CHAPTER XXII.
THE LAST SCENE.
The lives of a great many people are distinguished by a few romantic events, but no man’s life is one continuous series of startling incidents. Life flows in a regular channel, and its romantic portions are mere episodes. The great bulk of mankind are doomed to toil for the necessaries of existence. Hence, every day is alike. They go through the same dull routine—the same tread-mill process of eat, drink, sleep, work.
It could not, therefore, be reasonably expected that the career of a minister, like Ernest, living in a quiet provincial town, should be distinguished for thrilling experiences. The clerical life is generally tranquil and unromantic. The preacher visits the sick, comforts the distressed, resolves the doubts of the skeptical, preaches the gospel, Sabbath after Sabbath, and in this way the days glide by till death transfers him to a higher state of existence. After the remarkable episode, involving Comston’s startling history, nothing occurred, for years, in the life of Ernest which would be of interest to the mere story reader. At present he is performing his ministerial duties, assisted by Mildred, with unostentatious piety.
One Sabbath there was an unusually large congregation assembled in Ernest’s church. It had been published that he would, by special request, preach a doctrinal sermon.
On Monday morning there was considerable excitement throughout the community. Many of those who had believed the opposite doctrine, were caused to reflect, and made to examine the ground-work of their creed. Little groups gathered on the streets and in the stores to discuss the sermon of the day before.
“Well,” said good old father Grimshaw, “if I believed as Brother Edgefield does, I would never go to church any more. In fact, I’d never do anything, but I’d take my fill of sin—yes I would.”
“I am utterly astounded,” answered a Presbyterian elder, “to hear you talk that way, father Grimshaw. If you were to take your fill of sin, how could you be a Christian? Can a Christian love sin?”
“Why, what difference would it make whether I am a Christian or not?” cried the old man. “If I’m to be saved, I’ll be saved anyhow, and if I’m to be lost, I’ll be lost anyhow, no matter what I may do.”
“Look here, father Grimshaw,” said the elder, “did Brother Edgefield say anything like that?”
“If he didn’t say it, that’s what his doctrine leads to.”
“I confess,” said the elder mildly, “that I cannot see that it leads to any such conclusion. But that is the way with some of you people. You draw your inferences, and take them as the doctrines of the Presbyterian Church. You know that Brother Edgefield said that all could be saved who wanted to be. I should like to know how much broader you desire the plan of salvation. Do you want God to save people, nolens volens?”
“No, sir,” replied father Grimshaw. “But if certain people are fore-ordained to eternal death, how can any of them be saved?”
“Brother Edgefield made that as plain as anything could be,” replied the Elder. “But I will answer your question. Of course, if they are fore-ordained to eternal death, they cannot be saved, but whose fault is it? God does not prevent their salvation. It is nothing but their own wicked hearts—their own perverse will. No man ever was lost simply on account of predestination.”
“But why don’t they have the will?” asked father Grimshaw.
“I do not know, but that is the truth,” replied the elder. “Their lack of the will is not to be attributed to any eternal decree, and if that be so, I am sure the sinner can charge the loss of his soul to nobody but himself. We naturally hold every man responsible for his own character. If a man is a thief, it is not natural for us to think that God made him so. Neither do we hold the Lord responsible for any man’s will. If, then, the sinner lacks the disposition to be saved, surely he cannot charge God with injustice. Every man has the consciousness that he could be a Christian, if he only desired to be. Then, I ask you, in the name of common sense, how does predestination prevent his salvation?”
“I don’t know how to argue the question,” cried father Grimshaw testily, “but it does appear horrible to me that God should choose one man to eternal life and condemn another to eternal death, when both are alike by nature—both sinners.”
“Let me ask you,” said the elder, “if God was under any obligations to save any one?”
“No, certainly not.”
“If He were to send all to eternal torment, would it be just?” asked the Elder.
“Yes,” answered father Grimshaw.
“Well, then, if God, in mercy, choose to save a large portion of the human race, and leave the rest to perish in their sins, and on account of their sins, how is any injustice done them?”
“Because they have as much right to be chosen as the others,” said father Grimshaw.
