THE ELDER'S SERMON by Mary Grace Halpine

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, Cal. · Feb 17, 1881

THE ELDER'S SERMON.

By Mary Grace Halpine

"I REALLY wish, deacon, that you would tell me what your candid opinion of our minister is?"

Deacon Brown looked meditatively at the speaker, a small, wiry-looking man, whose features were almost as sharp as the sharp black eyes fixed so intently upon him.

"I don't know, Brother Quimby, as my candid opinion of our minister would do him any good."

"I dare say not," responded Mr. Quimby, darkly; "but then it would do me a great deal of good to hear it."

"I don't know as to that either."

"There's no one in the church whose opinion I think more of," continued Mr. Quimby. "Not that I approve of giving it to every one. But you needn't be afraid of saying just what you think to me, deacon, for it won't go any farther, and it might serve to clear up some doubts that trouble me."

"What doubts?"

"Well,—about various things. But you haven't told me what your opinion is, deacon?"

"I have only one opinion of Elder Wakeman, and that is that he is a man that tries to do his duty in all the relations of life."

This was evidently something that Mr. Quimby neither expected nor desired to hear, and he stared blankly at the speaker. But quickly recovering himself, he said:—

"Ha! I think I understand you, deacon. What you say is very well put—very well put indeed. I have thought that he might be a leete more willing to take advice; but there is no question in my mind but what he tries to do his duty, as you say. But is he sound?"

"Perhaps not. Some ministers are all sound."

The merry twinkle in the good deacon's eyes found no reflection in the solemn visage opposite him.

"It's no laughing matter, deacon," responded Mr. Quimby, with a rebuking shake of the head. "I am surprised that you should speak on so serious a subject with such unseemly levity. I referred to being sound in doctrine. I have been a good deal exercised in my mind in regard to this ever since I heard his sermon on 'Justification,' which is no justification at all, as I understand it, and as good old Dr. Seaver used to lay it down. Dear old man! I wonder what he would say, if he could come back and hear the new-fangled ideas that are taught from the pulpit where he preached such good old-fashioned doctrines nigh on to twenty years."

"If he's where I think he is, he dosen't want to come back. I only hope that some things he used to preach about are clearer to him now than he ever succeeded in making them to me."

"There's no merit in believing where everything is made clear. There are mysteries of faith, deacon, that nobody has any business to try to understand. Now, Elder Wakeman is forever preaching about what we ought to do, as though such poor, weak creatures as we are can do anything towards effecting our salvation. As for me, I'm free to own that I don't consider anything I have done, or am doing, of the least account whatever."

"A man ought to know better than any one else the quality of his own works, Brother Quimby, so I won't dispute you on that score. So far as I am concerned I feel that the Lord will have quite enough to do in effecting the work you allude to if I help him all I can."

"Well, deacon, I wish I could have my mind cleared up in regard to Elder Wakeman. What did you think of his sermon last Sabbath morning?"

"There is one thing I might say about it, if I thought it a prudent thing to do. We can't be too careful in speaking, especially if it's anything that is likely to affect the character and usefulness of a man like Elder Wakeman."

"Very true, deacon. But you needn't be afraid of my telling; I'm not one of the leaky sort. I knew as well as I wanted to, that a man of your sense couldn't approve of such doctrine as that."

"Oh, I've nothing to say against the sermon; it was a very good discourse—you won't often find a better. But the fact is, every word it contained—I really don't know that I ought to mention it, though; if it should get about, it might make trouble."

"I'll never lisp a syllable of it to any living soul," was the eager response.

"Well"—here the deacon lowered his voice to an impressive whisper—"I have a book at home which has every word of it in."

Here the train for which Deacon Brown was waiting came rushing up to the depot.

"Is it possible?" ejaculated Mr. Quimby, with uplifted eyes and hands.

"But you haven't told me——"

Deacon Brown was already up the steps, smiling and waving his adieux from the platform of the rear car, which rapidly disappeared around a curve in the road.

He was absent nearly a week. When he returned, he found not only the church but the whole village in a state of excitement and commotion.

He had not been home more than an hour when Elder Wakeman called on him, and in the course of the day he was waited upon by two deacons and several church members, to say nothing of being interviewed by various of his acquaintances and neighbors, all of whom were anxious to ascertain if there was any truth in the rumor of the grave charge he had brought against his pastor.

Deacon Brown, though evidently somewhat startled at first by a result so little anticipated, took all this with his usual calmness and serenity. He was very reticent on the subject, asserting that he had said nothing that he was not both able and willing to prove when the proper time came to do so. His interview with Elder Wakeman was a private one, but it was noticeable at its close that the countenance of the latter had a serene, almost smiling aspect. But as the elder took no measures to prevent the meeting of investigation that had been called, no particular importance was attached to this. He did not seem disposed to talk much about it, merely saying "that he thought the deacon ought to have an opportunity to prove or explain what he had every reason to believe he had said about him."

The meeting in question was held at the vestry, which was filled to its utmost capacity before the two chiefly interested, Elder Wakeman and Deacon Brown, entered, and who appeared to be the least excited ones present.

Mr. Quimby was there, full of importance, and with an exultation of look and manner only thinly veiled by the gravity that overspread his countenance. He was standing by the stove, the center of an interested and curious circle, when the two entered, but he avoided meeting the eye of either.

At the motion of Elder Wakeman, one of the deacons called the meeting to order, briefly explained its object, the serious nature of the imputation under which their pastor rested, and, appealing to Deacon Brown to put a stop to the talk it had occasioned by either denying or proving his assertion.

Rising to his feet, Deacon Brown looked around upon the excited and curious faces that were directed toward him.

"Behold, brethren, how much mischief the tongue can do! I said a few words to one of you, under a pledge of secrecy. I think it was under a pledge of secrecy, Brother Quimby?"

"I considered it to be my duty to tell what you told me," said the individual addressed, turning very red.

"You are to be commended for having performed your duty so thoroughly," continued the deacon; "a very painful duty, as it is easy to see! I understand you have said that I told you Elder Wakeman stole his sermon from a book in my possession; are you sure that I used the word 'stole,' Brother Quimby?"

"You said you had a book that had every word of it in! Where's the difference, I'd like to know?" was Mr. Quimby's prompt and triumphant rejoinder.

"There might be none at all, and, again, there might be a good deal," responded the deacon.

"I did use the language ascribed to me by Mr. Quimby," continued Deacon Brown, addressing the rest of the assemblage; "moved thereto by his evident desire that I should say something to our pastor's discredit, and without a thought that it would lead to all this trouble and excitement. I declare, furthermore, that I have seen a book containing every word of his sermon in Elder Wakeman's own library. I have taken the liberty to send for it, and will offer it as evidence to the truth of my statement."

Taking a ponderous volume from the hands of his son, who had just entered, Deacon Brown laid it on the table before the presiding officer, who, carefully adjusting his spectacles, opened it.

Giving one glance at its outspread pages he raised his eyes to the serene and kindly face opposite.

"Why, this is a—a dictionary!"

"Very true," responded Deacon Brown. "But you'll find every word of Elder Wakeman's sermon in it—if you look long enough."

"I must confess, however," added the deacon, as soon as the general laughter and astonishment had subsided a little, glancing smilingly across the table at Elder Wakeman, "that there are not many that can string them together so as to form such an interesting and instructive discourse."

Here the elder and deacon shook hands, which was the signal for a general hand-shaking, congratulations, and good feeling. No one was dissatisfied, with the exception of Mr. Quimby, who, mortified and confounded at the unexpected turn affairs had taken, had slunk from the room.

Mary Grace Halpine, in N. Y. Weekly.