In December 1934, on a lonely hill in China, John and Betty Stam, young American missionaries, still only in their late twenties, were led out to die at the hands of Red Soldiers. The reaction to such a tragedy throughout the world was at first one of benumbed shock. Then came the question into the minds of many, “Why such waste?” But as faith triumphed over seeming defeat, into Christian lands everywhere, came an upsurge of missionary zeal. It is probably true that more was accomplished for God in that supreme sacrifice than would have been possible had John and Betty lived to give years to normal missionary effort.

The parents of both these young martyrs met the news of their children’s death with the calm and fortitude one might expect of those whose lives had been long conformed to the will of their Heavenly Father. Dr. Scott, for many years a missionary in China, gave this tribute to his daughter and her husband: “John and Betty had heavenly perspective. Given that, all other things fall into their proper proportions.”

Back in Paterson, New Jersey, U.S.A., the home of the Stam family, the same submissive spirit prevailed. “Oh, why did they go there!” exclaimed one lady. “Because the love of Christ constrained them,” Father Stam replied. “We were glad to see them go, and would gladly have let them go again, because we look not at the things which are seen. They were not after money or comfort, but after souls.”

There had been a time, however, when John’s father had been reluctant to see his son go to China. He had fond dreams of the day when this able young man would take over the leadership of the mission which he himself had founded. This mission, known as “The Star of Hope”, had begun in an abandoned livery stable in the heart of Paterson. Later, grown to proportions never imagined, it reached hundreds of persons with the message of salvation through its outreach into asylums, hospitals, jails and homes of the poor. With such a work on his heart, it was only natural that Mr. Stam should long for it to be carried on by someone of the caliber of his son John. But, like the man of God he was, he laid this hope on the altar and told his son that he was only too glad to hear that he had offered himself to work among China’s millions.

John, however, had not always possessed this “heavenly perspective”. Family prayers, a happy Christian home atmosphere, the love and wise counsel of affectionate parents – all this could not give him a personal faith in the God his family so devotedly served, although it certainly laid a foundation for it.

And so when John graduated from the Christian Grammar School, he had not yet settled the spiritual issues of his life. He decided to take a course in business education, but the two-year program was rendered more or less unhappy by the restlessness within.

However, at fifteen years of age, he became awakened to the fact that he was indeed a sinner in need of divine forgiveness. He saw himself forever lost without the Savior and, in the spring of 1922, while in the college, seated at one of the desks, he terminated the raging within and gave himself completely to God for the performance of His will. From that time, he became an active Christian, although for six years after his conversion, he engaged in office work in both Paterson and New York. The trend of his life now shifted from material and worldly interests to those of a spiritual nature.

Of a reticent disposition, John had poignant struggles in regard to the open-air services led by his father. But, as he walked with God, his shyness and fear gave place to a joyful boldness in his effort to bring others to Christ. One summer, he and a younger brother engaged in outdoor witnessing practically every night.

JohnÂ’s new relationship to God not only changed his life in the spiritual sense, but also quickened his intellect. He began to take a new interest in the world around him, and, since at the time he was employed in New York City with its teeming millions, he had ample opportunity to observe human nature.

As this young man began to know God more intimately, the soul need of those around him became a matter of great moment, and the call to His service grew more and more urgent. He gave full-time effort to The Star of Hope Mission for a brief period and then enrolled as a student of the Moody Bible Institute in Chicago. He had saved sufficient money to take care of all expenses for a time, and his parents expected to aid him when it became necessary. But the word of God to John at this period was, “Act as if I were, and you shall find that I am.” So he decided to learn to trust Him for everything during training, instead of waiting until his arrival upon a mission field.

He entered the Institute with enthusiasm and purpose, and excelled as a student, but it was his spiritual vision and qualities of leadership which marked him as a man designed of God for a position of responsibility in future Christian service. He was exceedingly prayerful and, during these busy years at the Institute, it was his habit to rise at five in the morning, spending time in communion with his Heavenly Father before the routine of the day. John wrote of his training at the M.B.I.:

“I count it a great privilege to be here, if only for the lessons I have learned of Him and of His dealings with men…The classroom work is blessed, but I think I have learned even more outside of classes than in them.”

The subject of the victorious life very much engrossed him at this period. “I think, sometimes, we excuse ourselves when we fail, because we realize that the flesh is weak,” he writes to his brother. “If we could really see sin as God sees it, what a fight would be put up!” Then he adds a quote from another teacher: “Reckon, reckon, reckon rather than feel; you take care of the reckoning, and God will make it real.”

It was at MoodyÂ’s too that his growing knowledge of his Master caused him to embark upon a life of complete faith and trust in His care. We can see the deep lessons learned in a letter written to his father, when John discovered that The Star of Hope Mission, which was entirely a faith mission, was going through financial difficulties:

“About twelve months ago, when I began to come to an end of the money I had taken to the Institute, I told the Lord that if I am to go to China I must know Him as the Answerer of prayer here in the homeland. May I mention some of the lessons I have had to learn?

“First, that it is all of grace. God does not reward us with what we need, because of our faithfulness. We are unprofitable servants at the very, very best.”

“Second, that it is useless to get down and pray unless we have searched the Word and let it search us (Psalm 139:23-24), even our thoughts toward others, our motives and desires. Once I had to wait three days for urgently needed help, to learn this lesson.”

“Third, that it not our faith we must depend on, but God’s faithfulness – our faith being only the hand held out to receive of His faithfulness.”

“Fourth, that if the answer does not seem to come, there may be something in me that causes God to delay in very faithfulness. His faithfulness causes Him not to answer me, in such a case. He cannot encourage His servant in a wrong attitude by answering his prayers, can He?”

“Fifth, that faith must be intelligently based upon the revealed will of God. Not because I have a supreme conviction that I need something or other, but because I find it is His will, I can pray with confidence.”

“Sixth, that I am not to expect the Lord to answer in just the way I suggest, or think best. Means and manner and everything must be left to the will of God. We keep on looking to our usual or possible sources of supply, forgetting that our real source of supply is the Lord, and that He can use anyone, anywhere, with equal ease and freedom.”

“How, I do thank Him for this past year! I would not have had it otherwise, for all the ease of a bank balance. How could I ever have learned to trust the Lord, even a little, if everything had gone smoothly? How could He have checked me up, had I not been entirely dependent upon Him? Of course, He knows what we need! We can have a blessed peace and rest without anything at all to depend on but His promises…The Book has become a new book to me, this last year.”

John then goes on to rejoice in the ever-widening knowledge of the character of his Lord. He revels in the promises of Matthew 6:33! “ ‘Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.’ That’s a business contract with two parties, God and ourselves. How poor would be our stay, if it were only the supplies in sight, or the people who usually send the money! It is not our work; it is His. His interest in it exceeds ours a thousandfold. As long as we are in His will, He cannot forget us. Could Mother forget her boys? Try as either of you or Mother might, you could not forget us…

“Dear Dad, what a blessed thing it is that God thinks it worthwhile to test us! Workmen only spend time and trouble on materials they can make something out of. God will perfect that which concerns us, Hallelujah!”

As the months rolled by, the vast land of China seemed to extend a beckoning hand, and the call to go there as a pioneer missionary became more and more urgent. Then it was that John began to attend the weekly prayer meetings for the work of the China Inland Mission. Here he met the girl who was to become his faithful wife and fellow martyr – the one whom God had prepared for him in His own school of learning and of suffering.
Elizabeth Alden Scott, although born in Michigan, U.S.A., had been reared in China. These stanzas, selected from a long poem written as a tribute to her missionary parents, show that theirs was indeed a happy Christian home.

“My words, dear Father, precious Mother,
May God select from His rich store.
I am, because you loved each other –
Oh, may my love unite you more!
But not content with mental culture,
Seeing my spirit mourn in night
You taught the Word and Way for sinners,
Until ChristÂ’s Spirit brought the light.
Your life for others, in each other,
Shines through the world, pain-tarnished here;
As faithful steward, Father, Mother,
Your crown shall be unstained by tear.”

Betty, as she was called, possessed a gentle, warm disposition. She passionately loved the many-faceted aspects of life, as has been revealed in the poetry that came from her pen at eighteen years of age and later. Toward the close of her high school years, the girl succumbed to an attack of inflammatory rheumatism which affected her heart to such an extent that, for a matter of months, complete rest and quiet were necessary. During that period, Betty acquired a deeper awareness of the spiritual side of life than she had previously known.

Returning to the States for further education, she entered Wilson College, Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, with a faith in God and eternal verities well-grounded. The gay, frivolous life which held charm for so many around her, had no attraction for her. Instead, she seriously and purposefully devoted herself to her studies and graduated with honors.
After one year at college, Betty had attended a summer Conference at Keswick, New Jersey. There she surrendered to Christ in such a way as she had scarcely believed possible. Her own words reveal the depth of this consecration:

“Lord, I give up my own purposes and plans, all my own desires, hopes and ambitions (whether they be fleshly or soulish), and accept Thy will for my life. I give myself, my life, my all utterly to Thee, to be Thine forever. I hand over to Thy keeping all of my friendships; all the people whom I love are to take a second place in my heart. Fill me and seal me with Thy Holy Spirit. Work out Thy whole will in my life, at any cost, now and forever. To me to live is Christ. Amen.”

In a letter to her parents she adds a further amplification of this consecration:

“I don’t know what God has in store for me. I really am willing to be an old-maid missionary, or an old-maid anything else, all my life, if God wants me to. It’s as clear as daylight to me that the only worthwhile life is one of unconditional surrender to God’s will, and of living in His way, trusting His love and guidance.”

A year late, after another twelve months of college life, she again writes:

“When we consecrate ourselves to God, we think we are making a great sacrifice, and doing lots for Him, when really we are only letting go some little, bitsie trinkets we have been grabbing and when our hands are empty, He fills them full of His treasures.”
At Keswick, Betty had also received a fresh vision of ChinaÂ’s need, of which, because of her background, she was already aware. This impelled her to pray that God would permit her to labor in that land, if He saw best. With foreign service a possibility, Betty enrolled at the Moody Bible Institute a year earlier than John Stam had done.

From someone who knew her while at the M.B.I. we get a further glimpse of this dedicated young woman: “Betty was quiet, never profuse, gently direct, and above the average in intelligence and culture. She was never hurried or ruffled. Her dress, while suited to the occasion, was never the least bit showy. She did not wear jewelry or frills and flowers. Her dark, straight hair, parted on one side, was worn in a knot at the back of the neck. I thought this very becoming to her. Her choice was evidently the simple life, with high ideals and a definite goal.”

But underneath the quiet calm of her outward demeanor, she was undergoing some searching experiences. “It almost seemed,” her father wrote, “as though, out of her peaceful, sheltered life, she had prescience of terrible things she would some day encounter for the Lord, and be called upon to suffer for His dear sake. Meanwhile, her real heart was in training for the tragic test.”

Uncertainty as to her future field of service lay at the root of some of this conflict. The lepers of Africa had been brought to her attention and the question came, Would she be willing to go to that needy land give herself to care for these sufferers? To give up China, and all that that entailed, cost her sensitive nature a great struggle. Yet finally, as Mrs. Howard Taylor puts it, “though it meant death to her loving, aesthetic spirit, she was enabled to offer herself even for this, if it were the will of God.”

