Earlier text: MINISTERS AND THE TARIFFCHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR VERSUS POLITICAL ENDEAVOR.
By W. N. G.
Dr. Charles Roads, of Chester, Pa., preached in the First M. E. Church of Oakland on Sunday, during the Christian Endeavor Convention in San Francisco. His text was Matt. 18: 1-3, and his delineation of the characteristics of a little child was indeed apt and instructive. The energy, activity, earnestness, and confidence of the child were graphically depicted, and held up as a striking example for adult Christians. He said the child is “a great reservoir of undeveloped possibilities.” From a picture of childish earnestness in playing church services in the home, he turned to the efforts of older people at missionary work. He said, “We only play at missionary work;” people can not claim Christian zeal in missionary work while they spend more money for flowers and feathers, ice-cream and amusements, etc., than they do for the cause of Christ. Then he turned to the juniors and children in Christian Endeavor work, and dwelt on the fact that they were far more active and enthusiastic than the older classes, and ventured the opinion that a convention of the youngest element in the Endeavor Society would manifest far more enthusiasm than any Christian Endeavor Convention that has yet been held. And just here he unwittingly punctured the great Christian citizenship bubble,—that is, the Christian Endeavor movement as it is being manipulated by the men of “gray hairs and wrinkled hearts,” who have stepped in to control what was designed as a young people’s work. The Young People’s Society of Christian Endeavor is ostensibly an organization through which the young people may engage in practical Christian work, along lines within their ability. This ostensible motive is good; it might be, it ought to be, and no doubt has been, within the capacity of the young people, a means of doing much good. Then the question arises, On Dr. Roads’ theory that the younger members are the more earnest, active, and enthusiastic in the work, why was it not left with them? Why was it not continued as a young people’s society? The young people never would have dreamed of making of it anything different from the original design. Why, then, have the older classes, whose earnestness of action and simplicity of desire have become deadened and warped as their “gray hairs and wrinkled hearts” have swayed them from the straight line of Christian endeavor,—why have they assumed to lead these young people into the paths of political endeavor? So many of these older heads, professed ministers of the Gospel, whom the young people have been taught to regard as great, and learned, and pious, are telling the earnest and pliable boys and girls that Christian endeavor means to drive people to Christ with political power. They are teaching the boys that it is their duty, as they grow up, to control the political arena in order that Christianity may rule the world. They are teaching the girls that their proper mission is to acquire the9ballot in order to wield a political influence for Christ. Those men of “gray hairs and wrinkled hearts” are using the alluring scheme of “Christian citizenship” to turn the Christian Endeavor Society from its legitimate field into a mere political machine. The speaker held up the little children as examples for the older ones; then we repeat the question, Why not follow their example in the simplicity and enthusiasm of Christian endeavor, so vividly depicted, rather than to lead them off into the meshes and pollutions of political endeavor? W. N. G. SUNDAY LAW IN CONNECTICUT.
It is thus that the New York World of July 20 speaks of the new Sunday law in Connecticut:— “Connecticut’s new blue law, designed to regulate the Sunday habits of the people according to the whim of Sabbatarianism, was not enforced all over the State on last Sunday, the first day set for its operation. It was enforced only in spots and in a manner to gratify private bigotry and local jealousies. It was not designed to be enforced. It was, however, held as a menace over the community, as an instrument of oppression and a possibility of blackmail. It was a nuisance and an interference with the natural liberty of the people. In the light of the first day’s evidence, it will not do for the authors of the law to protest that they meant to insist on its universal enforcement. That they well knew was impossible. The law is already discredited. The pretense of enforcing it might as well be abandoned until the law can be repealed.” And that is just what every Sunday law or religio-civil law will prove, “a menace over the community,” “an instrument of oppression,” an engine of tyranny, a loophole of bigotry. Such laws never have and never can be made universal, for they are in the interest of classes. Only those laws will be universally and justly enforced which guard the equal rights of all. No other laws have a right to exist. JIM TOM BOGGS; OR, LOVIN' YOUR NEIGHBOR AGIN ODDS.
