A PARABLE by Frank H. Casson

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jun 26, 1893

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 19, No. 33.

A PARABLE.

By Frank H. Casson

THERE was once a man who went to church somewhat irregularly; and when he did go he dropped into a seat very near the door. Then, as soon as the service was over, he took his hat and hurried out of church and scarcely ever shook hands with anybody. After a while this man began to complain of that church for its coldness. He met another man on the street one day, and began telling him about it.

"Why," said he, "it is the coldest church I ever knew" (he didn't say how few churches he really knew anything about). "Nobody shakes hands with a man. There is the minister, he never shakes hands with me, nor the deacons, nor any of the leading men. They'll talk about it, but I'd like to see them do it. I believe in practicing what you preach. No, sir, I tell you it's the coldest church in this town."

And he really believed he was telling the truth. And his manner was so earnest that the other man was quite convinced, though he had never been to this church. So he went and reported this fact to a third man, with some pretty severe criticisms upon church members not living up to their professions. Of course he told it to a fourth, and the ball went on rolling. Pretty soon quite a strong feeling was developed in various parts of the town, especially among those who did not attend church, that this church was very cold, "high-toned," "stuck-up," and "a sort of club for the rich folks, you know."

But one day the man who started all this talk got to thinking about it. Now, the fact was that he didn't often get to thinking very hard over religious matters. But this time he did. And the more he thought the more surprised he became at himself. For this was about the line his thoughts took: "Here I've been a-telling how cold the minister and the deacons and the leading men of the church were, but how do I know it is so? Have I ever given them a chance at me?—No! I've just hurried out of the church and never let the minister get within fifty feet of me, nor the deacons within thirty or forty, nor any of them very near. Is it fair to say they didn't want to shake hands?—No, it isn't. Suppose they wanted to shake hands, could they do it if my hand wasn't there to shake?—Of course they could not. Now I believe I will just try them once."

The next Sunday morning he just stood in his pew and faced the stream of people coming down the aisle. He wanted to run, but he had just grit enough not to. And really how pleasant they looked at him! First one man shook hands. And then a second gave him a grip and a, "Glad to see you, John." (Why, it was the very man he worked for!) And then a lady wished him "good-morning." After her two men tried to shake his hand at the same time. And the rich Mr. B. stepped up and gave him a cordial grip. How the blood tingled in his ears as he thought of the hard things he had said about Mr. B.'s stiffness and selfishness!

Soon the deacons and the minister came along and shook hands in good, hearty man fashion, and were real glad to see him. And how ashamed he felt when the minister said: "I've noticed your face frequently in the audience, and wanted to shake hands with you and learn your name, but I never succeeded in reaching you, till now, before you got out of church"!

So of course he had to tell the minister his name, and where he lived, and the latter said he would call on his family very soon. But, perhaps, the best of all was to have an old lady with such a kindly face put out her hand and say: "I don't know your name, sir, but I'm real glad to see you at church today. And wasn't it a good sermon?"

That man went home with his heart in his mouth. He told his wife all about it, and fairly cried when he acknowledged how he had misjudged those good people. And he wound up by saying, "Fact is, wife, it's mighty easy to misjudge people."

Then he went out and met some of his former friends and told them what an experience he had just had. "Why, to think," said he, "that I was such an idiot as to go around telling you that those church people were all cold and selfish, when I didn't know anything about it. Don't any of you ever tell anybody, after this, that I said such things about any of them. I was just a fool, that's what I was. But I'll tell you what I am going to do. I'm going to hire two seats in that church and be there every Sunday morning with my wife. See if I don't. And the minister's coming to call on us, and I'm going to get acquainted with him and the rest of them. For I tell you, boys, I've just learned one thing: You can't get acquainted with folks, and you can't shake hands with them, if your hand isn't there to shake."—Rev. Frank H. Casson, in Advance.