship; they fear to come _within the reach_ of a sermon, and
therefore stay away,--they have heard of some persons that have been
_actually struck_ with a sermon, and of others _being fastened to their
seats_ by it; how dreadful! Ah, anything will do for an excuse when
people don't want to go to the Lord's house; "a poor excuse is said to
be better than none at all," but in this case we doubt the wisdom of
that saying.
Abe Lockwood was not very particular about the number of heads in his
sermons, or whether they had any heads at all; his care was that the
sermon should have some soul in it, wherefrom mainly resulted his power
in the pulpit.
There is sometimes very great danger of sermonizing all the force out
of a discourse; making it so very proper that it serves more as an
ornament than a thing of practical use; it appears more a work of _art_
than a work of _heart_. Abe didn't profess to understand the rules of
sermonizing, nor did he make any particular effort in that direction;
as may be supposed, therefore, he was often disconnected and irregular,
but he knew nothing about it, and nobody else cared; people liked him
as he was. His sentences were not like beautiful stones turned and
polished by the hand of a lapidary, but they were rough lumps, in all
shapes, broken from the great rock of Gospel truth, having their sharp
points and jagged edges on them; the consequence being that when slung
from the hand of this humble champion they left a mark wherever they
struck. He didn't care for that round, smooth kind of preaching which
always rolls off; he liked the word to strike, mark, and abide where it
fell. He had no sympathy with high-flown sermons which shut out the
Cross of Jesus and those good old Gospel truths associated with that
dear emblem of God's love to the world. If such a discourse were
delivered in his hearing he was sure to say something about it.
"Praacher brought us a lot of butterflies and fancy birds and let 'em
fly abaat th' chapel, and while we wore starin' abaat after th' birds,
we niver gat a soight o' th' Cross."
A young student from Ranmoor College came to preach at Berry Brow. Abe
was in the vestry waiting to see him before he went into the pulpit.
He shook him warmly by the hand and blessed him, then added in his own
droll but kind way, "Naa, my lad, don't let's hav' ony starry heavens
t' day, tak' us t' th' Cross!" Had Abe known this young man he would
also have known there was no need to exhort him to "tak' them t' th'
Cross." The fact was, Abe didn't want to follow any astronomical
preacher all through the heavens, striding from star to star with
scales in his hand trying their weight, sizes, and distances! "The
Cross" was his watchword and rallying-point; there he loved to begin,
and there he would always end. Christ the Redeemer was his star, and
in the clear unclouded view of that Divine orb he was happy whoever was
the preacher.
"PUCKER IT IN, LADS."
In his pulpit exercises Abe generally enjoyed great self-command, and
things which would have disabled many a man in the same position, had
little or no effect on him. This was not always the case, as we shall
have occasion to show, but usually nothing disturbed the even balance
of his mind. We have already seen how if a text "wouldn't goa," he
could "swap" for another that would "goa." So if he failed to get hold
of a thought which had been in his mind before, he did not trouble
himself about the matter; he would just tell the people "he had
forgotten th' next idea," and then pass on to something else.
His self-possession stood him in good stead one day, and helped to
carry others through a trouble as well. He was in one of the country
pulpits, and had just announced the second hymn, which was a long
metre. The choir commenced to sing a common metre tune to the hymn,
but before they had got through the second line they found out the
mistake, and one after another dropped their voices and ceased to sing.
One tenacious brother, who did not like to be beaten, held on, and made
a jumble of the words for a few moments, and then he stopped; whereupon
Abe clapped his hands, and turning around to the choir, he exclaimed,
"Ne'er moind, lads, pucker it in! pucker it in! Onybody can mak' a
long metre tune goa to a long metre hymn, but yo' mun beat that," and
then he joined heartily in the puckering exercise, and helped them
through their trouble.
"BREAD OF LIFE FREE."
At another time he had been preaching about the Gospel being the bread
of life for the world, and showing up its qualities and worth;
especially did he dwell upon its freeness for all, that it could be had
"without money and without price;" this was his last point, and he made
much of it. Now it so happened that immediately on concluding his
sermon he had to announce a collection. On sitting down in the pulpit
while it was being made, the thought flashed into his mind that he had
contradicted his own teachings by announcing that collection. He knew
where the snare had come from, and at once in his own way broke it
asunder. Rising again to his feet and bending over the pulpit front,
he cast his eyes around the chapel as if trying to find someone. "I
know that voice," he began, "it's the devil's." Every eye was on him
in a moment. "What does thaa say?" "That I ha' not been spaking th'
truth, because I telled them th' bread of life wor free, and naa I'm
asking th' people to pay for it. Thaa knaws as weall as I do th' bread
is FREE, but we mun pay for th' baking. Mak' th' collection, friends,
to pay for th' baking, and ne'er moind him." We need hardly say the
people gave willingly to this collection, for they knew very well that
though the Gospel was free to the whole world, expenses were incurred
in carrying on God's work which they should help to disburse, so Abe
got out of that difficulty.
"MY GOD SHALL SUPPLY ALL YOUR NEED."
The Wesleyan Superintendent Minister was planned to preach one
week-night near Berry Brow, and on some account he could not attend. A
substitute had to be found, and Abe was waited on during the day, to
see if he would act in that capacity. "I'll try," he said, and
accordingly when the time came he set out for the chapel. Some of the
congregation knew who was to preach, others did not. At length the
door opened, and in walked Abe, and made straight for the pulpit,
clamp, clamp, with his wooden clogs on the floor and up the pulpit
stairs. He began the service with the usual smile on his face; then he
announced his text, "My God shall supply all your need," and closed the
Bible as he always did as soon as the text was read. "Naa," said he,
"I knaw some o' yo are disappointed at seeing me here instead of your
praacher, but it was oather me or nobody. Naa, if th' travelling
praacher had come to-noight, he moight easily ha' praached a much
better sermon than I can, but I'll defy him or onybody else to foind a
grander text than this; it's a raight un, and it's your own fault if
you doan't get some good aat on't: if the Lord had thought you _needed_
it, He would have sent you somebody better than me, for He will supply
all your need." The congregation saw at once the condition they would
have been in if Abe had not come to their help. They smiled at his
remarks, and from that moment forgot their disappointment, nor did they
think of it again during all that service. Thus Abe's tact in managing
people helped him happily through this difficulty, as it had through
many others in his lifetime.