By Priscilla Ann Baker
Hain't some folks the curiousest anyways! There's Jim Tom Boggs as lives onto Monford's farm across the road an' a little ways north of ourn that jest beats all. We all hev' our trials in this vale of tears an' I tell Baker that it's my firm belief that that feller's ben sent to live onto that place by us just to show us our weaknesses an' shortcomin's. You never see a friendlier, politer man livin' nur dead; an' that makes it fur worse to live by him. Why, he'll come over of an evenin' an' lift his hat an' bow purty nigh double to me an' then to Baker an' set fur two or three hours stiddy askin' me about the gardin sass an' the sewin' circle, an' Baker about polyticks an' how his crops is doin', an' inquirin' how all our folks is he's ever heard us speak of, an' knowin' jest what to do if anythin's the matter with 'em. An' then he'll tell an' tell about farmin' in Maryland an' bein' to Washington, D. C., an' what he saw to Nebraska till it 'pears like we hain't got nothin' to Bean Blossom. He's right good-lookin' an's got a soft, low voice an' looks a body in the eye as honest an' meek like, an' listens to every word you say like it wus a oncommon priviledge to hear you speak. My, but he's winnin'! After he's been here that a-way sometimes Baker'll say: “Well, mother, I must say that man's got a heap of good in him, after all. We hadn't orto be so hard on him.” An' jest like as not the very next day he'll up an' do somethin' that'll make Baker dancin' mad. One day a big swarm of our bees come off an' lit onto the gable end of the barn right smack up agin the ruff. I called Baker from the corn field an' he got all the things out there to hive 'em but every time he'd go up on the ladder a ways he'd be dizzy an' hev' to come down ag'in. Fin'ly he went an' got Boggs to come. He hived 'em all right in about a half a hour an' they left 'em settin' agin the barn so they'd be sleepy an' not fly when they'd be moved. Baker didn't think of offerin' to pay him fur doin' it fur he'd ben over an' doctored a colicky horse of Boggses time an' ag'in jest like a neighbor had orter. We had supper airly that night an' Baker cut off to town fur the mail sayin' he'd tote them bees over to the stand when he come back. After he was gone awhile I see he hadn't brung no cobs to kindle fire with in the mornin' so I went to the barn fur some. I seen to a settin' hen or two an' come out with my apron full of cobs when there stood Boggs a-smilin' to himself. When he see me he wus surprised but as perlite as ever, askin' where wus Baker an' wantin' to carry the cobs to the house fur me, which I thought a little extra an' tol' him I wus able fur it. Then he says: “Well, you see I've got my wheelbarrer, Mis' Baker. I thought it wus dark enough to move my bees.” An' he jest lifted that hive onto his barrer an' started along towards the gate talkin' a streak about a money machine he'd seen to the state fair an' branchin' off into how much honey they find in one bee tree to Maryland. He opened the gate for me an' invited me to come over an' make 'em a visit the corjolest kind, an' all I got said wus, “Farewell,” an' that I said to the bees. He hain't overly perlite to his wife, though. I wus there one day when he come home in his buggy, an' becuz she wus a little slow about runnin' out to open the big gate fur him to drive in he begun an' swore at her. Old rascal! as if he'd any right to sich waitin' on frum her. She's a mighty good woman, Mis' Boggs is, an' I'm amazin' sorry she has to live with such a old varmint. Last fall the Widder Lambert put a horse into Baker's woods pasture for a couple of months. Her young boys had rode an' drove it around town a sight an' it wus purty badly lamed up so she wanted it to hev' a rest. Fur two or three weeks we had a heap of rain an' the crick bottom beyant Jim Tom Boggses wus nigh about hub deep fur a spell. One day while it wus the worst some folks come along movin' in two big covered wagons an' they plum stalled down there by the bridge. It's a half mile off but I could see 'em we're so high. They put both teams onto one wagon but they wus so tired out they couldn't make it. 