In the following poem entitled, “My Testimony”, she expresses it thus:

And shall I fear
That there is anything that men hold dear
Thou wouldst deprive me of,
And nothing give in place?
That is not so –
For I can see Thy face
And hear Thee now:
‘My child, I died for thee.
And if the gift of love and life
You took from Me,
Shall I one precious thing withhold –
One beautiful and bright,
One pure and precious thing withhold?
My child, it cannot be.Â’

Still further however, had these testings to go, until, at last, this eager soul found her true rest in God. Her consecration at the Institute had gone much deeper than that at Keswick five years previously.

Eventually BettyÂ’s call to China became clearer and she knew that it was in that land that she must labor for her Master. Then it was that she had attended the prayer meetings where John Stam was a regular attendant. Since their ideals were similar, it was not strange that a regard for one another was begun. Which deepened with passing months.
During her last term at the M.B.I., Betty had applied for candidacy in the China Inland Mission. Since John had one more year of schooling, he was somewhat uncertain of his future and did not feel it would be fair to her to propose their engagement for a protracted period. So, without any definite understanding between them, Betty sailed for China in the Autumn of 1931. The parting for both was difficult. John wrote of it to his father:

“The China Inland Mission has appealed for men, single men to itinerate in sections where it would be almost impossible to take a woman, until more settled work has been commenced…Sometime ago I promised the Lord that, if fitted for this forward movement, I would gladly go into it, so now I cannot back down without sufficient reason, merely upon personal considerations. If, after we are out a year or two, we find that the Lord’s work would be advanced by our marriage, we need not wait longer.”

“From the way I have written, you and Mother might think that I was talking about a cartload of lumber, instead of something that had dug down very deep into our hearts. Betty and I have prayed much about this, and I am sure that, if our sacrifice is unnecessary, the Lord will not let us miss out on any of His blessings. Our hearts are set to do His will…but this is true, isn’t it, our wishes must not come first? The progress of the Lord’s work is the chief consideration. So there are times when we just have to stop and think hard.”

The father’s comment as he read this moving letter was: “Those children are going to have God’s choicest blessing!” Then he added, “When God is second, you will have second best; but when God is really first, you have His best.”

Betty was working in China at the time of JohnÂ’s graduation from Moody, and he had not yet been accepted by the China Inland Mission. However, in the summer of 1932, after a six weeksÂ’ stay at the Philadelphia home of the Mission, he was judged suitable and shortly sailed for China.

As soon as his future was assured, he wrote to Betty, expecting an answer before the date of his scheduled sailing. Since he received none, his voyage to China, by way of Honolulu and Japan, was somewhat clouded. Was he really sure of BettyÂ’s love and, what was more, was he willing for all the will of God? Before he reached his destination, however, he knew that he was indeed ready to accept His plan for the future. What was his joy then, on arriving at Shanghai, to find that, forced by circumstances and with no knowledge of his coming, she was there.

In accordance with the regulations of the Mission, John could not marry for a year, but the mutual love of the young couple was so true and so evidently born of God that they did not doubt His approval upon their relationship. Betty journeyed north to an inland station, and John went to language school.

The area where she, with others, was stationed, was troubled from time to time by bandits. But missionaries of the China Inland Mission never swerved from the path of duty, until certain of God’s will. Hard at work, endeavoring to master the Chinese language, John was concerned about Betty’s safety. “If we should go on before,” he wrote her, “it is only the quicker to enjoy the bliss of the Savior’s presence, the sooner to be released from the fight against sin and Satan.”

With the year of required language study and Gospel service ended on JohnÂ’s part, he and Betty planned for marriage. October 25, 1933, was the date selected. Never was there a sweeter bride, nor a bridegroom with a more noble Christian bearing. HeavenÂ’s blessing seemed to rest in a peculiar way upon everything taking place that lovely Autumn day at the home of BettyÂ’s parents in Tsinan.

After two weeks of honeymoon and a period of language study, it was decided that their permanent center should be the city of Tsingteh, sixty miles distant and a bulwark of heathenism. From this point, they walked to small towns over rugged mountains, scattering the Gospel seed and, with faith, looking forward to the joy of harvest. “The valleys just teem with villages,” wrote John. “Oh, that the Lord might have an assembly of true worshippers in each one.”

September 11, 1934, at Wuhu, was a memorable day for John and Betty, for it was then that a small daughter, Helen Priscilla, came to make her home with them.

But ominous clouds were appearing on the horizon of life. The Communist situation was worsening in China. In the district around Tsingteh, it was reported that small companies of bandits were posing a threat because of the drought, with a consequent shortage of food. John hesitated to take Betty and the baby back but, being assured by several Chinese magistrates that there was no cause for alarm, he decided to go. However, on the way they stayed a few days at Suancheng with their missionary friends, and little Helen was dedicated to God in a beautiful service. They reached their home at the end of November and were keenly anticipating their program of language study and evangelization.

On December 5th, utterly contrary to what had been expected, the Communists attacked Tsingteh, taking it the next day with practically no resistance, Betty was busy with the baby when word of the success of the Reds reached them. In no time at all, lawless men were looting the town, and the sound of repeated gunfire could be heard. The Stams, with their Chinese servants, knelt in prayer and, when the soldiers demanded entrance, greeted them courteously. Betty served them tea and cakes, as John endeavored to negotiate in regard to their demands for money.

But, intent only on evil to these foreigners, they bound and carried him to the Communist chief. A short time later, they returned for Betty and the baby. Despite the confusion, John succeeded in writing a letter to the Mission at Shanghai, although he knew that the demand for 20,000 dollars could not be met. The last paragraph said, “The Lord bless and guide you and, as for us, may God be glorified, whether by life or by death.”
Then a group of soldiers ordered John, who carried the baby, and Betty, on horseback, to a town about twelve miles away.

“Where are you going?” they were asked.

“We do not know where they (the soldiers) are going,” John answered simply, “but we are going to Heaven.”

When they reached their destination, they were confined and closely guarded for the night in a room off the courtyard of a spacious and abandoned Chinese home. John was tied with ropes to a bed post, but Betty was allowed to care for little Helen Priscilla.

The next morning, their outer clothing was removed and their hands tied tightly behind their backs. As they walked painfully along, the soldiers called out to any curious spectators to follow and see the execution of the foreigners. Outside the town, the doctor of the place, a Christian, called Mr. Chang, fell on his knees and pled earnestly for the missionariesÂ’ release. But in vain. Still he pleaded until it was discovered that he, too, was a follower of Jesus. This discovery meant that he joined his young friends in laying down his life for the Master, for John and Betty soon experienced the worst that their enemies could do. In a few brief moments, earth, with its sorrow, toil and tears, was over, and Heaven had begun.
Most astonishingly, the life of their three-month-old daughter was preserved. Betty had left her on the bed in a sleeping bag and had provided some extra clothing to which she had pinned two five-dollar bills. For nearly thirty hours, the baby lay there alone and apparently forgotten. After the excitement had subsided, and all that was mortal of John and Betty had been laid to rest by Chinese Christians, a friend ventured into the house where the little family had spent their last night together. There, just as her mother had left her, unharmed, lay the “Miracle Baby”, as she later became known. Eventually after many difficulties and risking their own lives in the process, Evangelist Lo and his wife, who had found the baby, delivered her in perfect health to her mother’s parents who bestowed all the wealth their love possessed upon the orphan child.

Writing of the courage of these Chinese Christians, BettyÂ’s father adds the following information:

“So remarkable were the courage and selflessness of Evangelist Lo and Mr. Chang that it is hard to believe that, only a few days earlier, both were rather uncertain in duty doing.

Evangelist Lo was timid and fearful, and Mr. Chang was rather unwilling to witness for the true and living God. But Betty and John had, last Autumn, sent out prayer requests for these ‘little ones in Christ’, and those prayers were wonderously answered in a Christ-like unselfishness and fervor of spirit and magnificent daring on the part of these two men that have thrilled the world.”

The martyrdom of the young missionaries struck a most responsive chord in the heart of Mrs. Howard Taylor, whose writings brought the work of China Inland Mission before the world in a most real sense. She felt led of God to write the story of their lives in a book she entitled “The Triumph of John and Betty Stam”. As a result, their consecration and devotion to God still sends out a fragrant and challenging influence.

Reprinted

“Should I flee, or should I remain?” The question to Dr. Tauler was one of utmost importance. The head of Christendom, the Pope of Rome, had placed the city of Strasburg under the curse of the Church, called an Interdict. The Pope’s quarrel was with the Emperor Lewis of Germany, because he had protected Marsilius of Padua, Rector of the University of Paris, whose teachings regarding the authority of the Church and the sufficiency of the atonement of Christ, had been pronounced heretical by the Holy See.

John Tauler, respectfully known as “the master”, because of his extensive learning, had been born in Strasburg, in Alsace, in the year 1290. His father was probably Nicholas Tauler, a senator of that city, and a man of considerable wealth. The young man entered the Dominican order of monks at the age of eighteen or thereabouts and soon afterwards went to Paris to study theology at the Dominican collect of St. Jacques.

Most of the “Schoolmen”, as the teachers of that period were called, seem to have specialized in lofty philosophical themes in which young Tauler took little interest.

Tauler was a humble man and would not have admitted anything but respect and loyalty to the Church and its teachings. He was sincere and courageous and possessed a great love for the people. Unbounded also was their admiration of his exceptional ability in the pulpit. Somehow, even in the fact of the Interdict, he could not give way to fear, as many other clergymen did. Despite his lack of knowledge of the grace of God in its reality, he was no proverbial “hireling.”

And so, to the relief of the populace, he remained in the city. The masses flocked to hear him, and their appreciation evolved into a pride that their beloved Strasburg should have so great a teacher. He was possessed of a great knowledge of the Bible and a sincere purpose to benefit his hearers in a practical way. Visitors came from some distance to hear him as his fame spread, but his theories of self-improvement proved completely inadequate for the reproduction of any grace in his audience. In the year 1340, the crowds were greater than ever, and “the master” yearned over them, as he attempted to teach them the way to Heaven.

It was no surprise, therefore, when one day he noticed in the audience a humble-looking stranger, whose interest appeared intense. The speaker naturally concluded that the man was deriving much good from his discourse. However, if the thoughts of the one in the pew could have been read from the pulpit, there would have been small room for pride. For this man from Switzerland was thinking thus: “ ‘The master’ is a very gentle, loving, good-hearted man by nature. He has also a good understanding of the Holy Scriptures. But he is dark as to the light of grace, for he has never known it.”

The visitor was Nicholas of Basle, a true apostle of that dark era. Told three times in a dream to go to Strasburg and hear Dr. Tauler preach, he was convinced that the voice of God was urging him to help this great teacher into Gospel light. He spent all available time in prayer and, after listening to five sermons, approached the master and desired, according to the practice of the Catholic Church, to make confession to him. The latter agreed, and Nicholas did so for twelve weeks, after which he asked the Doctor to preach a sermon showing how a man could reach the highest spiritual life possible in this world of sin.

This Dr. Tauler finally did, delivering a practical and scriptural message of twenty-four main headings, upholding, from a human point of view, the pinnacle of Christian perfection. The sermon dealt with self-emptying, humility, the crucified life, inner victory, perfect love and simplicity of motive. However, it was all theory obtained through diligent study of the Bible. Indeed, those who think of that period of time as the dark ages, would not believe that a clergyman of that day could have portrayed so clearly what God requires of all who desire to be wholly His.

