CHAPTER IX. — A “STORY” SERMON
The influx of mill operatives and mechanics from Cottonton in search of a breathing place after a hard day's work, had led to the building up of the territory north of Pettingill Street and east of Montrose Avenue. This fact had led to the erection of the Rev. Mr. Gay's church in the extreme northern part of the town, but near to both Montrose town and Cottonton city.
“We are all coming to your church this morning, Mr. Gay,” said Quincy at breakfast.
“I shall be glad to see you, but you must not expect a city service. The majority, in fact all, of my parishioners are common people, and I use plain language to them.”
“I think simplicity in devotional exercises much more effective than an ornate service,” said Alice.
“Do you have a choir?” asked Maude.
“We can't afford one, but we have good congregational singing.”
“I'm glad of that,” said Maude. “I hate these paid choirs with their names and portraits in the Sunday papers.”
“I shall take the carryall and go for Uncle Ike. It is a beautiful morning and you will all enjoy the walk,” Quincy added.
Uncle Ike, at first, gave a decided negative. “I haven't been inside a church for many a year and it's too late to begin now.”
“That's no argument at all,” said Quincy. “But my principal reason for wishing you to go is so you can see the people that your hospital is going to benefit one of these days.”
“But these preachers use such highfalutin' language, and so many 'firstlies' and 'secondlies' I lose my hold on the text.”
“Mr. Gay is a common, everyday sort of man, does not pose when out of his pulpit, and never talks over the heads of his audience.”
“How do you know all that?”
“I sit with him at table, and I've studied him. Then he told us not to expect a city sermon for he used simple language, and they have congregational singing.”
“Well, I'll go—this once,” said Uncle Ike, and Quincy assisted him in making his preparations. On their way to the church they passed two couples—Alice and Mrs. Hawkins, and Maude and Mr. Merry. Mr. Jonas Hawkins could not leave home for he was afraid the cats would carry off his last brood of chickens. Some fifty had been hatched out, but only a dozen had survived the hot weather, heavy rains, and the many diseases prevalent among chickens.
When Mr. Gay arose to give out the first hymn, Maude said to Mr. Merry, “Why, he looks like a different man. His red hair is a beautiful brown.”
“It's the light from the coloured glass windows,” commented Mr. Merry.
“Then it must be the curtains in Mrs. Hawkins' dining room that colour his hair at home,” retorted Maude.
How grandly rose the volume of tone from scores of throats! Even Uncle Ike's quavering voice joined in.
“All hail the power of Jesus' name,
Let nations prostrate fall;
Bring forth the royal diadem,
And crown Him Lord of all.”
The organ creaked and wheezed somewhat, but so many fresh, young voices softened its discordant tones.
A short prayer, and Mr. Gay began his sermon, if such it can be called.
“MY BRETHREN: My text, to-day is, 'The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God.' All nations have a God, even if all the people do not believe in him. The majority in each nation does believe in a God. Are those who do not believe all fools? Unhappily, no. There are many highly educated men and women who deny the existence of God. They claim man is a part of Nature, and Nature is all. They forget the poet who wrote
“'Man is but part of a stupendous whole,
Whose body Nature is, and God the soul.'
“Remember, God is the Soul. Each of you has a soul, a spark of the Divinity.
“I can best support my argument by a story—a true one.
“I once knew a young man whom we will call Richard. He had a well-to-do father and was sent to college. When he graduated, his father, a pious man, wished him to study for the ministry. He objected, saying his health was poor. He wished to go into the mountains, he lived in the West, and his father consented.
“He drifted into a mining camp and whatever regard he may have had for religion, soon disappeared. He was not a fool, but, in his heart, he said there was no God.
“With another young man, whom we will call Thomas, he formed a partnership, and they went prospecting for gold,—gold that the God whom they would not acknowledge had placed in the earth.
“They were attacked by Indians and Thomas was killed. Richard was obliged to flee for his life. His food was soon exhausted, he had no water, he had no God to whom he could pray for help.
“He came to a hole in the ground, near a foothill. He got upon his knees and looked down—yes, there was water—not much, but enough for his needs—but it was beyond his reach. He leaned over the edge to gaze upon the life-giving fluid that God has given us, and his hat fell into the well. In his hat was his gold-dust—his fortune—so useless to him then. He forgot his thirst for water in his thirst for gold.
“There was a stout branch of a tree near by. He placed it across the top of the hole. He would drop down into the well, and recover his hat, get a drink of water and draw himself up again. The well did not seem more than six feet deep, and with his arms extended he could easily reach the branch and draw himself up to safety. He dropped into the well, found his hat with its precious gold, drank some of the muddy water which, really, was then more precious to him than the metal, and looked up. He extended his arms but they fell short some six feet of reaching the branch. He had under-estimated the depth of the well—it was fifteen instead of six feet.
“He would clamber up the sides, he would cut steps with his knife and make a ladder. The earth was soft, and crumbled beneath his weight. That mode of escape was impossible. He was a prisoner in a hole with only muddy water to sustain life for a short time, and no prospect of escape.
“Night came on. He looked up at the stars. They seemed no farther away than the top of the well.
“When a child he had been taught to say 'Our Father who art in Heaven,' Did he have a Father in Heaven? Was Heaven where those stars were? Was that Father in Heaven the Being that folks called God?
“He fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke the stars were still shining, but no nearer than before.
“In his loneliness, in his despair, he cried, 'Oh, God, help me!' He covered his face with his hands and wept. He had forsaken the belief of a lifetime. He had acknowledged that there was a God!
“There was a rustling sound above him, and a heavy body fell to the bottom of the well. Some wild animal! He was unarmed with the exception of his hunting-knife. That was slight protection against a savage beast, but he would defend himself to the last.
“He listened. The animal, whatever it was, was breathing, but it did not move. Perhaps it was stunned by the fall, but would soon revive. He would kill it. A few firm blows and the beast was dead. It did not breathe. Its body was losing its warmth. He was safe from that danger.
“He slept again. When he awoke the sun was high. Beside him was the dead body of a mountain lion.
“He drank some more of the muddy water. He was so hungry. Was there no means of escape? Must he die there with that dead lion for a companion?
“He had an inspiration. With his knife he cut the lion's hide into strips. He tied these together until he had a rope. He threw it over the branch and drew himself up. The Earth looked so bright and cheerful. He threw himself upon his knees and thanked God for his deliverance. He was an educated 'fool' no longer. He had found God in that pool of muddy water, and God had sent a lion to deliver him.
“How do I know that the story I have told you is true? Richard returned to his father's home. He went back to college and entered the divinity school. He became a clergyman, and he has preached to you, to-day, from the text, 'The Fool hath said in his heart that there is no God!'”