'Fore long I see one of the men come up to Boggses an' I thought him an' him crossed over to our side the road but couldn't tell sure. The teams stood there so long I got the fidgets an' clappin' on my sunbonnet an' a clean apron I went down there to see what wus goin' on. The woods an' knolls shut off my view of 'em till I wus purty nigh up to 'em, and what do you reckon that Boggs wus at? If you'll believe me that rascal had Widder Lambert's horse an' our bay Caesar hitched on with theirn a-pullin' like all possessed. They had one wagon nearly over an' then they took that team back fur the other one. I wus that riled it's a big wonder I didn't say somethin' to be sorry fur; but Mis' Boggs wus standin' there to the gate an' tol' me she'd said all she dared to hev' him take his own team that wus standin' in the barn but he'd jest tol' her to shet up. I kep' still till they wus about ready to go on an' one of the movers asked Boggs what his he'p wus worth, sayin' they 'lowed to pay him what wus right. “Well,” says Boggs, “it's been a mighty tough pull, but I'll be satisfied with $3.00 I reckon.” “Three dollars!” says I, “you ole thief! If you had any heart you'd a he'ped 'em fur nothin' an' used your own team too.” An' then I grabbed Caesar's bridle-rein outer his han' an' jest moderately tol' them men that that horse belonged to Baker an' tother one to the widder an' that wus our woods pastur' across the road there, “an',” says I, “don't you give him a red copper fur his meanness.” Mis' Boggs said I wus right (though I expect she got a thrashin' for it), an' them men yanked off his ole harnish frum them beasts. I tol' 'em where we live, so they tied them on behind one of the wagons an' he'ped me in by their wimmen folks an' sailed up to our house. 'Peared like they were powerful sorry about hevin' used them horses an' Baker gone. They washed the mud offen 'em an' waited till he come home an' wanted to pay him fur 'em.10But he didn't take nothin'; maybe we'll want a lift some day. I lowed we'd be shet of Boggs fur a spell, but I missed my count, fur the very next evenin' he come over huntin' fur a gobbler of theirn that had run off, an' wus as frien'ly as ever an' wonderful sympathisin' about a bile Baker had onto his neck, an' talked so kinder meek an' confidin' Baker couldn't screw up the courage to say the first thing about that movin' scrape. But we wouldn't mind a incident like that now an' ag'in if it wusn't fur bein' pestered continual by his live stock. He lets 'em run onto the road an' one ole cow of hisn kin open a gate an' lay down bars an' rail fence jest as good as I kin. She's a little slower at it but powerful perseverin'. Well, sir, it don't never exceed two days between times that that cow an' the hull pack at her heels is in Baker's corn or wheat or medder or truck patch one or other or two or three of 'em. Boggs has got a little peeked, spindly-lookin' boy as herds 'em onto the road an' if they go to workin' at their fence the boy runs like the wind an' tells him, but 'pears like whenever it's ourn that boy's sure to be to the house fur a piece or under the willers asleep. He's never failed yet. Baker thinks its curi'us since he's heard Boggs jawin' him when he'd be up there, but says I, “Jawin' hain't lickin' an' he's been tol' when's the best time to eat an' sleep,” says I. We har'ly dare leave the place long enough to go to meetin' an' don't fur anythin' else, 'ceptin to tear over to Bean Blossom with butter an' eggs an' tear back with mail an' groceries. Yes, an' there it is ag'in! That Boggs will hev us to bring his mail whenever we go, an' Baker says its like carryin' blackmail, fur he never har'ly has a thing but a ole blood an' thunder story paper an' a pack of duns (on postal cards an' everyway) frum men he's a-owin'. Baker sleeps with one ear out of the winder of nights a-listenin' fur the fence to crack, an' we might as well be livin' onto a island fur all we see of our fellow-bein's except when they jest come here a-purpose to see us, all along o' that cow of hisn. We're goin' to worry along with him till spring, when he's to move away. Baker's mendin' up his cribs good an' tight an' 'lows to hire help an' crib his corn jist as fast as its ripe enough an' save what he kin from them ole holler cows. I'll own frank an' free that I never knowed Baker an' me had so much fire an' brimstone inside of us as that feller has stirred up; but I believe he's a blessin' to us, a reg'lar blessin', an' lookin' at it all roun' I'm ruther glad he's lived here by us an' we've foun' out what's into us so as we kin git rid of it, fur it'll never do to let it hev sich a holt onto us. My, no! A PERVERSION OF SCRIPTURE.