But the sermon omitted two most important facts – the utter degeneracy of man, with his consequent inability in himself to attain to that standard; and faith in the merits of ChristÂ’s atonement as the one and only avenue to the blessed experience portrayed. Nicholas wrote the entire sermon from memory, later reading it to Tauler who, amazed at the intelligence and ability of the writer, urged him to remain in Strasburg and listen to future addresses.

Imagine “the master’s” consternation and surprise, when he heard the following from the lips of this meek stranger: “You are a great scholar and have taught us a good lesson in this sermon. But you yourself do not live according to it. Yet you try to persuade me to stay here that you may preach me yet another sermon. Sir, I give you to understand that man’s words have in many ways hindered me much more than they have helped me. And this is the reason: it often happened that, when I came away from the sermon, I brought certain false notions away with me, which I hardly got rid of in a long while with great toil. But if the highest Teacher of all truth comes to a man, he must be empty and quit of all else and hear His voice only. Know ye, that when this same Master cometh to me, He teaches me more in one hour than you or all the doctors from Adam to the Judgment Day will ever do.”

“The master” took this in good part, urging his guest to remain in Strasburg a while longer. Nicholas agreed to do so, if the Teacher would permit him to speak freely to him under the seal of confession. He then proceeded to teach the one who had thought to instruct him. He declared that the reason Tauler’s sermons “killed and did not make alive” was that, in reality, his desires were not toward God, but instead directed to His creatures; and especially toward one (himself) whom he loved above measure. In consequence, he had no single heart toward God.

“And therefore,” he said, “I liken your heart to an unclean vessel. And when the pure, unmixed wine of godly doctrine passes through that vessel which is spoiled and covered with lees, it comes to pass that your teaching has no good savour and brings no grace to the hearts of those who hear you. And whereas I further said that you were still in darkness and had not the true light this is also true; and it may be seen hereby that so few receive the grace of the Holy Spirit through your teaching.

“And whereas I said that you were a Pharisee, that is also true; but you are not one of the hypocritical Pharisees. You have, notwithstanding, this mark of the Pharisee, that you love and seek yourself in all things and not the glory of God. Now examine, dear sir, and see if you are not a Pharisee in the eyes of God. For know, dear master, a man is a Pharisee in God’s sight, according to what his heart is bent upon. And truly in the sight of God, there are many Pharisees.”

As these words were spoken, Tauler fell on Nicholas’ neck and kissed him, saying, “A likeness has come into my mind. It has happened, as it did to the heathen woman at the well. For know, dear son, that thou hast laid bare all my faults before my eyes. Thou hast told me what I had hidden up within me, and specially that there is one creature upon whom my affections are set. But I tell thee, of a truth, I knew it not myself, nor did I believe that any human being in the world can know of it. Doubt not, dear son, that thou hast it from God.”

In further conversation, Tauler revealed to Nicholas the fact that to be called a Pharisee had hurt him deeply. But the humble servant of Christ faithfully showed him how he, too, like those teachers of old, placed burdens on others that he did not lift and, like them, he often “said and did not.”

“Dear master, look at yourself,” he continued. “Whether you touch these burdens and bear them in your life is known to God and also to yourself. But I confess that, as far as I can judge of our present condition, I would rather follow your words than your life. Only look at yourself and see if you are not a Pharisee in the eyes of God, though not one of those false hypocritical Pharisees whose portion is in Hell fire.”

The master replied, “I know not what to say. This I see plainly, that I am a sinner and am resolved to better my life, if I die for it. Dear son, I cannot wait longer. I beg of thee, simply for God’s sake, to counsel me how I shall set about this work; and show me and teach me how I may attain to the highest perfection that a man may reach on earth.”

Nicholas then told “the master” that if he really desired to know the ways of God, he would set him an “ABC” lesson. He knew only too well that the strong-willed teacher or any other man could not attain to these commands by mere striving. His desire was that this final burst of self-effort would cause Tauler to catch such a glimpse of his own insufficiency and nothingness that he could be given a divine revelation of the way of salvation by faith alone.

After three weeks, Tauler, in despair, confessed that he had experienced great agony of soul and would be dishonest if he said he had learned even the first letter of the lesson assigned. But, after another period of similar length, he sent for Nicholas, saying, “Dear son, rejoice with me, for I think that, with God’s help, I could say the first line.”

How happy Nicholas was for, as Tauler pleaded that he teach him further, it was evident that “the master” was approaching the end of all self-effort. He then gave advice which he knew would spell death to all that the great preacher held dear. In short, it was to take the way of the Cross, which confronts every one who would follow Christ. He suggested that Tauler temporarily cease from preaching and other ministerial duties, concentrating on his search for God.

This, said Nicholas, would mean friends would turn against him. The audiences, which he had held spellbound, would leave him in disgust. And so it happened. For two desolate years, Tauler refused to preach or teach. The populace became angry, calling him a mad man. As a result, he was deprived of his livelihood and, during that period, to relieve the pangs of hunger, he was forced to sell some of his much-loved books. He became ill and, when his friend next saw him, he urged Tauler to take better care of the body which had been given him by God. Nicholas, however, was encouraged and, bidding “the master” persevere, promised to come to him any time he was needed.

But our heavenly Father was watching and waiting to be gracious. The revelation from Himself was now not far away. It is significant that it was at the time of the celebration of the feast of St. PaulÂ’s conversion that the greatest event of TaulerÂ’s life took place.

The Doctor was convicted of his sinfulness of heart and, under the revelation, became so ill that he could only lie on his bed, pleading, “O merciful God, have mercy upon me, a poor sinner, for Thy boundless mercy’s sake; for I am not worthy that the earth should bear me.” And, as he lay there, weak and stricken with sorrow, he heard a Voice saying, “Trust in God and be at peace; and know that when He was on earth as a man, He made the sick, whom He healed in body, sound also in soul.”

So great was his reaction to this message that, for a time, reason seemed to reel. When he came to himself, he was possessed of a strange, new inner strength, and divine truth, which before had been dark to him, was now clear as the day. He sent for Nicholas, who, observing him with joy, exclaimed, “I tell you that now, for the first time, your soul has been touched by the Most High…The latter which has slain you now maketh you alive again, for it has reached your heart in the power of the Holy Ghost. Your teaching will now come from the Holy Ghost, which before came from the flesh. For you have received the light of the Holy Spirit, by the grace of God, and the Scriptures which you already know will now be made clear to you, for you will have an insight that you never had before.”

And so it was. Tauler was a new creature, alive and vibrant with a message from Heaven. Nicholas gave him money with which to redeem his books and advised him to begin preaching again. “The master” announced a service and the people came but, instead of sounding forth the Word, he could only stand and weep. The crowd which had come in eager anticipation waited, but there was no sermon that day. The one-time orator had no words to utter; his entire frame continued to shake with sobs. At length, they dispersed in anger, believing Dr. Tauler to be more unbalanced than ever.

But the great inner change had come and, in view of the dire spiritual need everywhere, it was impossible for the Doctor to long remain silent about what had taken place. His reputation or his own interests now meant nothing to him.

He remembered the monks and nuns, with their sacrifice and self-inflicted penance, as well as their professed sanctity. As he thought of the gross sins and follies, he longed to reveal to them the secret of his deliverance. So, knowing that he had a message from God, he preached in front of the convent to an assembly of nuns and others. Taking as his text, “Behold, the bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet him,” he spoke of Christ as the Bridegroom of the soul, which was the relationship the sisters claimed regarding the Lord Jesus.

What a message it was! Considered in the light of what happened at the close of the sermon, it must have been devastatingly convicting. The Holy Spirit smote hearts right and left, as the speaker described the state of the professed Bride of Christ, filthy with self-interest, love of the world, its praise and greed. It was a loving, but penetrating discourse, on what is in the heart of every human being, regardless of his calling. The message concluded with a picture of the Bridegroom giving Himself for the cleansing and sanctification of the Church. When he had finished, about forty enquirers remained for some time sitting in silence in the churchyard.

“The master” began preaching to the masses again, and the action proved to be indeed well-timed, for soon the community was visited with pestilence and earthquakes. These were followed by the dreadful “Black Death”, which resulted in the deaths of about 16,000 persons in Strasburg and 14,000 in Basle. Is it not wonderful that this great preacher was filled with the Holy Spirit for such a time?

For six years, Dr. Tauler gave out the light of the Gospel to the living and the dying.

There are frequent instances in the biographies of godly Europeans during the ensuing centuries, where the seeker after the deeper spiritual life went far back to the dark pre-Reformation days and read John TaulerÂ’s sermons with great avidity and blessing. Two excerpts from lectures will show to what extent this searcher after God had discovered some of the most profound secrets.

“Those who go into God’s vineyard are truly noble and highly-favored men, who in deed and truth rise above all creature things in God’s vineyard; for they seek and love nothing but simply God in Himself. They neither look to pleasure, nor to any selfish end, nor to that which is a mere outflow from God; for their inner man is wholly plunged in God, and they have no end but the praise and glory of God, that His good pleasure alone may be fulfilled in and through them and in all creatures. Hence they are able to bear all things and to resign all things, for they receive all things as from God’s hand and offer up to Him again in simplicity of heart all that they have received from Him, and do not lay claim to any of His mercies.

“They are like a river that flows out with every tide, and then again hastens back to its source. So do these men refer all their gifts back to the Source whence they proceed and flow back again unto it themselves likewise. For inasmuch as they carry all the gifts of God back into their divine fountain, and do not claim any ownership in them, either for pleasure or advantage, and do not purpose this nor that, but simply God alone, God must of necessity be their only refuge and stay, outward or inward.

The summary of another lecture on one of the Beatitudes is as follows:

“ ‘Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God.’ A pure heart is more precious in the sight of God than aught else on earth. A pure heart is a fair, fitly adorned chamber, the dwelling of the Holy Ghost; a golden temple of the Godhead; a sanctuary of the only-begotten son, in which He worships the Heavenly Father, an altar of the grand, divine sacrifice, on which the Son is daily offered to the Heavenly Father.

“A pure heart is the throne of the Supreme Judge; the seat and secret chamber of the Holy Trinity; a lamp bearing the Eternal Light; a secret council-chamber of the Divine Persons, a treasury of divine riches; a storehouse of divine sweetness, a panoply of eternal wisdom; a cell of divine solitude; the reward of all the life and suffering of Christ.

“Now what is a pure heart? It is, as we have said before, a heart which finds its whole and only satisfaction in God, which relishes and desires nothing but God, whose thoughts and intents are ever occupied with God, to which all that is not of God is strange and jarring, which keeps itself as far as possible apart from all unworthy images, and joys and griefs, and all outward cares and anxieties, and makes all these work together for good; for to the pure all things are pure, and to the gentle is nothing bitter. Amen.”

The godly life of John Tauler and his uncompromising teachings influenced two other men of the Church, Thomas of Strasburg and Ludolph of Saxony, both of whom were priors. These three “Friends of God”, as they and others like them often were called, were fearless in their teachings and writings, which were startlingly in contrast with the tenets held by the Church in power. They counseled the people to take no heed to the Interdict of the Pope; to visit the sick and the dying, comforting them by pointing them to the “death and sufferings of our Lord, Who had offered up Himself as the perfect Sacrifice for them and for the sins of the whole world.”

Vengeance on the part of their enemies was sure, and the three eventually were removed from their positions of influence. Six years after his conversion, Tauler was forced to leave Strasburg for Cologne, to the grief of many, not a few of whom had experienced changed lives during his ministry. In that city he was free to preach as he would and did so for about ten years.