“Right!” said the elder, “What right do they have? I suppose if the Governor were to pardon two or three convicts, he is bound to pardon all, is he? Why, my dear, sir, your position runs squarely into Universalism!”
“How does it?”
“Why, you say that one man has as much right to be saved as another. If then, God saves one, He must save all. What is that but Universalism?” asked the Elder.
“He’s got you there, father Grimshaw,” cried one of the by-standers with a laugh.
“I repeat, father Grimshaw,” continued the elder, “no man is punished on account of predestination, but on account of his sins. Show me a man who feels that he must be lost by reason of the eternal decrees, and I promise to give up the doctrine.”
“I can’t for my life,” said father Grimshaw, “understand why some are chosen, and others are passed by.”
“No,” replied the elder, “if we understood that, Peter never would have said that Paul ‘wrote things hard to be understood.’ If we only knew what God’s reasons are, there would be no difficulty and no mystery in the doctrine of predestination. But we are told that the secret things belong unto the Lord, and those which are revealed are for us and our children.”
“Well, you Presbyterians,” said father Grimshaw, “have a way of getting around things so that it is hard to keep up with you. I cannot argue the point, but the doctrine looks strange to me—don’t look right somehow.”
“No,” replied the elder, “that is what people said in Paul’s day. It did not look right to some of the disciples of Christ, and they went back, and ‘walked with Him no more.’ People always have found fault with this doctrine, and I suppose will do so till the end of the world.”
“I must say,” spoke up a man by the name of Wallerton, “that Mr. Edgefield made it plain to my mind. I never knew before what Presbyterians do believe.”
“What!” exclaimed father Grimshaw, “are you going to turn Presbyterian?”
“Well,” answered Wallerton, “I fully endorse what Mr. Edgefield said yesterday. If that makes me a Presbyterian, I am one.”
“All may believe that please,” cried father Grimshaw, “but I never will. You may out-argue me, but you are not going to make me believe that predestination is right, no sir—never.”
“But what will you do with the Scripture?” asked Wallerton. “It says, ‘Whom He did foreknow, He did predestinate.’ Now what does predestinate mean?”
“I don’t know,” cried father Grimshaw, giving way to a feeling closely related to anger, “but there ain’t no predestination in it—not a bit of it.”
“If there is not,” replied Wallerton, “I should like to know where to find it.”
“You’ll find it no where, but in the Presbyterian Confession of Faith,” cried the old man.
“Well, I am convinced,” said Wallerton, “that it is the true doctrine. I love to believe it too, because I can see that there is more comfort in it than in the other.”
“What comfort is there in it?” cried the old man, raising his hand in holy horror.
“Why just this,” replied Wallerton, “I am trying to serve God. It does me good, then, to think that I have been elected from all eternity to salvation, and, therefore I can never perish.”
“If you believe that,” exclaimed the old man, “then go on, and sin as much as you please. You’ll be saved anyhow.”
“But I do not want to sin,” replied Wallerton, looking at him in surprise. “That is the very thing I pray God to deliver me from. Instead of desiring to sin, I pray to become more holy. I do not ask God to save me in my sins, but from them. I should think I would make a poor return of gratitude to God, if He should give me the evidence of my election, and I should say to Him, I will, then, serve the devil. What sort of religion is that?”
“You will make a Presbyterian out of me, Wallerton, if you talk much longer,” said another by-stander.
“Father Grimshaw,” continued Wallerton, laughing, “you’ve got this doctrine wrong; you are mixed up on it.”
“If I am, I guess I’ll stay mixed up,” replied the old man, shaking his head. Rising, he limped off on his stick, leaving the group wondering at his prejudice.
Father Grimshaw was a type of that class that will not be convinced by anything. Many people reject the doctrines of the Presbyterian Church, especially predestination, because such doctrines are repugnant to their feelings, and are not in harmony with their preconceived opinions.
We may here state that all the parties who have been conspicuous in these pages, are alive at the present writing, and our story must come to an end.
There was so much discussion in regard to the doctrinal sermon which Ernest had preached, that the elders of his church requested it for publication. He thought it advisable to comply with their request, in order that there might be no misconstruction of his views. We present the outlines of the sermon to our readers, leaving it to them to draw their own conclusions.