A NEW MINISTER.
A church and congregation in Granchester were without a minister, and
had been for some time. If there were not many of them, there were many
minds among them, so that it was not quite easy to find a pastor who met
the wishes of them all. It was unfortunate.
The congregation became smaller and smaller, the week-night service was
so neglected that there seemed little use in keeping it on at all, until
at length it dwindled into a prayer-meeting held by half-a-dozen men,
whose one cry was, “Send us a man,” one good brother on one occasion
solemnly adding, “and let him come clothed and in his right mind.”
And at length he did.
Every one was surprised that the Rev. George Collinson accepted the
invitation, for there was no doubt that he was a very superior man. He
preached one Sunday, and everybody was so delighted that they gave him a
unanimous invitation that same evening to become their pastor. And he,
without asking for time to consider, took them at their word and
accepted at once.
Mr. Collinson knew very well what he was doing. He was young and full of
vigour, and desired earnestly the work of a minister. He enjoyed the
idea of occupying a difficult post, and coveted anything rather than
ease or inactivity. He foresaw the chances for work there were in Broad
street, and he was ready and even eager for the fray. The church that
had secured him was no longer to be considered unfortunate. He was a man
with a purpose, and this purpose was to live and work almost entirely
for the young. His few years of ministry had convinced him that this was
the future work of the Church. He had entered the profession with his
heart full of enthusiasm, and already he had been disappointed almost to
despair. But the formation of this Society of Young Crusaders had
reawakened his youthful interest, and now he meant to devote all his
powers to the service of the young, and he began as he meant to go on.
The adult population of Granchester had many preachers, the young should
at least have one. So he told the men of Broad Street who had invited
him, and they at once saw that he was a man of independent spirit, who
formed his own plans, and executed them without consulting others. He
accepted the salary that was offered him; but he had private means, and
was, therefore, not entirely dependent for support upon the church. This
fact, perhaps, at first contributed to his popularity, and it certainly
made it impossible for capricious people to starve him out if they
should ever desire to get rid of him, which he hoped they would not do.
The “welcome home” which he received was a hearty one, and he commenced
his work auspiciously.
He was a ready speaker, and his sermons were short and practical. “There
is always something to do you good, though,” said the brother who had
prayed that he might come clothed; “and I find it helps you through the
week to have something to think of.” Whether his sermons cost him much
or little effort, no one knew; but there was one part of his work about
which there was no doubt.
Mr. Collinson told them at the outset that he would live and work for
the young.
“You begin too late,” he said to those who sought his aid for missions
and refuges, and other efforts to save the adults. “There is no hope for
England excepting in the salvation of her children.”
“Well, there are the Sunday-schools,” was, of course, the answer, but
this always brought a peculiar smile to the face of the young minister.
He spent the whole of the afternoon of his first Sunday at Broad Street
in the Sunday-school. The teachers were gratified, and they thanked him
for his presence.
“Oh, do not thank me,” he said; “the Sunday-school is, of course, a part
of the church. This is, therefore, my school, and I intend to be present
at it every morning and afternoon.”
Now this was quite a new idea; and the teachers were not sure that they
would like it. It had been a pet grievance with them that their old
minister was never seen in the school, excepting on special occasions
and by personal invitation. They were never tired of speaking about this
at teachers’ meetings, when he was absent, and sometimes even in his
presence. They often hinted, too, at the lack of sympathy manifested by
the church, as if they were not themselves the church, or at least the
most important part of it. They frequently declared that a minister’s
place was in the Sunday-school, and that his duty in this respect was
too often neglected. But all the same, when they were informed that the
minister intended always to be at the school, most of the teachers felt
embarrassed, not a few heads were shaken, and there were many muttered
hopes that he would not interfere.
But he did, and that very speedily.
At first he offered to take any class from which the teacher was absent;
and whenever he did so the children were very candid and unceremonious
in their expression of the wish that their teacher would remain absent
always. But the absentee was invariably visited the next day; and if he
had not provided a substitute, or had only a trivial reason to give for
his absence, that teacher was sure to have a bad quarter of an hour with
the minister.
Then he adopted the plan of giving an address at the close of the
school, and the address was exceedingly like a lesson, for he had a
large blackboard on which he wrote points to be committed to memory; and
he asked many questions, which happened to be mostly addressed to the
classes that knew the least. After this had gone on for a few Sundays he
called a teachers’ meeting, and astonished the teachers by the
directness of his words to them.
“The most important part of the work of the church,” he said, “is the
Sunday-school, which ought, therefore, to be in the hands of those whose
whole hearts are in it. It is so great, and of such infinite moment,
that it deserves to occupy the men and women of highest culture and
talent; but it is work which is best done by those who love it, for
without enthusiasm in the teachers Sunday-schools are a failure. I hope
you will not be offended—but in any case I dare not hold my peace—when I
say that in all departments of our own schools there are some classes
which greatly need reform. There is a lack of discipline which is fatal;
and I fear that sometimes whole classes are dismissed which have not had
any real teaching at all. Now, my friends, this work must not be left in
incompetent hands. For my own part, I tell you frankly that I dare not
be a party to anything so disastrous to the future well-being of this
church. Let no earnest teacher be discouraged; but let all who are not
in earnest reconsider their position. The first thing for us to do is to
form a Teachers’ Training Class, and let us also meet together for
mutual preparation of the lesson. What times will be most convenient to
you?”
The teachers, as a whole, did not approve of the minister taking things
into his own hands in this fashion, and some of them ventured to say so.
“We’ve took this school ourselves heretofore, and we’re masters here,”
said a man, his face flushing with anger. “If the minister likes to come
and visit us sometimes, and say an encouraging word to us, why, we shall
be glad to see him; but I, for one, ain’t agoing to be dictated to.”
Mr. Collinson made no reply to this, and another spoke.
“It is all very well to talk about training and preparation classes, but
few of us have time to attend them, for what with our two week-night
services, and all the things going on in the town, it is not easy to
take up two new subjects. I think we do enough if we come to school
Sunday after Sunday and take a class, for the children are so bad that
it is dreadfully hard work to do that.”
But the new minister had his own way.
“It is my school as well as yours,” he said. “I am at the head of it,
and while I wish to dwell in harmony with you all, yet, as I place a
higher estimate on Sunday-school work than any other, I am extremely
anxious that only teachers whose hearts are devoted shall attempt to
perform it. We must raise the whole character of this school; who will
stand by me in my endeavour to do this?”
“I will,” said a voice; and every one looked in amazement at the
speaker, whose name was Stapleton.