At seventy years of age, ill and infirm, he returned to Strasburg, where he was nursed by his aged sister, in one of the houses belonging to the convent in which she was a nun. There Nicholas visited him, and together they agreed that he should write an account of Tauler’s life, though he was never to mention the Doctor by name. He was to be known only as “the master” and Nicholas as “the man”, that God might have all the glory of anything he had accomplished. Soon after this, the dear man of God went to be forever with the Lord. Nicholas and the townspeople mourned him deeply.

Martin Luther held the writings of Dr. Tauler in the highest esteem and declared that in them he had found more to instruct him than in those of all the schoolmen put together. To his friend, Spalatin, he wrote, “If you desire to make acquaintance with sound teaching of the good old sort in the German tongue, get John Tauler’s sermons, for neither in Latin, nor in our own language, have I ever seen any teaching more solid or more in harmony with the Gospel.” For many years, Tauler was remembered in Strasburg as “The Doctor who was enlightened by the grace of God,” or “The master of the Holy Scriptures.”

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The tall young woman of twenty-three, with light brown hair and a sensitive mouth, roamed the wooded hills that sloped gently down to Coniston Lake, her mind in a turmoil of conflict. Although previously she had visited “Brentwood”, the home of John Ruskin, and thoroughly enjoyed the beauty of the surroundings, as well as the intellectual and artistic temperament of her host, this time it was different.

John Ruskin had pleaded with Lilias Trotter to reconsider her decision to relinquish the promising pursuit of art, for she had been contemplating the giving of her entire self to another Master, in the pursuit of souls. “I pause to think how I can convince you of the marvelous gift that is in you,” he had written on a former occasion. Now he was urging her to improve her artistic ability, for he was convinced she would make her mark among foremost artists.

Appreciation of her talent by so famous a man would have been too sore a temptation, had not the “love of One that is stronger” reached out and touched her heart. The die was cast. Turning her back upon a future so bright with promise, she summed up her decision thus: “I see as clear as daylight now I cannot give myself to painting in the way he (John Ruskin) means and continue still ‘to seek…first the kingdom of God and his righteousness.’”

Everything in the life of Lilias Trotter had favoured her career as an artist. Nature had richly endowed her. The circumstances into which she was born, in 1853, were ample enough to provide financial security while she studied. Her father, of Scottish parentage, was “a charming character of love, generosity and gentleness, combined with high qualities of intellect and acquirements.” He always had encouraged his nine children in their pursuit of scientific and artistic studies. He had procured French and German governesses for them, and frequent visits to the Continent gave them that poise which only widely traveled persons acquire.

Her mother was Isabella Strange, whose father had been Chief Justice of Halifax, Nova Scotia. Although she was the second wife of Alexander Trotter, most acceptably she mothered his six children by his former wife. Three more children by the second marriage were added to the spacious nineteenth century home. Lilias was the first of these three.

The girl, sensitive to a degree, keenly felt the blow that fell upon the family, when her beloved father was taken from them, when she was only twelve. But the grief resulted in a response to the love of her Saviour. When others thought her away playing with her dolls, she was spending the time in prayer.

When Lilias was twenty-one years of age, she and her mother attended a Convention convened at “Broadlands” by Lord Mount-Temple, a Christian statesman. The speakers that year were Andrew Jukes, Theodore Monod and the American Quakeress, Mrs. Pearsall Smith, author of “the Christian’s Secret of a Happy Life.” The messages given were on the theme of consecration and God’s gift of His Holy Spirit. Her eyes “were opened to see the loveliness of the Son of God and His right to control her redeemed life.”

The next year, another event helped to shape the character of this impressionable young woman. D. L. Moody came to London, and she and one of her sisters attended these services and helped in the choir. She was profoundly impressed with the evangelistic fervour exhibited night after night, which resulted in the salvation of souls.

The Y. W. C.A. was achieving success among working girls, and Lilias and a friend rented a music hall, turning it into a hostel for these young women. Prayer meetings were frequently called as special services were conducted, and sometimes all nights of prayer were engaged in that the forces of evil might be defeated in their lives. This effort led to contact with girls whose “business” was sin and, with some of whom, Lilias prayed into the early hours of the morning.

In 1876, Mrs. Trotter and her daughter traveled to Venice. A letter of Ruskin’s tells how he discovered the latent talent in this budding artist. “When I was at Venice in 1876 – it is about the only thing that makes me now content in having gone there – two English ladies, mother and daughter, were staying at the same hotel, the ‘Europa’. One day the mother sent me a pretty little note asking if I would look at the young lady’s drawings.

“On my somewhat sulky permission, a few were sent, in which I saw there was extreme right-minded and careful work, almost totally without knowledge. I sent back a request that the young lady might be allowed to come out sketching with me. She seemed to learn everything the instant she was shown it, and ever so much more than she was taught.”

Ruskin displayed her drawings and from that time became her friend and champion. Not understanding the love that had drawn this young woman to spend her life in work for women of the street he wrote,

“Am I not bad enough? Am I not good enough? Am I not whatever it is enough, to be looked after a little when I am ill, as well as those blessed Magdalenes?”

But this effort continued to absorb her time and strength for the next ten years. And the reason is expressed in one of her favourite hymns:

“A homeless Stranger amongst us came
To this land of death and mourning,
He walked in a path of sorrow and shame,
Through insult and hate and scorning.

“A Man of sorrows, of toil and tears,
An outcast Man and a lonely;
But He looked on me and through endless years
Him must I love, Him only.

“Then from this sad and sorrowful land,
From this land of tears, He departed;
But the light of His eyes, and the touch of His hand,
Had left me broken-hearted.”

During this same period, she made the acquaintance of two women whose influence was to change the direction of her labours for more than forty years.

“I quite expected to spend my life in the Y.W.C.A. and was not interested in missionary work,” Lilias wrote later. “But I was thrown a good deal with Adeline Braithwaite and Lelie Duff, and I felt that both of them had taken to heart the outer darkness in a way I had not. I do not remember that they said anything to me personally about it, but one felt it right through them. They were all aglow. I saw that they had a fellowship with Jesus that I knew nothing about. So I began to pray, ‘Lord, give me the fellowship with Thee over the heathen that Thou hast given to these two!’

“It was not many weeks before it began to come – a strange, yearning love over those who were ‘in the land of the shadow of death’ – a feeling that Jesus could speak to me about them, and that I could speak to Him – that a great barrier between Him and me had been broken right down and swept away.

“I had no thought of leaving England then, no thought even at first of trying to stir others at home. But, straight as a line, God made my way out into the darkness before eighteen months were over. And through eternity I shall thank Him for the silent flame in the hearts of those two friends, and what it did for me. Neither of them has ever had her path opened into foreign work, but the light of the Day that is coming will show what He has let them do in kindling other souls.”

Whenever Lilias prayed, the words, “North Africa”, sounded in her soul as though a voice were calling her. In May 1887, a missionary meeting was held by Mr.Glenny who spoke on the needs of that field. When the appeal was made at the end of the service, Lilias arose and said, “God is calling me.” In less than a year, with two other young women, she had reached Africa.

“And I clave to Him as He turned His face
From the land that was mine no longer;
The land I had loved in the ancient days,
Ere I knew the love that was stronger.

“And I would abide where He abode,
And follow His steps for ever;
His people my people, His God my God,
In the land beyond the river.”

In a letter home, she wrote,

“I would not be anywhere else but in this hardest of fields with an invincible Christ. None of us would have been passed by a doctor for any missionary society. We did not know a soul in the place, or a sentence of Arabic; nor had we a clue as to how to begin work on such untouched ground. We only knew we had to come. If God needed weakness, He had it! We were on a fool’s errand, so it seemed, and we are on it still, and glory in it. For the Moslem world that has challenged Christ for over twelve centuries has not had His last word yet.”

The intrepid young missionaries rented a big, fortress-like house in Algiers. Rumour had it that it was 300 years old. Their front door was known for a long time as “the door of a thousand dents”, as unruly boys and opposing adults battered at its rugged thickness. Those were most difficult years for these pioneers, facing hostility, suspicioned by authorities and experiencing the inborn hatred of Islam for Christ.

After seven years on the Moslem field, Lilias returned to England, with badly frayed nerves and heart worn by strain and stress. The extreme heat, too, had been most debilitating. How she appreciated the quietness and aloneness of the homeland, where she could regain the apparently lost powers of body, soul and spirit!

As the quiet entered into her very soul. God began to make further revelations to her of what it meant to be “buried” with Christ! She writes,

“Not only ‘dead’ but ‘buried’, put to silence in the grave; the ‘I can’t,’ and ‘I can’, put to silence side by side in the stillness of ‘a grave beside Him’ with God’s seal on the stone and His watch set that nothing but the risen life of Jesus may come forth.

“ ‘Give me a death in which there shall be no life, and a life in which there shall be no death.’ That was the prayer of an Arab saint, I came upon it the other day. Is it not wonderful!”

It was now that she saw the loathsomeness of all that is of the flesh, and not of the spirit. The lesson had been taught by the messengers of disappointments, seeming failure and frustrations. Two of the most promising women converts died as a result of a slow poisoning. Another had fallen under the spell of a sorceress. Five out of six backslidings, the missionaries concluded, could be traced to the drugging of the converts. Lilias and her friends would have welcomed the triumphant entry into Heaven of any newly converted, rather than to have seen their minds and bodies despoiled under drug reaction. They were driven to the throne of grace for, without divine aid, helpless women, in a hostile Moslem land, could not possibility counter such satanic forces.

Was she thinking of this period of opposition, when she wrote,

“I am full of hope that when God delays in fulfilling our little thoughts, it is to leave Himself room to work out His great ones. And, more and more as time goes on, I feel that, the longer He waits the more we can expect, for the deeper and wider will be the undermining, and the greater will be the band of those who will come forth free from their prison walls. When one gets hold of that vision, one can throw back in the devil’s face his taunts over the seemingly wasted years that lie behind us”?

One day, a most unusual opportunity arose to introduce the work of the AlgierÂ’s Mission Band to 600 American delegates from the WorldÂ’s Sunday School Convention who were en route to Rome. Scheduled to land for a short time in Algiers, they asked for one hour with Miss Trotter that they might become acquainted with the Christian effort among the Moslems.

With no hospitals, no schools, little organization and few apparent results to show for twenty years’ labour, dismay filled her heart at the request. How could she hope to make these keen and successful businessmen understand? The missionaries brought the problems to God, believing that “difficulty is the very atmosphere of miracle.” They decided to show, not what had been done, but what had not been done, trusting Him to use the very weakness and seeming failure to interest the group. And God did just that, for the American delegates became fast friends of the Mission in Algeria for years to come.

During the twenty years, in reality, much had been accomplished. Centres had been opened in strategic places, travel by train and camel had taken the missionaries to remote and almost inaccessible parts where they could broadcast the message of redeeming love.

But times of illness came to Lilias. These hours, however, were not spent in an idle fashion, but rather devoted to writing. She penned “Parables of the Cross”, in which she also utilized her artistic ability by drawing lovely illustrations from nature for its pages. She aided friends in a revision of the Bible in classical Arabic. As a result of this effort, the Gospels of Luke and John were widely distributed in the area.