A certain popular preacher, not long ago, took for his text for one of his syndicate sermons Rom. 1:14—“I am debtor both to the Greeks, and to the Barbarians.” Here are some excerpts, which in the main express his conception of this grand text:— “Paul practically says: ‘I, the apostle, am bankrupt. I owe what I can not pay, but I will pay as large a percentage as I can. It is an obligation for what Greek literature and Greek sculpture and Greek architecture and Greek prowess have done for me. I will pay all I can in installments of evangelism. I am insolvent to the Greeks.’” “‘I am debtor to the Greeks.’ In the first place, we owe to their language our New Testament. All of it was first written in Greek, except the book of Matthew, and that, written in the Aramaean language, was soon put into Greek by our Saviour’s brother James.” As we read the above, we involuntarily asked, What meaning has the Gospel to one who thus preaches, or to those who listen and suppose it Gospel teaching? He makes even the Word of God in the New Testament dependent on the Greek language; just as if God could not have given it to the world in the Latin, or some other tongue! Then, after referring to the Greek mythology, he says:— “There is not an effective pulpit or editorial chair or professor’s room, or cultured parlor, or intelligent farmhouse to-day, in America or Europe, that could not appropriately employ Paul’s ejaculation and say, ‘I am debtor to the Greeks.’” But if the world had not known the fables of Greek mythology, would not many more have turned to the verities of Holy Writ? “The fact is this, Paul had got much of his oratorical power of expression from the Greeks.” Of Paul’s oratorical power, let him speak: “Which things also we speak, not in the words which man’s wisdom teacheth, but which the Holy Ghost teacheth.” “For this grandest of all sciences, the science of healing, every pillow of recovered invalid, every ward of American and European hospital, may well cry out: ‘Thank God for old Dr. Hippocrates! I, like Paul, am indebted to the Greeks.’” The simple fact as regards the healing art is that the Word of God is far in advance of any scientific treatise on therapeutics. Its simple hygienic rules are better than all the theories of medicines from Hippocrates to the present. And Paul was an instrument in healing many which Greek skill could not reach. “Furthermore, all the world is obligated to Hellas more than it can ever pay, for its heroics in the cause of liberty and right.” As to liberty, the apostle found the Greeks sunken in hopeless bondage to the worship of thousands of gods which were no gods. The apostle carried to the poor Greeks a liberty higher than they ever knew. But was not Paul a debtor?—Yes, for he says he was. For what was he a debtor? Listen. Jesus Christ redeemed all men with his most precious blood. He purchased them from the slavery of sin and death to the liberty of righteousness and life. He redeemed Paul by his own life, and Paul acknowledged Christ’s gift by accepting Christ, and acknowledged Christ’s ownership by giving himself for Christ’s service, to do all in his power for the purchase of Christ’s blood among all nations. He, therefore, counted himself a debtor to Greeks and Barbarians—all men—because he belonged to Christ, and Christ had purchased all men. This is as true of every man as it was of Paul. If you acknowledge your obligation to Christ, you will count yourself to be debtor to all, not because of what they have done for you, but because of what Christ has done. This is the meaning of the scripture. It does not glorify the Greek, but it glorifies Christ, and man in Christ. FAITH VERSUS DOUBT.
By G. T. Wilson
Faith ever walks with firmest, manly tread,
And builds upon the Rock, and knows no dread:
While Doubt sees naught on which to plant his feet,
But talks of failures he is sure to meet.
Faith sees the difficulties which beset his way,
But trusts what the Omniscient One doth say,
Looks from his light afflictions, short and sore,
To heaven’s eternal glory just before. Faith trusts His Word who framed all things we see:
But Doubt trusts what he feels and sees to be.
Faith says, “I know His Word who made all things
Is stronger far than passing forms it brings;
I, therefore, build on what I can not see;
The living Word foundation gives to me.” But Doubt declares: “I feel no ground is sure;
The things I see, taste, feel, do not endure.
Life seems a useless race; no crown I gain,
Whether of faith I talk, or doubting, much complain.
I think Faith runs his race in self-conceit,
To win at last a crown of sure defeat.” Faith walks in light, and ever tastes His love,
Believing, gains at last that home above.
Faith trusts his God, with Him to glory goes:
Doubt falls into the pit of bitter woe.
Just as we sow, we’re sure at last to reap,
For God a faithful watch doth ever keep. Impression Bay, Tasman’s Peninsula, Tas.