How I Began Keeping the Sabbath
By Frank Thistle
HAVING read, some weeks ago, a pamphlet entitled “Can We Keep the Sabbath?” the idea came to me to relate some facts concerning my own experience in regard to this matter. There was a time when I believed, or tried to believe, that it was impossible for me to keep the Sabbath. About three years ago Mr. B. came to Brierfield, and held a short series of meetings. My wife and a few others accepted the doctrine he taught, and became Seventh-day Adventists; but the people generally were set against his teachings. Though the minister was the kindest, most pleasant man I ever saw, and preached nothing that was not plainly taught in the Bible, they became so bitter against him that he closed the meetings, and left the neighborhood. Though I did not come out openly and accept the doctrine he preached, I believed it, and it was a thorn in my flesh. I would have been glad to disbelieve it; for then I could have gone on breaking the Sabbath without suffering any unpleasant twinges of conscience. I did not reveal my feelings even to my wife. On the contrary, I often ridiculed her when she made herself tidy on Saturday morning, and sat down with her Bible and good papers about her. But I admired her courage, and wished I had plenty of money that I might defy public opinion, and serve God as I knew I should. I thought I could not afford to incur the ill will of the well-to-do neighbors who patronized my shop, by setting up my views in opposition to theirs on the Sabbath question. At first I thought I could compromise the matter with my Maker and my conscience: of course I would not work on Sunday,—it would excite remark,—I would do as little work as possible on that day. I would say nothing about it, and be a Sabbath-keeper on the sly. But I soon found that way to be unsatisfactory indeed; for Neighbor S. and Neighbor H., my two wealthiest patrons, brought more work in my shop on Saturday than on any other day, so there was no time in which to take a quiet hour to read the Bible or11religious papers. After a while I gave up the attempt to be a Sabbath-keeper on the sly. Matters drifted along in this way for two years. I was dissatisfied with myself; I knew I was doing wrong, but lacked the grit to put myself on the right track. One Saturday morning in July I went out to my shop in an unusually discontented state of mind. Rain had fallen the night before, and everything looked fresh, green, and promising. I looked at my corn field; every blade and tassel softly swinging in the breeze seemed praising God. My garden sang the same glad song. I went to the shop, and sat down near a pile of plows and hoes that Mr. H. had sent over that morning. I looked around the dirty place, then out at the green fields lying in the yellow sunshine, where the hum of insects and the song of birds seemed to be urging me to lay aside cowardice and be true to God. I looked at my cottage, peeping out amid a wealth of vines. Seated on the porch, with a Bible in her hands, I could see my wife. There was a restful Sabbath look on everything. I felt uncomfortable. I thought of all the blessings I was receiving at the hands of God, how good he had been to me, and how, in return for all his kindness, I constantly violated his law by working on his holy day. I thought of Daniel, and all the holy men the Bible tells us of, who suffered everything rather than disobey God’s law in the slightest particular. And here was I, unwilling to arouse the displeasure of a few of my neighbors by obeying one of God’s positive commands! I did not go to work, but sat for more than an hour pondering on these matters. By and by my little boy left his mother’s side, and coming to me, said: “Papa, does mama ever tell lies?” Amazed at his question, I answered, “No, my child; I never knew your mother to tell a lie in my life.” “Well, that is what she said just now about you, and yet one of you has told a story.” “Why do you think so?” I said. “Because mama says Saturday is the Sabbath, and you say it is not, and it must be one of you is not telling the truth about it.” “I haven’t said that Saturday is not the Sabbath,” I said; “on the contrary, I believe it is.” “Then why do you come out here and work on Saturday, and put on your best clothes and go to church on Sunday? Only yesterday you told Mr. Jones there was to be a meeting at the church on Sunday, to organize a Sabbath-school. If you think Sunday is not the Sabbath, why do you call it so?” I had no answer ready, so I said, “Run away, child; you annoy me with your questions.” But when he had gone, I asked myself, “If you have no answer for your little child, what can you answer when confronted with the same question by your Saviour?” I was conscience-stricken, and kneeling down, I sought pardon of the Lord for my cowardice, and begged for courage to keep his law. I arose with a feeling of peace and rest in my heart, such as I had not known for many days. I shut up the shop, went to the house, and exchanged my work clothes for a clean suit; then I joined my wife on the front porch. In answer to her look of inquiry, I told her of the change that had come over me. She was very glad, and said she had prayed more fervently than usual that morning, that grace and strength might be given me to take a firm stand on the side of truth. All this occurred more than a year ago, and I have never regretted the stand I took that morning. True, my rich neighbors no longer patronize my shop, and I meet with cold looks from some who formerly smiled on me; but what I have lost in this way I have gained in another. I have all the work I can do, and the past year has been a prosperous one. The loss of my neighbors’ smiles is more than made up in the joy I feel in obeying all the commandments of my Father; for I can truly say, with David, “O how love I thy law! it is my meditation all the day.”—Frank Thistle, in Oriental Watchman.