Feeling the need for Moslem mystics, she wrote “The Way of the Sevenfold Secret” on the seven “I Am’s”. She was sure if Christian literature could but find its way into the homes of the Arabic world, it would be read without the opposition encountered in public effort. Probably Lilias did more in her preparation of reading material for the people than in her personal contacts, although her knowledge of the country, familiarity with the language, experience with the opposition – all made the literature much more effective in its presentation of the Gospel.

The last three years of her life were marked by extremely limited strength. Her heart, so worn from the soldiering, probably would not have functioned at all, save for the warrior spirit within. From her bed, propped up by pillows, she directed the work of the Band, praying for each worker by name during the night watches when sleep refused to come.

To the very end, the worker was being moulded by the Master into greater conformity to His image. While the citadel of her heart had long since been captured, there were areas of the natural life to be brought into subjection to the Master. (Her sympathetic disposition needed disciplining.)

“It has opened out to one a whole new era that has to be subdued unto Himself – the region of natural temperament that lies at the back of the self-life in man, which needs to be transformed by the renewing of our minds. Transformed does not mean annihilated, but transfigured by a new indwelling. He can take that very susceptibleness that has been a snare, and make it a means of contact with Himself, a sensitiveness to the Holy Ghost. It is worth all the humbling and heart-searching and the breaking up of depths after depths, if it means getting nearer the place where the living water will be set free.”

In another quotation from her pen, she portrays the growing sway of the SpiritÂ’s dominion in her.

“In a stream which is ankle deep, one can walk where one will. When it is knee-deep, the ‘pull’ has begun. When it is to the loins, ‘the drawing’ has become almost irresistible. And the next thing is that it cannot ‘be passed over’; they are ‘waters to swim in’. ‘Borne on unto perfection’ is the literal meaning in Hebrews 6:1. ‘There the glorious Lord will be unto us a place of broad rivers and streams’ (Isaiah 33:21).”

The saint who had chosen to share the life of her risen Lord rather than to enjoy the honours a fickle world could heap upon her, had partaken deeply of that divine Partner’s secrets. In a booklet, “A Ripened Life”, she shares with us the deep insights she had obtained through close communion:

“In that day there shall be upon the bridles of the horses, Holiness Unto the Lord.” The horse seems to stand throughout the Old Testament for natural power. In each of us there is one strongest point; it may be brain power, or some faculty, as music for instance, or the power of planning, the power of influence, the power of loving. And, whatever it may be, that strong point is sure to be a point of temptation, just as their horses were a temptation to Israel.

“Trace history. In spite of God’s warning (Deut.17:16) they ‘multiplied’ them (1 Kings 4:26; 10:28) and ‘trusted in them’ (Isaiah 31:1), and by this multiplying, power was put into the hands of their enemies (1 Kings 10:29) which was afterwards turned round upon themselves for their own ruin.

“Can we not, some of us, read our own story between the lines? Have we not given play to these faculties, ‘multiplied’ them so as to speak, for the sake of the exultant sense of growing power, not for God? Have we not trusted in our horses? In the well-worked-out ‘subject’ for instance, rather than in the Spirit’s might? Have we not been brought into soul captivity by means of self-indulgence in these faculties, God-created though they are? And therefore most of us, as we go on, find that God’s hand comes down on the strongest parts of us, as it came upon the horses of Israel (Zechariah 12:4; Hosea 1:7). By outward providence or by inward dealing, He brings it to the place of death, and to the place where we lose our hold on it and our trust in it and say with Ephraim, ‘We will not ride upon horses’ (Hosea 14:3). And in that place of death God may leave it for months and years till the old glow of life has really died out of it, and the old magical charm has vanished, and it has become no effort to do without it because life’s current has gone into the current of God’s will.

“Then comes the day as in Israel’s case before us, when He can give us back our horses, with ‘Holiness to the Lord’ written on them, bridled with Christ-restraint. Where are our horses? Are we riding them in their old natural force, or are they lying stiffened and useless in the place of death, or have they been given back to us with their holy bridles?”

Weeks of suffering began in May, 1928, but Lilias’ mind retained its clearness, and she never lost sight of the “Master of the Impossible”. As the end drew near, looking out of her window, she exclaimed, “A chariot and six horses!”

“You are seeing beautiful things,” said a friend.

“Yes, many, many beautiful things,” was the joyful and last response to those around her. Had the chariot borne her to Heaven, as it had the prophet Elijah? We do not know. But we can be assured that the trumpets of the angels sounded for the arrival of the Christian warrior who had dared, at the call of “the invincible Christ”, to leave earthly comfort, ease, fame and friends, for an unknown land.

“And where He died would I also die;
For dearer a grave beside Him,
Than a kingly place among living men,
The place which they denied Him.”

Quotations By Lilias Trotter

Oh, for an enthusiasm for Christ that will not endure to be popular where He is unpopular; that will be fired rather than quenched when His claims are unrecognized and His Word is lighted; that will thrill us with joy if He allows us to share in the faintest degree in His dishonour and loneliness; that will set every pulse throbbing with exultation as we “go forth…unto him.

Emptiness, yieldedness, brokenness, these are the conditions of the spiritÂ’s outflow. Such was the path taken by the Prince of Life to set free the flood-tide of Pentecost.

Oh, the pains that God has to take to bring us to this ‘abandon’ – equally ready for silence or for saying, for stillness or for doing unhesitatingly the next thing He calls for, unfettered by surroundings or consequences. How much reserve and self-consciousness have to give way with some of us before the absolute control passes into His hands and the responsibility with it. Lilias Trotter.

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In 1900, the International Prison Congress was held in St. Petersburg. The greatest jailor on earth, the Tsar of all the Russias, the turnkey of the great ice dungeon, Siberia, opened the sessions. Grand dukes and other notables of Russian high society were present in force. There were gala dinners and receptions. At one session a French sociologist in evening dress read a paper on incorrigibles. It shone in faultless rhetoric. “This class of criminals are hopelessly sick. No reclamation is possible. All that can be done is, in one or another way, to render them harmless.”

When the last word had fallen a slight figure was seen making her way to the platform. She asked the indulgence of the chairman, and then in a silvery voice, speaking in French, said: “There is, gentlemen, one agency by which every criminal can be transformed, even one who is, as they say, incorrigible. That is the power of God. Laws and systems cannot change the heart of a single criminal but God can. I am persuaded that we ought above all to occupy ourselves with the souls of prisoners, and with their spiritual life.”

The congress applauded. It was a message social congresses do not often hear.

The apparition was Miss Mathilde Wrede, the Baroness Wrede, in fact, though she never seemed concerned about her title. She bears a more unique title, “The Angel of the Prisons.”

Her father was the provincial Governor of Vasa, Finland. She first became interested in the imprisoned by watching some who came to make repairs on the governorÂ’s house and grounds, men under guard and of gloomy countenance. Again, as a little girl, she saw by accident the smith welding red-hot irons on a group of prisoners. After that the lovely birthday furniture of her chamber, which her father had given her as a present, failed to satisfy her. It was prison-made.

She was brought up in a world of culture, educated carefully with the lovely training of the Scandinavian schools, and was a gifted musician. One evening, in which she had planned to go with her father to a society function, she went instead to a revival meeting in which a layman was preaching. His text was John 3:16, and Mathilde Wrede capitulated, as tens of thousands have done before to the golden words. It was an embarrassment to her father and his entourage, but in her own heart the hallelujah bird was singing. Some days after, a prisoner came to her home to repair a lock and, conversing with him, she told of the great things God had done for her. “Ah, Miss,” he answered, “you should come out and tell us prisoners about it. We need it enough.”

She promised to go, and she went. Then she went again. She had entered upon her life work.

To her final decision, she had remarkable guidance. She had in this early time agreed to visit a prisoner but decided to put it off in order to pay a pressing society call. On the night before, in vision or dream, which she could not tell, a prisoner came into her white chamber with irons on hands and feet, rattling as he went. In the middle of the room he halted and looked at her with sorrowful eyes. She heard words with startling distinctness: “thousands of poor, chained prisoners sigh for life, freedom, and peace. Speak to them the word of Him who can make them free, so long as you have time.”

Then the apparition vanished.

She tossed about greatly disturbed, thinking of her youth, delicate health, and the burden prison work would entail. Finally she opened her Bible. Her eyes fell first on Jer.1:6: “Ah, Lord God! Behold, I cannot speak; for I am a child. But the Lord said unto me, Say not, I am a child; for thou shalt go to all that I shall send thee, and whatsoever I command thee thou shalt speak.” With a prayer, she asked for a confirmation of her commission. The next passage that struck her eyes was Ezek.3:11: “Go, get thee to them of the captivity, unto the children of thy people, and speak to them.”

Sometime after, she was called to Helsingfors, the capital, and, passing a chain-gang on the streets, asked herself why she should not utilize her leisure in visiting the prisons there. She went to the head of the prison administration, introduced herself as the daughter of the Governor of Vasa, and asked for a permit to visit any and all jails and prisons of Finland. The director asked her age.

“I am twenty.”

“Not exactly an advanced age.”

“That is a fault that will correct itself in time.”

She got her permit with the observation that it was given in the conviction that it would not be long used. “A ballroom would soon be felt to be a more suitable place for her than prison interiors.”

Her ministry began in the Kakola prison, near Abo, where four hundred life-sentenced are interned. She was asked to speak to them in chapel on Good Friday. When she had finished, they were weeping. Day after day she visited them at their cell doors, preaching, teaching, writing for them, encouraging them, sympathizing with them. The most desperate, even maniacal prisoners calmed in her presence. One prisoner described the effect her first appearance made upon him, pining as he was behind the thick prison walls. “I remember distinctly the moment when, for the first time, I saw her standing in the doorway of my cell. It was as if daylight were streaming in, as if spring had come with its greenery in the barrenness of winter.”

For forty years, Mlle. Wrede ministered to men and women behind the bars. She had a government ticket on all Finnish state railways and took a general oversight not only of those in ward but of discharged prisoners, also, and of the families of prisoners both in duress and discharged. One gets the impression from reading the incidents of her life of a special charisma given to this woman for the work for which she was called. Her biographer thinks the same, and, after speaking of her natural capacities, her tact, good judgment, tenderness, adds:

“She was ever known as of friendly disposition but now there streamed through her an entirely new feeling, a hot sympathy for those suffering men such as she could not have imagined before. It was as if a spark of divine love had set her heart afire.”

“Idolized” is a lean word to express her place in the hearts of Finnish prisoners. The Russian government was relentlessly pursuing a policy of repression in Finland, and batches of prisoners were dispatched at intervals from Wiborg to the Siberian mines. Mlle. Wrede was on hand to bid farewell to them and to comfort them as they passed into their Siberian life sentence. One can imagine the state of these breaking, bleeding hearts. On one occasion they asked her to leave before the final scene. They felt ashamed of their cropped heads and exile prison garb. When, however, on the last evening, she crossed the prison court, an arm stretched out through every grated window to her, and one of the prisoners called out sobbing, “Farewell, thou dearest, daughter of our Fatherland, thou only true friend of the prisoners.”

