A new name

by Grace Livingston Hill

So he summoned all his graces, and made a most eloquent excuse. He had not been very well lately, had been overworking before he came here, and his physician had warned him he must go a little slower. Added to that had been the nervous strain of the wreck. If they would kindly excuse him from doing any public speaking for a month or so, at least until he had had a chance to pick up a little and get himself in hand. He felt that it was due the bank that he put his whole strength there for the present, till he was in the running and felt acquainted with his work, and so on and so on.

The young Vice-president smiled, and regretted this was so, but said of course he understood. They would not bother him until he was ready, though everybody was crazy to hear him, they had heard so much about him. Didn’t he even want to lead a prayer-meeting? Well, of course. Yes, it was fair to the bank that he give all his strength there at present. Well, he would come over to the meeting, anyway, wouldn’t he?

And with a wistful glance at the easy chair and the firelight on Mrs. Summers’ hair, he allowed himself to be dragged away, with the understanding that he would meet his landlady in her pew for the evening church service. Gosh! Four church services, with a prospect of five for the next Sunday if they carried out their suggestion about that Ushers’ Association! Could you beat it? He would have to bolt before next Sunday! He must manage it after he got his week’s salary next Saturday. That would give him a little more money to start with. He would work his plans with that end in view. It certainly was too bad to leave when his disguise seemed to be working so perfectly, and to bid fair to be permanent, but he could not keep on this way. It might have been all right if he had anything to go on, but one could not jump into new surroundings like this and take on the knowledge that belonged to them. That was out of the question. It was all bosh about being born again. You could not do it. Maybe if you worked at it for years, and studied hard you could. But it seemed like a hopeless undertaking.

That evening the sermon was on the Atonement. He recognized the word and sat up all keen attention to discover what it meant.

That was a sermon of no uncertain sound. It pointed the way of salvation clearly and plainly, with many more quotations from Scripture, so that the wayfaring man, though a fool, need not err therein, and Murray Van Rensselaer was both of those. He learned the meaning of the word Calvary, too, and heard the story of the cross for the first time clearly told. Before that it had been more or less of a vague fairy tale to him. Of course one could not live in the world of civilization without having heard about Christ and the cross, but it had meant nothing to him. He was as much of a heathen as any one could be and live in the United States of America.

He heard how all men were sinners. That was made most plain, in terms that reminded him of the morning sermon about the judgment. He did not dispute that fact in his mind. He knew that he was a sinner. Since he had run away from the hospital his sin had loomed large, but he named it by the name of murder, and counted it done against a human law. Now he began to see that there was sin back of that. There were worse things in his life than even killing Bessie had been, if one was to believe all that the preacher said. It was an unpleasant sensation, this listening to these keen, convincing sentences, and trying them by his own experiences and finding they were true.

He heard for the first time of the love of God in sending a Saviour to the world. This thought was pressed home till He became a personal Saviour, just for himself, as if he had been the only one who needed Him, or the only one who would have accepted Him. The minister told a story of two sisters, one of whom was stung by a bee, and the other fled away, crying “Oh, I’m afraid it will sting me, too!” but the first sister called, “You needn’t be afraid, Mary, it has left its sting in my cheek! It can’t sting you any more!” And Murray Van Rensselaer learned that his sin had left its sting in Jesus Christ, and could hurt him no more. Strange thing! The sin from whose consequences he was fleeing away had left its sting in the body of the Lord Christ when He was nailed to the cross hundreds of years ago, and could harm him no more! Could not have the power to shut him out from eternal life, as it was now shutting him out from earthly life and all that he loved. Queer! Could this thing be true? There was one condition, however. One had to believe! How could one believe a thing like that? It was too good to be true. Besides, if it were true, why had no one ever told it to him before?

Murray went home in a dazed state of mind, home to the deep chair by the firelight, to Mrs. Summers’ gentle benediction of a prayer before he went up to his room. And then he lay down in his bed to toss and think, and half decided to get up and creep away in the night from this place where such strange things were told and such queer living expected of one. What would they ask of him next?

XVIII

The next thing they asked him to do was to let them elect him State President of the Christian Endeavor Society.