In His Steps

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Chapter 8

“If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.”

 

Henry Maxwell paced his study back and forth. It was Wednesday and he had started to think out the subject of his evening service which fell upon that night. Out of one of his study windows he could see the tall chimney of the railroad shops. The top of the evangelist’s tent just showed over the buildings around the Rectangle. He looked out of his window every time he turned in his walk. After a while he sat down at his desk and drew a large piece of paper toward him. After thinking several moments he wrote in large letters the following:

 A Number of Things That Jesus Would Probably Do in This Parish

•  Making the Most of Life
• Live in a simple, plain manner, without needless luxury on the one hand or undue asceticism on the other.
• Preach fearlessly to the hypocrites in the church, no matter what their social importance or wealth.
• Show in some practical form His sympathy and love for the common people as well as for the well-to-do, educated, refined people who make up the majority of the parish.
• Identify Himself with the great causes of humanity in some personal way that would call for self-denial and suffering.
• Preach against the saloon in Raymond.
• Become known as a friend and companion of the sinful people in the Rectangle.
• Give up the summer trip to Europe this year. (I have been abroad twice and cannot claim any special need of rest. I am well, and could forego this pleasure, using the money for some one who needs a vacation more than I do. There are probably plenty of such people in the city.)

He was conscious, with a humility that was once a stranger to him, that his outline of Jesus’ probable action was painfully lacking in depth and power, but he was seeking carefully for concrete shapes into which he might cast his thought of Jesus’ conduct. Nearly every point he had put down, meant, for him, a complete overturning of the custom and habit of years in the ministry. In spite of that, he still searched deeper for sources of the Christ-like spirit. He did not attempt to write any more, but sat at his desk absorbed in his effort to catch more and more the spirit of Jesus in his own life. He had forgotten the particular subject for his prayer meeting with which he had begun his morning study.

He was so absorbed over his thought that he did not hear the bell ring; he was roused by the servant who announced a caller. He had sent up his name, Mr. Gray.

Maxwell stepped to the head of the stairs and asked Gray to come up. So Gray came up and stated the reason for his call.

“I want your help, Mr. Maxwell. Of course you have heard what a wonderful meeting we had Monday night and last night. Miss Winslow has done more with her voice than I could do, and the tent won’t hold the people.”

“I’ve heard of that. It is the first time the people there have heard her. It is no wonder they are attracted.”

“It has been a wonderful revelation to us, and a most encouraging event in our work. But I came to ask if you could not come down tonight and preach. I am suffering from a severe cold. I do not dare trust my voice again. I know it is asking a good deal from such a busy man. But, if you can’t come, say so frankly, and I’ll try somewhere else.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s my regular prayer meeting night,” began Henry Maxwell. Then he flushed and added, “I shall be able to arrange it in some way so as to come down. You can count on me.”

Gray thanked him earnestly and rose to go.

“Won’t you stay a minute, Gray, and let us have a prayer together?”

“Yes,” said Gray simply.

So the two men kneeled together in the study. Henry Maxwell prayed like a child. Gray was touched to tears as he knelt there. There was something almost pitiful in the way this man who had lived his ministerial life in such a narrow limit of exercise now begged for wisdom and strength to speak a message to the people in the Rectangle.

Gray rose and held out his hand. “God bless you, Mr. Maxwell. I’m sure the Spirit will give you power tonight.”

Henry Maxwell made no answer. He did not even trust himself to say that he hoped so. But he thought of his promise and it brought him a certain peace that was refreshing to his heart and mind alike.

So that is how it came about that when the First Church audience came into the lecture room that evening it met with another surprise. There was an unusually large number present. The prayer meetings ever since that remarkable Sunday morning had been attended as never before in the history of the First Church. Mr. Maxwell came at once to the point.

“I feel that I am called to go down to the Rectangle tonight, and I will leave it with you to say whether you will go on with this meeting here. I think perhaps the best plan would be for a few volunteers to go down to the Rectangle with me prepared to help in the after-meeting, if necessary, and the rest to remain here and pray that the Spirit power may go with us.”

So half a dozen of the men went with the pastor, and the rest of the audience stayed in the lecture room. Maxwell could not escape the thought as he left the room that probably in his entire church membership there might not be found a score of disciples who were capable of doing work that would successfully lead needy, sinful men into the knowledge of Christ. The thought did not linger in his mind to vex him as he went his way, but it was simply a part of his whole new conception of the meaning of Christian discipleship.

When he and his little company of volunteers reached the Rectangle, the tent was already crowded. They had difficulty in getting to the platform. Rachel was there with Virginia and Jasper Chase who had come instead of the Doctor tonight.

When the meeting began with a song in which Rachel sang the solo and the people were asked to join in the chorus, not a foot of standing room was left in the tent. The night was mild and the sides of the tent were up and a great border of faces stretched around, looking in and forming part of the audience. After the singing, and a prayer by one of the city pastors who was present, Gray stated the reason for his inability to speak, and in his simple manner turned the service over to “Brother Maxwell of the First Church.”

“Who’s de bloke?” asked a hoarse voice near the outside of the tent.

“De Fust Church parson. We’ve got de whole high-tone swell outfit tonight.”

“Did you say Fust Church? I know him. My landlord’s got a front pew up there,” said another voice, and there was a laugh, for the speaker was a saloon keeper.

“Trow out de life line cross de dark wave!” began a drunken man near by, singing in such an unconscious imitation of a local traveling singer’s nasal tone that roars of laughter and jeers of approval rose around him. The people in the tent turned in the direction of the disturbance. There were shouts of “Put him out!” “Give the Fust Church a chance!” “Song! Song! Give us another song!”

Henry Maxwell stood up, and a great wave of actual terror went over him. This was not like preaching to the well- dressed, respectable, good-mannered people up on the boulevard. He began to speak, but the confusion increased. Gray went down into the crowd, but did not seem able to quiet it. Maxwell raised his arm and his voice. The crowd in the tent began to pay some attention, but the noise on the outside increased. In a few minutes the audience was beyond his control. He turned to Rachel with a sad smile.

“Sing something, Miss Winslow. They will listen to you,” he said, and then sat down and covered his face with his hands.