When on vacation she usually spent some weeks with her intimate friend, the Princess Lieven, in the Kromon Castle, Livonia. On coming home, she went to her lodging in a little Helsingfors back street, hired from another friend, Miss Hedwig Haartmann, the leader of the Salvation Army in Finland. In this, her home, she lived on the same fare as the prisoners in prison, and they knew it. Such were the contrasts in this life – related by birth to the highest breeding and by choice to the greatest need. Daytimes she engaged in visiting the prisons; evenings were given up to other troubled, tempted men and women who came to consult her. She often went about the country visiting her ex-convicts of many years standing. Everywhere she was accorded enthusiastic reception. One ex-convict invited her to his home and slept on the floor before her door like a dog so that she should not be disturbed in any way.

She spent herself to the uttermost farthing. When, after a night of insomnia, she felt a certain reluctance to take up her daily task, she would say to herself encouragingly, “Today I have again the privilege of being occupied with my Father’s business.” Then while going down the stairway she would continue, “O my poor body! How tired you are! We are now going to try again to get a-going. Up to now you have shown yourself obedient and patient when love spurred you to work. I thank you. I know you will not leave me in the lurch.”

So much has happened in the last years of European life that the detail of history blurs in many minds and one forgets the terrible contests between the Red and White factions in Finland that followed the Russian revolution. When it broke out, Russian soldiers stormed the Kakola prison and set the prisoners at large. These ex-convicts, together with the Jacobin elements which the revolution churned up from the depths, took the reins in their hands and a Terror followed that made a fair imitation of that of Â’93. They tell of country people tied to chairs with tongues nailed down to their tables and bread placed before them. Then they were left to starve. When the Whites returned to power they paid their scores in full weight coin.

Mlle. Wrede was in family connections White; in her career, she was closely in touch with Red society as represented in the prisons in which she ministered. On the table of her living room stood during all this troubled time, a glass with two flowers, one red, one white. These typified her double relationships. Her door was open to both Reds and Whites. All in need, all who were mourning over dead or imprisoned loved ones, came to her to get advice, sympathy, and help. She often quoted the words in Acts, “And Paul dwelt two whole years in his own hired house, and received all that came in unto him.” In the amnesty times her quarters were overrun with ex-prisoners who in shoals, came to her and besieged her from morning till night. The Red Guardists treated her with childlike respect and kindness and she was able to intercede for many with whom it otherwise would have gone hard.

One day a pair of Finnish Bolshevists came to her apartment and demanded money. “Money I have,” she answered, “but it is for the old and sick.”

“But we are hungry.”

“So am I. My breakfast is coming, and you may share it with me.” When it came it was a single slice of bread and little cabbage. The pair involuntarily laughed, and one whispered, “We have surely stumbled in on Mathilda Wrede.”

“Yes,” she said, “I am, indeed, Mathilda Wrede. As you see, the breakfast will not suffice for all, but if you will come to supper there will be enough and we will confer on how such capable and industrious men as yourselves may earn your own meals.”

They went off with “many thanks” and hat in hand.

Here, as everywhere, drink is the first cause of imprisonment, drink ending in quarrels and murder. One day she was met on the street by an old prisoner who had been drinking. She asked him if he had work.

“Oh, yes, I am an asphalteur.”

“Are you well paid?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then you no doubt put your money in the bank.”

“Sure! I carry each week much money to the bank.”

“That’s good. In what bank do you deposit it?”

“It all goes to the Sinebrychoff Bank (one of the great breweries of Helsingfors).”

“But L-, that is terribly sad. If you haven’t self-control enough to do otherwise, give me your money and I will deposit it in a real bank.”

“No, thanks. I’ll keep it. I am used to beer and must have it as long as I can get a drop.”

“ ‘As long as I can get a drop.’ These words re-echoed in my ears. When ever will this murderous flood of intoxicating drink that engulfs homes, bodies, and souls be stanched?”

The story is told of a life prisoner whom Mlle. Wrede had often visited in prison, a man earnestly desirous of deliverance from sin. One day he surprised her by asking, “Would you lend me, Miss, your brooch?”

For years she had worn this silver shield inscribed in Finnish with the words, Anno ja Rauha, “Grace and Peace.”

“Don’t ask me why,” he continued; “just trust it to me and an hour afterward you shall have it again.”

Mlle. Wrede was wont, as far as possible, to defer to the wishes of prisoners, so she put it into his hands. An hour later it was returned but with no explanation. She could see, however, that in his mind there was a quiet satisfaction.

Some time after, she called again on him, and without saying a word he offered her a brooch, the exact replica of hers, but apparently in ivory. “How beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Where did you get the ivory? Is it really your work? It is far lovelier than the old one.”

“It is not ivory,” he answered. “Some months ago I found a bone in the soup, and I immediately thought to make a brooch of it for Miss Wrede. It has been in the sunshine for a long time, to dry out all the particles of grease. Later I shaped it as yours.” Then followed the unforgettable words:

“In the pot in which they cook soup for prisoners one seeks in vain for delicate morsels. Grant that this is a bone from an old cow. From it a prisoner has shaped a jewel for you. One can easily think of a life-sentenced person as an evil and worthless thing. But you have said that God in His goodness can deliver a man as bad as I have been. The sun of His love can consume all my sins as the power of sunshine has cleansed this bone. The thief on the cross was brought by Jesus to Paradise. The Lord in His mercy has a place for me in His kingdom, a great sinner but a pardoned one.”

Mathilda Wrede’s last words were: “Tonight I cross the frontier. Can any be as happy as I!”

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When the fashionable young Mrs. Cobb relinquished her status as a votary of the world and became a lowly servant of Jesus Christ, she startled the inhabitants of Cazenovia, New York. But her decision was only the outward symbol of a profound and deep work of divine grace which marked the beginning of sixty long years of sacrificial and Spirit-inspired living. What chain of circumstances could so permanently have altered the entire course of one who possessed every advantage required of the world, for its acceptance?

Eunice Parson was born into a comfortable home in February, 1793, in Litchfield, Connecticut, in the United States. Although her parents were not Christians, the eight children were given careful moral training. The mother was a Universalist; the father, apparently, had little to do with any church.

Mr. Parson was well established in the business of tailoring and, in the shop, his daughter became adept at dressmaking. He passed away when Eunice was fourteen, and the mother moved the family to Cazenovia.

The young teenager was attractive, small, with a fair complexion, blue eyes and wavy golden hair, which she took care to arrange in a way that called attention to her charm. Because of her beauty, she became excessively vain. She loved to hear the swish of her silken dress as she tripped down the aisle of the church, and her clothes were fashioned in the latest style. As she walked along the street in her finery, she was exceedingly conscious of her appearance and careful that every detail of her apparel was as it ought to be. She loved to dance and took pains at all times to maintain a poise and dignity that commanded attention. Her love of fun, together with personal attractiveness, made her the center of a merry coterie of friends.

However, despite her fondness of the world and its gaieties, she recalled later that, “when but a little child, I felt I ought to love the Savior and get ready to live with Him in Heaven. I do not remember that I ever neglected to say my little prayer. This text had a great effect upon my feelings: ‘Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus.’”

When Eunice was twenty-four years of age, she became conscious of the emptiness of the life she was living. Though at that time, her knowledge of spiritual truth was meager, she resolved to turn from the pleasures of the world. She frequented the dance no more; she laid aside superfluous adornment and became a member of the Presbyterian Church. A year later, she married Whiteman Cobb, a young man with excellent business prospects. He was not a Christian, but never neglected taking his young wife to church.

During her early married life, the Methodists, “the sect…everywhere spoken against”, began holding services. Their preaching dealt especially with sin and separation from the world, with a strong emphasis upon holiness of heart as essential to a stable Christian life and entrance into Heaven as well. When Mrs. Cobb was invited to attend one evening, she accepted, not as some of her friends, to scoff, but to obtain help for her soul.

“It was a blessed time,” she said. “I witnessed such simplicity, such ardent zeal, such humility, that I said, ‘This is the true people of God,’ and my heart ran right with them.”

In these services, she felt that her spiritual life was so strengthened that, the next year, she told the Presbyterian minister it was her intention to join the Methodists. He argued that whatever spark of heavenly fire she possessed ought to be used to start a flame among the Presbyterians. Her answer was that she herself needed the warmth of a great blaze.

Soon after this, a passage from the book of Hebrews, “Go on unto perfection”, rang in her ears. As she waited upon God, He revealed the state of her natural heart, with its workings of pride and love of the world. Although the young woman had adopted a plain style of dress God showed her that, as far as she personally was concerned, the superfluities of life must be dispensed with. As she prayed, the conviction deepened that the utmost simplicity must henceforth mark her whole deportment. In later life, she expressed it thus:

“Perfect love dwells only in the bosom of simplicity for, according to the example of Christ and the apostles, true religion is severe in simplicity.”

Probably because the love of display had been so prominent in her life, to separate herself completely from all worldly ostentation, Mrs. Cobb resolved to follow the example of Jesus, Who “though he was rich,” yet for us “became poor.” She decided, to a great extent, to forego the use of her husband’s expensive carriage. Instead she took to walking to her destination, thus identifying herself with the humble poor. She would cut off her beautiful curls and wear a cap. Her dresses were to be made of blue calico.

Though the decision to adopt such a role of poverty was extremely crucifying to her pride, so intense were her longings for cleansing that she resolved to pay the price, whatever the cost. Her yearning heart was satisfied when she went alone to a nearby grove to pray.

“What a struggle I had with the powers of darkness! I was a long time agonizing in prayer. Then I said, ‘I have done everything that is in my power to do, and I will never rise from this spot till God does the work.’ Now I was willing to become anything, or nothing for Christ’s sake.

“In that moment, my prayer was answered; my struggle ceased, my unutterable longing was gratified. Instantly, a power from above touched me. Jesus took entire possession. I melted as wax before the fire; praise took the place of prayer, and my full soul was dissolved in love. In a moment, I saw that this was sanctification. Oh, what a calm, what a settling down of sweet peace – perfect peace! No ecstasy, only that of astonishment at what I had just realized. It is not in the power of language to describe it. My peace flowed like a river.”

Although her path through life was humble and more or less obscure, Mrs. Cobb is outstanding in her exemplification of holiness. Her life breathed out the spirit of prayer. Early in the morning, her family would find her on her knees, with the open Bible before her, seeking divine guidance.

“I arose at four this morning. How clear the mind! How great the happiness in keeping the commandments! ‘Those that seek me early shall find me.’ I think this has reference to early in the morning, as well as early in life. It is ‘the willing and obedient’ that eat the ‘good of the land.’

“Have some conviction on account of indulgence in bed later than usual this morning. I wonder how I could doze when, if I arise early, I have time for all things. I never saw myself so little, yet I am kept by His almighty power.”

Mrs. Cobb persuaded some of her friends to join her every Friday in fasting and prayer for the people of Cazenovia. Once a year, she visited personally every family in the town, praying with them and pointing them to Christ. She stretched out her hand to the needy and, when she herself had no more to give, solicited aid from those who were able to do so.

The course she followed most naturally aroused the opposition of her husband, mother, brothers and sisters. One, who had been an intimate friend, passed her by on the other side of the street, not even acknowledging her presence. This hurt her deeply, and for a time the enemy of her soul cruelly taunted her.

One evening, Mrs. Cobb went to her closet to pray, and her disgruntled husband turned the key, locking her in for the night. When he released her the next morning, her reaction to his unkindness was, “Good morning, I have had such a good time praying for you.”

Her husband, for a time, made a profession and joined her in worship with the Methodists. For some years, he served as a class leader, and then he grew cold and drifted away. In 1835, he decided to make a home for his family farther west and settled successively near the present cities of Laporte, Indiana and Marengo, Illinois. By this move, he hoped to separate his wife from those spiritual influences in Cazenovia which he blamed for her very decided religious convictions.

