One of the devoted workers of the A. M. A., telling in a simple yet thrilling way of his heroic work in the South, concludes his article (in The American Missionary for March) with a request for the “prayers of those who pray.” What can he mean? Does he not, when struggling to put up a building in the wilderness, want money more than prayers, or at least as much? Would he not be glad of anyone’s sympathy and prayers? Very likely; but yet we see in his request an unconscious recognition of the fact that those who make a business of praying are the ones whose help is worth something; whose sympathy is palpably felt.
Those who pray! Oh, what a blessed thing is habit, when rightly guided. How much pleasanter to make effort, to do work, in familiar channels. What added life does it give to our intercourse with the Father to realize that he is already acquainted with us, that he has heard us on similar subjects before, that he knows the general trend of our desires and longings already. When we go before a court of law with our suits we employ an experienced pleader to present our case, and rightly; his training, his habit, is the lubricating element; without it progress would be slow, difficult and tedious. In spiritual matters we cannot do our pleading by proxy; priests were abolished when Christ made himself accessible, through the Comforter, to every heart, and we must now act each for himself; therefore let us see to it that we do not make this part of life uninteresting, unfruitful and dreary from sheer stiffness, inexperience and unfamiliarity. James says (v. 16) “the supplication of a righteous man availeth much in its working.” A righteous man is one who is working in lines approved by God, and this necessarily implies that he is in communication with God; therefore the maker of this appeal is right in addressing himself to those who are used to praying; there is every probability that they will be “righteous men” and that their prayers will “avail much.” What sort of a phenomenon is a church member who is not in the habit of praying? Even though his subscription to the A. M. A. this year be a liberal one, what certainty is there about his action next year? One who prays for this worker in Tennessee, and gives him a dollar, or a dime, may be of more real help than a giver of ten dollars who does it merely as a duty, or to quiet his conscience. The former has enlisted his friendship; and an accessible friend is better than a brother afar off—even if he be a millionaire, oftentimes.
The prayers of those who pray! Ah, yes, that is it. Love and sympathy are what move the world. If one loves us we need not worry about his material gifts to us. If a child of God prays for us he has a real interest in us and will try to give us money (if we are in need of it); and the exertions of such are multiplied a hundredfold by God’s arithmetic. “Those who pray” find that God doesn’t require them to assume the attitude of Abraham, “Oh, let not the Lord be angry, and I will speak yet but this once.” If the loving children of God were permitted to only send up one brief prayer and then have to step back, their interest might die out. No; the rule is “pray without ceasing,” “whatsoever ye ask.” God can raise up helpers out of the very stones of the ground; but he is not likely to do it unless he sees that his children desire and need the help and will faithfully use it. Let us all pray for the faithful ones who carry our burdens by going into the wilderness to do God’s work in our stead, who relieve us of a portion of our duty by doing more than theirs, and our material aid will certainly be larger and of more value than it could possibly otherwise be. As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he. Our prayers follow our thoughts; if we think and pray as benevolent persons it is likely that we shall be benevolent.
SUBSCRIBER.
AN INCIDENT.
“Will you come with me, to-day, and visit some of my poor people?” said a Southern lady missionary to me, on my first visit to the sunny South.
Of course I would go. I was anxious to meet with my brethren and sisters whose skin color differed from my own. I longed for acquaintanceship with them, to see what they had received.
We soon reached a conglomeration of cabins that had a ridiculous resemblance to rooks’ nests. How does it come that sticks in old age look so much more disreputable than stones? These wooden cabins looked far worse than the stone hovels of Achil Island. These lately enfranchised people living here were all renters, and they paid the utmost possible rent for the poorest possible shelter.
The cabins were built in clusters of four, so that one corner of each rested against a clumsy chimney, built in the middle in such a manner that each cabin had a corner fire-place.