A Contrast by William Aikman

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jun 15, 1882

A Contrast.

By William Aikman

It was a cold night, and a snow-storm was abroad as we made our way to the church. The church was stately and beautiful; gothic arches and pillars, cushioned seats, brilliant lights, Christmas decorations, made everything attractive. As strangers we were welcomed, and made to feel at home, and we were prepared to enjoy the service which soon began. The music was sweet, and the hymns appropriate to the first Sunday of the year.

As we sat there, happening to look around, we saw a poorly-clad and weather-beaten man come in. His garb and his whole appearance declared too plainly for one to be mistaken that strong drink had been doing its deadly work upon him. Yet he did not seem intoxicated; he rather gave one the impression that he had been drinking hard, but that the influence of the drink was passing off. He came in and took his seat respectfully. As he sat there we could not but regard him with profound interest, and with the hope and prayer that the beautiful surroundings, the aspect of the church, the calm silence, the swell of the music, and by and by the voice of the preacher might have an influence over him, and might awaken some aspirations after a better life.

Who could say but that chance straying into the house of prayer on the first night of the New Year might be the beginning of higher things? Perhaps he had come in there in obedience to some half-formed purpose of beginning a different life at the opening of the year.

We sat there thinking it almost tearfully over when a hymn was announced, and after a sweet prelude on the organ the congregation rose to sing it. The battered way-farer rose with the rest, and as he turned the leaves of the book to find the place, a gentleman standing near courteously and kindly gave him another book with the selected hymn under his hand. He took it, and was standing quietly, when a stalwart policeman in uniform came in, and touching him on the shoulder motioned him to follow. Without a word or gesture of remonstrance the poor fellow laid down the hymn-book, took his hat and followed the officer out of the church, and into the night and the storm. We could have cried out in our disappointment and distress. It was a going out into the outer darkness—would there ever be a return? If he had come in with some dull hope, and reached after good seen all uncertainly in the distance, would he ever seek it again? Having been led out by the officer of the law, would he ever again venture within a church? Did not that ejection close up forever any door of hope from the church? We were strangers, and not near enough, and the whole thing was so sudden that there was no opportunity for remonstrance.

Perhaps it was right. Perhaps those who summoned the officer, if he was summoned, knew the case better than we; perhaps they thought it unwise to have the man remain there. There was indeed danger that the carpeted floor or the upholstery of the pew would be injured. We do not know. But it seemed to us that we would have risked the danger even of unseemly behaviour by and by, in the hope, faint though it may have been, of good that might come to one so seemingly lost.

We were sure that the preacher, could he have seen and known it, would have demanded that he should stay. The sermon was just what the poor fellow needed to hear. Its warnings against the slavery of strong drink, its exhortations to subjugate the lower nature and propensities to the spiritual, its presentations of Christ as the great helper to every struggling soul, might have been to him a word spoken in season. But he had been taken away, so that he could not hear them. His last opportunity was forcibly removed. It was all so sad that the charm and the comfort of the service were gone for us. We wondered whether—no, not that; we were sure that Jesus, the Lord, would not have done so. He would not have ordered the man out from the sacred influences of that church into the hopelessness and chill of the storm-beaten street.

We contrasted this occurrence, which will forever be connected with the first Sunday in January, 1882, with another related once in our hearing by Newman Hall of London. He was preaching, one night, a week-day night, we think, to a crowded house, on the subject of temperance. Somewhat aside from his usual manner, he was treating his theme in a calm and even philosophic or scientific way. Suddenly the thought flashed through his mind, this is not what some one here may need. In an instant, and with a sort of undefined inspiration, he broke abruptly from the train of thought which he had been following, and exclaimed in some such words as these; "Perhaps there may be some poor wanderer all hopeless under the sway of intoxicating liquor who has strayed in here to-night. Perhaps he has reached the point where he is just ready, and on the way to take his own life as a refuge from the horrible bondage. To such an one I call, O poor and lost one, Christ is waiting to help and save. He can and he will save and help if you will but now call upon him in your trouble and sinfulness." Having made this sudden appeal he resumed his discourse.

Some weeks afterward his assistant came to him and said: "I have just met a very interesting and even strange case in my visitings. I have found a poor woman evidently near her end. She has been dissipated, and her disease is probably the result of her excesses, but she seems to be having a good hope in Jesus Christ, clearly resting on his salvation. She tells me this story. On a week night some months since she was on her way, in her despair and agony, to one of the bridges with a fixed determination to cast herself into the river. As she went toward the bridge she passed the door of our chapel. Seeing it lighted and hearing your voice she stopped, and stood at the door. Just then you looked up and spoke to her as if you knew what was in her mind; told her of the Lord Jesus, and urged her to come to him. She knew that you spoke to her, and she took the message to her heart. She seems by it to have been led to embrace him as her Saviour, and to be peacefully waiting till he shall take her to himself." The inspiration was explained. What if some policeman had ordered her at that moment to move on?—Rev. William Aikman, D. D.