Life was primitive in those areas, but Mother Cobb, as she came to be known, motivated by her love for souls, went from cabin to cabin, starting prayer services and speaking about the things of God to all who crossed her path. Walking sometimes for miles, this indefatigable soul-winner prayed with the bereaved, visited the sick and warned the careless. If a fight ensued in the local public house, it quieted the men merely to suggest that Mother Cobb be called to the scene.

Her diary entries reveal how far-reaching were her exertions for the Lord.

“January, 1838. Spent an hour in Chicago, conversing with a number on the importance of being prepared for death. Had a great burden for some young ladies in public houses. Warned them faithfully and prayed for them.

“Friday. Was very much blest in visiting the criminals in jail. God gave me an unusual spirit of prayer for my sons and the precious youth of our land.

“May 25. I want that holy zeal that when I talk with the unconverted my tears will witness my sincerity. I cannot be idle and grow in grace. I must be exact in redeeming time. I want to breathe the whole spirit of a missionary.”

After thirty years of this most faithful sowing, an outpouring of the Holy Spirit attended the ministry of Dr. John Redfield throughout this area. And it was apparent to those who knew of the fervent pleadings and tireless efforts of Mother Cobb that these had prepared the way before it to a degree which only eternity will reveal.

Dr. RedfieldÂ’s ministry doubtless fulfilled her heart-breathed desire for Spirit-inspired preaching. Mother CobbÂ’s diary discloses her longing.

“I am anxious to witness the pulpit on fire; yes, the pulpit on fire! If anything in the world should be on fire, it is the pulpit. It should glow with intense heat, burning its way to the hearts of the people. The fire should wrap the Book on the sacred desk, leap along the breastwork and make the floor hot beneath the feet of all occupants.

“As the ambassador of Heaven stands there to deliver the Gospel message, his eyes should be eyes of flame, his tongue a fiery tongue, and his whole frame wrapped in fire – fire from the third Heaven – fire from the throne of God. Go, servant of the Lord! Compel the dwellers by the hedges of sin and in the highways that lead down to Hell.”

“December 11. Oh, for more laborers in this harvest! And we shall have them when we get this baptism of fire. Oh, the buried talents in all our churches – gifted, educated women, who would be a power for God and their generation while living; and dying, their words would follow them – who are now a mere cipher in the Church for the want of entire living for God. Oh, for more holy women!”

We might well ask what was the secret of Mother CobbÂ’s sixty years of such spiritual victory and blessing. It was entire dependence upon God.

“I am deeply conscious,” she said, “that the root of all sin is having lost God and found self in His place. I do continually see holiness to consist in being sunk into my own nothingness, that God may be exalted in my soul.”

In another diary entry, she asks the question,

“How am I going to be kept from sin? By the constant application of the blood of Christ, moment by moment. The heart, while it lies in the cleansing fountain, is kept clean. If in doubt, fly to the present cleansing blood. Claim this prize all anew, moment by moment. I claim all the purchase of Thy blood, because Thou hast promised and art faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

“Christ doth not say he that hath come shall never hunger, but he that cometh, indicating a continued and constant coming, a perpetual feeding upon the heavenly bread. Even the hidden manna must ever be eaten, to be ever satisfying; the soul, as well as the body must take its daily bread, or it will hunger and pine. So, too, ‘whosoever drinketh of this water’ is he that shall never thirst. Not he that has once tasted and has now forsaken the fountain of living waters is he that never thirsts. The secret of our dissatisfaction is in resting on past experience. Forgetting the things that are behind, let us come every day to Christ and receive anew His life.”

Her diary entries reveal deep longings for the repeated baptism of the Holy Ghost.

“I do feel a strong desire for a greater baptism of the Holy Ghost and fire. May it descend upon the Church that we may have the gift of power! What can we do without the living presence, the holy influence? If it be not upon our altars, then we offer vain oblations; and our ceremonies, though instructive, will be lifeless.”

“December 4. I am before the throne, awaiting the baptism of the Holy Ghost with the power and the fire. Then I shall have strength to labor. Prayers, mighty, importunate, repeated, united prayers; the fathers, the children, the pastor and the people, the rich and the poor, the gifted and the simple, all uniting to cry to God that He may affect us as in the days of the right hand of the Most High and imbue us with the Spirit of Christ and warm and kindle and make us a flame of fire. Such united and repeated supplications will accomplish their end, and the power of God, descending, will make us a band of giants refreshed with new wine.”

Mother Cobb had noticed earlier in her life that fasting and prayer obtained results.

“For over ten years past, I have been observing the progress of religion among the Methodists, and I find that those who fast and pray most are the most spiritual. Fasting results in quickening the power of faith. In one day – nay in one hour, the whole work may be accomplished. Lord help us!

“Oh, what sweet communion I have with the blessed Spirit, not only by day but by night. I do see God in everything. I find it a great blessing to my soul to arise in the night, to pray at twelve. Prayer is just the breath of faith. To pray and not believe is to beat the air. Oh, these crosses taken up in shame and disgrace are borne at last in triumph, even in this life.

“Perhaps we do not think enough of prayer – intercessory prayer – direct appeals by names of others, laying their needs – all we desire for them, out before God. We do not believe as we should. How it would help those we cannot speak to; comforting where our words have no power to soothe; following the steps of our beloved through the toils and perplexities of the day, lifting off their burdens with an unseen hand. At night, no ministry is so like an angel’s as this – silent, invisible one, known but to God. Through us, descends the blessing and, to Him alone, ascends the thanksgiving. Surely not any employment brings us so near to God as earnest, sincere prayer. There is a depth of wisdom in the words, ‘If only we spoke more to God for man, than even to man for God.’”

The little old woman in calico went on, braving all weathers, loving all souls, praying and fasting and enjoying a communion with the Father that brought wealth beyond words. But the separated life had had its moments of pain when even her class leader, failing to understand the motive that controlled this saintly woman, said to her, “Sister Cobb, you are a disgrace to us. Your clothes are not fit to wear in public. If you would dress a little more like other people, you would have a better influence. We bear with you because of your age.”

When during her last illness, several friends called upon her, they asked, “Mother Cobb, has the sting of death been extracted?”

“Yes, Glory!”

“Are you about to change your blue calico for a white robe?”

“Yes. Glory! Glory! Glory!”

“You have been particular in your dress. Don’t you think more so than necessary?”

”Oh, no. Glory! Hallelujah! It pays!” Within a few hours, the lips that had moved for blessing on earth were silenced forever.

Quotations by Mother Cobb

The world in the heart has ruined millions of immortal souls. How the Christian should watch and pray, lest Satan and the world should find some unguarded inlet to his heart. We must watch that the affections be not drawn away from God.

The Scriptures are found so much transcending anything else that we say, as their richness and beauty open before us, with the queen of Sheba on beholding, ‘The half that was not told me.’ They are more than vases filled with Gilead’s balm. They open before us a whole paradise of delight.

Here, in the clefts of the rocks, are droppings of that which is sweeter than honey and the honeycomb. Here the soul finds the tree of life which is in the midst of the paradise of God. We sit down under His shadow with great delight, and His fruit is sweet to our taste. We pluck eternal peace with God, and escape from the overspreading deluge of earthly evils, and are led by the hand of Jesus into the ark of eternal refuge. Mother Cobb

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Pope Gregory sat amazed! In agitation he looked at the two strangers from beyond the Alps. The leader, a man in his sixties, was addressing him in the Italian vernacular. His companion, when he spoke at all, used the language of learning – Latin. Both men were very much in earnest. Surely they must realize that many a man had been burned at the stake for saying less!

“Holy Father,” was the message in brief, “the great and grievous sins of Christendom have risen to such a pitch, in all classes of men, that God is greatly displeased. You must consider what is to be done.”

“I can do nothing,” retorted the Pontiff, his anger increasing.

The older man was speaking again with the serenity and authority of one conveying a message from a higher source. He was now referring to the wicked ways of the Pope himself, delineating, with marvelous accuracy, those facts which only a revelation from God could have made known. God had shown him, he said, what an evil life the Pope was living. He added, “Know of a truth that, if you do not turn from your evil ways and judge yourself before God, He will judge you, and you will die before the year is out.”

The Pope was now enraged, but the speaker continued, “We are quite willing to be put to death, if the tokens which I am prepared to give you are not sufficient to prove that we are sent of God.”

“What tokens, I should like to know?” demanded Gregory.

He calmed down quickly, as the account was given of what God had told this fearless man. So accurate was the listing of those sins, which no man could know except by revelation, that it convinced his hearer. The “Bishop of Rome” remained speechless for a while, and then he arose and embraced the two, speaking kindly for the first time.

“Could you but give such tokens to the Emperor, it would be well for Christendom.”

He asked them to remain in Rome that he might rely on them for counsel, promising to house them well. But they begged not to do so, saying they would return at the PopeÂ’s request if they were needed at any time. He wrote a letter to the clergy in their areas, commending these men of God to the formerÂ’s good offices. Unfortunately, this man in highest authority soon drifted from this temporary influence for good and forgot the effects of the meeting. He continued in his sins and died just within a yearÂ’s time as had been predicted.

This fearless spokesman of God was Nicholas of Basle. To most people, however, he was known as the “Friend of God” from the Oberland (High Alps). What was his secret? How was he enabled, for over half a century to spread the evangelical message under the very eyes of Rome?

He was born in the city of Basle in or about the year 1308. His father, a wealthy merchant, was called “Nicholas of the Golden Ring”. The boy’s prospects from a material point of view were bright indeed. However, at the age of thirteen, he went at Easter time to hear preaching on the sufferings and death of our Lord. The lad was profoundly moved and at once bought himself a crucifix. He knelt secretly every night, meditating on the pain and shame which our Lord suffered. It is surprising that, with his meager knowledge of spiritual things, his unusual honesty made him cry out for a revelation of God’s will, whether he was to be a merchant or a priest. He asked for strength to be obedient. Somehow he obtained access to a Bible; whether it was his own or not, is not quite clear.

When he was fifteen, he began to travel with his father to learn the merchantÂ’s trade. Business and pleasure soon crowded out more serious thoughts. However, he never ceased to kneel nightly before his crucifix. He became a fast friend of the son of a knight, but the death of his father, four years later, necessitated a lengthy business journey for Nicholas. Upon his return, he found that his mother, too, had passed away.

He was now twenty-four years of age and wealthy. He and his young noble friend soon were engaged in a mad pursuit of pleasure, attending the tournaments and jousts, visiting courts and castles. They became popular, often entertaining “fair ladies” with songs and traveller’s tales.

The one soon married, but Nicholas was forced to wait because of the opposition of MargaretÂ’s parents to her becoming the wife of a merchant. The obstacle, after six years, was overcome, and preparations made for the festive occasion. But the night before the day set for the wedding proved to be the turning point of NicholasÂ’ life. It found him, not celebrating, but, alone with his crucifix, absorbed in thoughts of a most serious nature.

“There was I alone till early morning,” he writes, “and I thought how vain and false was all the world could give me, and I thought of the bitter end of all the things of the world. And I said thus to myself, ‘Oh thou poor, unhappy man, how senseless hast thou been, that thou hast loved and chosen the things of time, rather than the things of eternity! Thou and all the men around thee, how foolish and senseless are you all, for, though God has given you richly your senses and your understanding, yet have you been dazzled with the glory and the pleasure that lasts but for a little while, and that gain for you at last an eternity in Hell.’”

