WHY WAS THERE NO REVIVAL?
By W. M. F. Round
STATE, county and section of country shall be nameless, but we'll call the place Smithville—not its name at all, nor anything like it, but one that will do admirably as a word on which to hang a parable. There were in Smithville two churches—which, just to distinguish them, we will call the orthodox church and the extra-orthodox church. They were both evangelical churches, and so long as they were—names don't count for much, especially in a story like this. The people of Smithville believed in Smithville, and seldom went away from Smithville. The old families had married and intermarried, until nearly everybody was cousin to somebody else. There were few new-comers, as there was nothing in particular to attract people to the town. The orthodox church was the strongest and the oldest religious body in the place, and its pastor had been settled over it for ten years and a little more—a remarkably long pastorate, when one considers how exacting and critical the Smithvillians are. The extra-orthodox church was a newer organization, with a small society, a young minister, and far more active and far less fashionable than the orthodox society. There was another religious organization in Smithville, the Young Men's Christian Association, which I am sorry to say was not very aggressive in its work, and though it had its feeble prayer-meetings, they were very much like the meetings of a pietistic mutual admiration society. There was a good deal of bragging done in these meetings, of course in a perfectly sanctimonious way—but bragging is not edifying under any circumstances, least of all in a religious meeting. I am glad to say that the Smithville Young Men's Christian Association was not a typical one. One day in early summer it so happened that the orthodox minister and the extra-orthodox minister and the Secretary of the Young Men's Christian Association met at a Temperance Convention, and sat together at the collation that was provided. The conversation turned naturally enough to the one topic in which they mutually professed to be interested—the spiritual condition of Smithville. "It is quite time," said the young extra-orthodox minister, "that we made an organized effort for the salvation of souls. The young people are given to all manner of worldliness, and don't come to the prayer-meetings, and there is a lukewarmness among the church members that is positively disheartening. There has been no revival here for fifteen years—and something is wrong. For my part, I feel guilty." "Well," said the Secretary of the Young Men's Christian Association, "I don't know what we can do. We've enlarged our library—and though they come and take out books, they won't come to our meetings. We tried having a cornet to lead the singing; it drew a crowd to that one meeting—but the rest were as poorly attended as ever. I don't understand it. I think the young people around here are gospel-hardened." The Secretary omitted to say, because he didn't know it, that when they got together a crowd with their cornet, they had nothing in the way of spiritual food to feed the hungry souls with. The cornet as a means of grace is a very poor failure—if there is only a cornet. The orthodox minister agreed with his extra-orthodox brother—only remarking that his people were a very conservative people, and it took them a long time to get waked up. "Conservative"—is a word that often stands for lazy, and is more respectable if less forcible. So agreeing on the need of a revival, for that is really what they meant, they further agreed to meet at the extra-orthodox parsonage on the next Monday evening to talk over the matter. They wisely decided, also, to ask some pious souls and some church-pillars to meet with them. The meeting took place according to agreement, and there was a unanimous opinion expressed that it was high time something was done. They proposed that a series of meetings be held, and the young minister, full of zeal, suggested that they should begin at once—the very next week. That the first meeting should be one of consecration, and that the meetings should continue in unity of prayer, until God revealed to them his will. Deacon Boodle said that nobody could have the good of the community, the "spiritual" good, more at heart than he had, but there was, as St. Paul had said, such a thing as expediency, and that he thought it wouldn't be much use to have the meetings begin until after haying. Folks wouldn't come if they did. It was every man's duty to provide for his family, and haying was a part of providing. The Secretary of the Young Men's Christian Association said that they'd contemplated having an ice cream festival and tableaux to get money for buying pictures for their rooms. He thought it was their duty to make their rooms attractive. He didn't think that the meeting had better begin till after their festival. The festival would be sure to distract the minds of the young people; and for his own part he couldn't see how he could enter upon the blessed work as he should like to, until their festival was over. He hoped that when they did have the meetings they would make them attractive. The Association would furnish the services of a cornetist, and he didn't know but that an orchestra could be gotten up among the members. Whatever the brethren decided on they might be sure of his unqualified support—after the festival. Old Mr. Fogy said:—
