A Conversation in Which Conscience Takes Part.
By An Observer
“WHAT a tedious sermon we had today,” remarked Mrs. A. “It must have been an hour long.” “No,” said her son, a young man, “he preached just forty-five minutes.” “Well, thirty minutes is long enough,” said the daughter petulantly. “But he preached good,” said a clear, penetrating, but quiet voice. “Don’t you think he preached good?” “Perhaps he did,” was the reluctant response; but meetings are too long for these busy days. I think our prayer and missionary-meetings are altogether too long.” “Why did you stay through the meeting, mama?” inquired a little boy. “I didn’t. When the leader arose to make his last appeal, I left.” “Was it not interesting and necessary?” questioned the clear voice again. “Yes, I suppose it was; but I was weary, and I needed sleep for the hard day’s work to-morrow.” “You were not up, my dear, when I went to the office this morning,” remarked the husband as he sat down to dinner. “When did you and the children get in last night?” “It was nearly midnight.” “You had a full program, I suppose.” “Yes; she replied, and it was long; and the hour was late when it closed.” “But,” said the husband, “I thought that you and the children, all of whom were nearly ill and needed the rest, were not going to stay late. Why did you?” “Well, it would not look well to march out before others were ready, or to break into the program before it was finished. So we stayed.” Said the clear voice again: “Think! The sermon seems long when only forty minutes in giving, yet you could stay three hours or more to the pleasure party. The sermon was a message for which both speaker and hearer will be held responsible in the great Judgment-day. The party program added nothing to life; no one felt uplifted or strengthened by it morally or spiritually. At its best it was full of neutral nothings, and its three hours’ time in overcrowded, ill-ventilated rooms left you unfitted for the hard day’s work on the morrow. “You could leave the prayer- and missionary-meeting, when the very leader you helped to choose wished to plead with you a little longer for the work of God. Your leaving was discouraging to him, and added to his burden. Yet that was in your mind a proper thing to do. But you could not leave the party, because it would be unconventional; it would not look well. “Now, listening to a sermon, attending prayer-meeting, donating to church work, will not save a soul. But the fact that you weary so quickly of religious services, that you greatly prefer the party of pleasure, ought to be a great index-finger pointing to a low spiritual condition, a dangerous state of spiritual health, boding fatal disease and death. “You can read some story for hours upon a stretch, some light inconsequential reading, but it becomes wearisome to read at one time the word of God, to exceed a half-hour. What do these things mean?” The clear, penetrating voice fell to a sad cadence and ceased. The faces of the children took upon them a more serious, resolute look. The wife and mother bowed her head upon her hand, thoughtful and penitent. We pass the parable on to others. What do they think of the words of the voice? Will their effect be permanent, we wonder? or will the next evening party sweep them all away as with a flood?