"I'm an old man, and I've been servin' the Lord for pretty nigh forty year, an' I don't know but I'm so old-fashioned I'd ought to keep still an' let the younger brethren do the talkin'"— "Go on—go on, brother," said the young minister. "Well, all I was goin' to say was that plannin' these meetin's that you're talkin' about, seemed to be kind o' takin' the work out o' the Lord's hands. I's pose if the Lord wanted a revival in Smithville there'd be a revival. Seems to me we'd all on us ought to learn to wait on the Lord. His time ain't always our'n. We can't dictate times and seasons to the Almighty. We've all been prayin' in our closets for the descent of the Spirit in this place. The usual means of grace ain't been neglected. We've all stood in our lot an' place—an' for one, I don't think 'twould be right to try an' hurry the Almighty. I s'pose if our young folks is 'lected to be saved they'll be saved, an' if they're 'lected to be lost they'll be lost. Seems to me if they'd only 'tend on the means of grace they have, they wouldn't need no other." So the old man went on—and when he was fairly tired out he sat down. His remarks seemed like a wet blanket on the meeting; but the two ministers rallied, and though nothing was decided, everybody felt that something should be done. After the meeting broke up the two ministers stayed behind and knelt in prayer for divine guidance. When they parted, they had set a time for a beginning of the special meetings. They were to begin on the first Monday in October, and continue on indefinitely. The very next day a fire broke out in the woods near Smithville. It spread and spread, and all the village turned out to help put it out. Men neglected their fields to go and fight the fire. "What," they said, "do you expect us to stop and work at home, while our neighbors' property is being destroyed and our own is in danger?" They didn't stop to eat. "Give me something in my hand, and let me get away to the woods. I couldn't sit at a table, and think of that fire spreading. No time to eat, when property is destroyed." That was the way they talked. Still the fire spread. Men and boys and women all went to the woods. The women prepared meals there by the wood-side, where they could hear the crackling of the flames. Nobody thought of rest; night and day they worked, with a common will in a common interest. At last the fire was subdued, and then men returned to their own work, and found that their farms had not suffered so very much, after all. The season soon sped away—and October came. On the first Sunday of October each of the ministers preached a sermon on the necessity of times of refreshing in the spiritual life, and appointed meetings—special meetings for earnest prayer—to be held every night during the coming week. They begged, they entreated, they admonished their hearers to attend these meetings, and spend much time in prayer and preparation for them. Monday dawned, and everybody went to work as usual, the farmers to cram fuller their barns with gathered crops, the farmers' wives to do their weekly washing, which if not done on Monday, upsets the household economy of the whole week. Evening came, the chapel of the orthodox church was lighted up, and there dropped in tardily something like a score of people. The Secretary of the Young Men's Christian Association was there, but confessed he felt coldly towards the effort about to be made. He said he did not approve of the methods adopted. That the meetings were not likely to prove attractive. That for his own part, he thought that more brightness would have characterized the meetings if their cornetist had been allowed to lead the singing; since the ministers had flatly both refused the cornetist, and frowned down all mention of an orchestra, he frankly declared that he couldn't hope much from the meetings—and behaved accordingly. A few zealous souls there were in the room, and they prayed heartily for an outpouring of a special blessing. But where were the two or three hundred church members—men and women who professed much, and were "glad to be workers in the Lord's vineyard"? so they said at covenant and preparatory meetings. Where were they? Why let them answer for themselves—at least a few of them. Mrs. Boodle said she was sorry she couldn't go to the meeting; but she was so beat out washing-days, that she didn't feel able to get out, and she kept Melinda home for company. She was with them in spirit, she said, all the time—and her prayers were going up for them all. This, however, was only a figure of speech, for one or two neighbors had dropped in at Mrs. Boodle's, and she had talked with them incessantly while she and Melinda were paring apples and chopping meat for mince-pies. They hadn't talked about meetings, either. Old Mr. Fogy said the meetin's had been started against his advice, and though he wished them well, he didn't feel called upon to take any part in them. He thought he was serving the Lord better by staying at home and reading his Bible. He read just ten verses of the Bible, and he read ten columns of the county paper. Brother Campbell, who kept the village store, said 'twas useless for him to think of getting out evenings. He had to keep his store open to accommodate his neighbors. The neighbors accommodated were generally a dozen or so of men, who sat about his store, chewed tobacco, talked about their neighbors, and sometimes played a game or two of dominoes. Brother Smithkins said that it was a dreadful cross to him to stay at home, but that he had just put steam-power into his cider-mill, and two new presses. Said he, "I'm so druv that I have to keep the ole mill goin' evenin's, an' nobody understan's the machinery but me. I couldn't let folkses apples lay an' rot. If the meetin's hold on till November, I guess I shall be able to go some." Sister Smithkins said, "Ez for my part, those meetin's couldn't have come in a wus time of year. Jest gettin' the children's winter clothes ready, and Anna Maria goin' to be married Thanksgiving, an' all her clothes to get ready. Seems as if there's a fate against my havin' any spiritual privileges, though there ain't a woman in these parts that appreciates 'em more." Brother Goshen said that he lived so far from the meeting-house that he couldn't very well get there without harnessing up, and his horses worked so hard daytimes that he didn't like to have them out nights. If they'd only have443"neighborhood meetin's," they might come to his house as often as they liked. And so it went on, in every house an excuse. Real good excuses, too. The Bible excuses—"bought a piece of ground"—"bought five yoke of oxen"—"married a wife"—were indeed unreasonable beside them. The meeting languished, those who were there felt that there was no great, uplifting, manifest presence of the Lord. They prayed a good deal, but not with much assurance. They exhorted a good deal, but not with much fervor. They sung a little, and very feebly. The Secretary of the Young Men's Christian Association said that he knew it would be just so if they didn't have a cornet. On Tuesday evening there were two or three less present. The meeting was indeed dull. There is no other word for it. It was disheartening, in spite of the honest prayers of those who did attend. It closed promptly at the end of an hour, and the only hymn that was sung with any spirit was "Hallelujah! 'tis done," which one of the sisters had struck without a thought of how inapt it was. From the first the meetings were moribund, and they died on Friday night, when there was a little storm of misty rain, and only five souls came to the chapel. The ministers concluded not to continue the meetings even for another night. The ministers were men, and subject to the infirmities of the flesh—among them depression of spirits. The Secretary of the Young Men's Christian Association said he had known from the first that it would be just so. All the church members in Smithville, who had not attended the meetings, gave a sigh of relief when they were over. Their continuance thus far had been a thorn in their consciences. On the following Monday there was an Old Folks' Concert in the town of Bilburn, eight miles away. Brother Goshen got up a load at fifty cents a ticket to go over. He harnessed his four horses, and took in sister Smithkins and all her family, and brother Smithkins stopped his mill to go too. Sister Smithkins said the children needed a little frolic, and she guessed they would be willing to wait a day or two longer for their winter clothes. Sister Boodle went too; she said it always kind of rested her to ride out in the evening after washing. Brother Campbell shut up his store, and said he guessed for one night "them loafers could manage to loaf somewhere else—an' that for his part he'd got about tired of staying at home night arter night to keep a club-room." It rained a little when they started, but they all put on their water-proofs, and nobody was the worse for it. They didn't get back to Smithville until about midnight; but they said they could sleep a little longer in the morning. It was an excellent concert, and they all enjoyed it. Riding home they talked about all kinds of things, and among others the "protracted" meetings of the last week were spoken of. And everybody wondered why there had not been a revival? And they wonder to this day!—W. M. F. Round, in Examiner and Chronicle.