“And, kneeling before Him on my knees, I said, ‘Oh merciful God, I implore Thee now to have mercy upon me, a poor sinner, and to come to my help, for I must needs, with this evil heart of him, take leave forever of this false and deceitful world and of all the creatures in it. And especially must I give up the one who is right dear to me, and to whom I have lost my heart.’

“And when I had said this, I felt as though my whole nature gave way, for it was a terrible and solemn time of warfare against my own will and desires, so that the blood flowed from my mouth and nose, and I thought within myself the better hour that death was come. But I said to myself, ‘Oh nature, if it cannot be otherwise, even so it must be; if thou must die, thou must die.’”

He placed his left hand, which he said represented his sinful life, into his right one, which he felt stood for his “righteous and loving God’ and vowed to be ever and always God’s alone. After this, he had such a sense of the divine Presence that he could say, “I forgot myself and all creatures besides, and I was lost in joy and wonder, such as I can never tell, nor can the heart conceive it.”

Nicholas added that he heard a “Voice, very sweet,” accepting him as His betrothed forever. We can only imagine the storm that broke when the bridal party arrived the next morning. Relatives and guests were furious at the decision of the “madman.” The bride was inconsolable until a few days later, when she and Nicholas were encouraged to meet briefly and he told her what had taken place. From that time, Margaret felt that she, too, must be wholly the Lord’s and the two never saw one another again. The sequence of this unusual situation shows, to the glory of God, what any man anywhere can be, as a channel of light and love, when he gives himself wholly to God.

We pass briefly over the next four years. This honest young man, with none to guide him, read the lives of the saints. As a result, he sought God by the only path that they could point out. He provided himself with a hair shirt, into which he fixed a number of sharp nails. He scourged himself till the blood ran down. He lived alone and was worn out with fastings and torments. At the end of a year, he cried to God in desperation and received an answer that these austerities had been born of self-will and of self-righteous pride. He as convinced by the Voice that seemed to speak to him, that he must throw away his instruments of self-imposed torture and that, as he sought and did GodÂ’s will, He would bring all the necessary suffering into his life. The second year he spent in lamenting his sinfulness. The third year was one of fierce temptation. In the fourth he experienced, in addition, much of pain and sickness.

We cannot but wonder how different would have been the years between his spiritual awakening and the sense of divine acceptance and assurance, had there been available to him a teacher who knew God. But doubtless his heavenly Father used them to prepare Nicholas for a unique ministry to any, high or low, who would be seeking Him as he had done, endeavouring to establish his own righteousness by penance and good works.

At the end of this period, he suddenly emerged from the dark valley. His joy at the deliverance was so great that, fearing it was another temptation, he fell on his knees, telling God he wanted liberation and happiness, only if it were His will. Referring to this prayer, he said:

“As I spake these words, there shone around me, as it were, a fair and blessed light, a light that is love; and from the glory of that light, a radiance filled my soul, so that whether I were in the body or out of the body I could not tell. For my eyes were opened to see the wonder and the beauty that are far above the mind of man, and I cannot speak thereof, for there are no words to tell it. As I was marvelling thereat and rejoicing greatly, I heard, as it were the gladdest and the sweetest Voice, which came not from myself, but yet it came to me as one who spake within me. But it was not my thoughts that it spake. ‘Thou beloved and betrothed of My heart, now at last art thou verily My betrothed, and henceforth shalt thou ever be.’

“ ‘And ye only now art thou at last in the true way, the way of love, receiving from Me the forgiveness of all thy sins, and knowing that there is no purgatory to come. For when thy soul shall pass from the earthly house, it will be to dwell with Me. And so long as thou art in the earthly body, thou shalt not torment thyself with hard penances and chastisements, but thou shalt simply obey the commandments of Christ. And thou shalt find enough to suffer in this present evil world, if thou has learnt to see that thy fellowmen are wandering as sheep amongst the wolves. And this shall move thy heart to depths of pity, and this shall henceforth be thy cross and thy suffering, and thou shalt be well exercised henceforth therewith.’”

The Voice then said it would never again speak in the same way during his lifetime, because it would not be needed.

In those parts of Switzerland and adjoining districts of France, the Waldenses had settled. Called so after Peter Waldo of Lyons, who lived about the year 1100, they were, however, found under different names in other lands. They claimed to trace their origin back to the fourth century, when the Church was forsaking the teachings of the early Christians and substituting for them the traditions of men. Learning the way of salvation by faith, they placed no dependence upon many practices adopted by the Church of Rome during the years. They encountered fierce persecution, thousands being burned at the stake or tortured in other ways. Those who fled for refuge to the higher cantons of Switzerland were known as the Vaudois.

In other parts, whole towns and even provinces were at times placed under an Interdict of the Pope – a terrible curse, withdrawing of the consolations of absolution and forbidding the regular ministry of the priesthood in preaching, burying the dead, and other ministries. In those dark times, such a penalty was dreadful indeed, because of the accumulated superstitions of years, as well as the absolute power of the papacy.

Those believers who proved, both by conduct and message, that they had a special relationship with their Lord, were called “Friends of God”. In time, the name was used for all who were especially under the influence of Nicholas. This Spirit-filled, Heaven-directed man and his fellow-labourers ministered alike to those regarded as heretics and to any searching for God within the fold of the Church. Nicholas and four others, two of whom were priests and one a Jew, converted through contact with him, built a home high up in the Alps. Its whereabouts was known only to a few. These five, with two servants, devoted themselves to lives of prayer in this hidden spot.

Nicholas was the acknowledged leader and, under his guidance, a ministry was established which searched out inquiring souls along the Rhine to Holland, into the lower cantons of Switzerland, in Alsace and Bavaria and as far east as Hungary, as well as many other places. Only occasionally did he himself travel afar. He usually sent his friends and messengers out, contacting those who yearned to know the true message of salvation by faith, through the merits of Christ alone.

Sometimes this “Friend of God” journeyed forth, teaching the way more perfectly, but more frequently he would send a letter by messenger. One of his special missions was that to John Tauler, the eloquent preacher of Strasburg. Gradually the teacher became the pupil; and the listener, he who was to lead the Doctor into an experience of reality with God. How this came about is related in the sketch entitled “John Tauler”.

And so Nicholas toiled on, evading by his seclusiveness and doubtless also by God’s protection, those who would have ended his powerful ministry long before it was actually terminated. A heathen man received a letter from the “Oberland” that answered all his longing enquiries and was used of God to lead him savingly to Christ. A noble lady, called Frickin, who joined herself to the “Friends of God”, said the blessedness of this fellowship was so great that she felt as if she had come out from “purgatory into paradise”.

But the more than sixty years of blessed ministry of this man of God were drawing to a close. One, Martin of Mayence, in 1393, was burned at the stake in Cologne, accused of having been affected by the teachings of Nicholas of Basle. He declared that outward works deserved no merit before God. He regarded himself as freed from the authority of the Church and made no distinction between priests and laymen.

When the century had only a year or two to run and Nicholas was almost ninety years of age, the final test came. Two “Friends”, James and John, were seized at Vienna and brought before the Inquisition. The former probably was the lawyer who had accompanied Nicholas to Rome; the latter, the converted Jew. Nicholas was also apprehended, but so wise had he been that the persecutors could not find sufficient evidence to convict him. They demanded that he renounce the condemned pair as heretics. This he refused to do, saying that the three of them would be separated only for a moment and then they would be together with the Lord forever.

And so it was. The flames soon consumed these three “Friends of God”, but it was indeed a veritable “chariot of fire” that conveyed them into the presence of Him Who had been so real and Whose Voice had been “so sweet” these many years.

“There are plenty to follow our Lord half-way, but not the other half. They will give up possessions, friends and honours, but it touches them too closely to disown themselves. Meister Eckhart.

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The earnest young Christian wife and mother dreamed that she stood before the Judgment bar of God. She was asked upon what she had based her hope of eternal life. Confused, she tried to answer by comparing her life with that of other Christians around her, but somehow the words died upon her lips as she perceived the foolishness of her argument.
“The Word of God is the standard by which everyone here is to be judged. You were given that Word. Have you not one verse of Scripture upon which to base your hope?” asked the Judge.

In fear and confusion she awoke, terrified but grateful that she still had the opportunity to make the Word of God her infallible Guide in all matters of experience and conduct. The resolution “to test every step as she passed onward, by a careful searching of the Bible, in order to prove the validity of each step as successively taken,” led Mrs. Phoebe Palmer into a life of holiness and usefulness beyond anything she could have imagined in her former state.

The fourth of a family of ten children, Phoebe was welcomed into the home of Henry and Dorothea Worrall in New York City in December, 1807. God was given first place in the home, the family always being summoned for prayer before engaging in the activities of the day. Punctuality in the performance of duty was stressed, and Christian discipline enforced. Most of their children were converted early in life, and several became noteworthy for their godliness and usefulness in GodÂ’s kingdom.

While young, Phoebe was born again after a severe conflict with the great enemy of souls, because her repentance was not so agonizing as that of some others in the church. “You should give up the matter of finding heart religion,” was the evil suggestion.

“That I will never do. No, never! I will continue to seek as long as I live, though it may be till I am threescore or a hundred years old.” Her earnestness was rewarded by the assurance that she was a child of God.

Dr. Walter Palmer wished to marry her when she was only nineteen. Mr.Worrall, realizing that the doctor was a Christian gentleman and in every way worthy of Phoebe, gave his consent to the union. Her attitude concerning the matter was recorded in her journal in August, 1827.

“The most eventful period of my life is approaching. During the past eleven months, friendship has been ripening into a mature affection between myself and a kindred spirit who, I have reason to believe, is in every respect worthy of my love. I have not approached this crisis without careful circumspection and prayer. I have ever felt that it was a step too momentous to be hastily taken, fixing, as it does, life’s destiny.

“It has therefore been a subject of prayerful solicitude with me, that the avenue to my heart’s sanctuary might be guarded. I have dared to present a definite request, which I trust has long stood answered that the Lord would not permit my feelings to flow out in a way bordering marriage toward anyone other than as ordered by Divine Providence. And now, after having been wary in the bestowal of my affections, I find them permanently and strongly fixed on one who I believe is, in the order of infinite Love, designed to be a helpmeet. In religious, moral and intellectual endowments, he stands approved. The best of all is that he is a servant of the Lord.”

Phoebe and her husband established a home founded upon obedience to the commands of Christ. They descended to the depths of sorrow when their two oldest children were taken from them by death, one at nine months of age, the other, at seven months. Mrs. Palmer wrote of these afflictions as giving:

“Two angel children in Heaven and leaving us childless on earth. After my loved ones were snatched away, I saw that I had concentrated my time and attentions far too exclusively on them, to the neglect of the religious activities demanded. From henceforth, Jesus must and shall have the uppermost seat in my heart.”

At this time, the Allen Street Methodist Church in New York, of which the Palmers were members, was the scene of a revival, the flame of which burned for a period of two years. Mrs. Palmer and her husband, both keenly desirous of something more in their religious experience, knelt at the penitent form. From a journal entry in November, 1827, we catch a glimpse of her soul struggles about this time.

“O what a lack in my religious experience! I am so fearful and unbelieving. I shrink from crosses and often bring condemnation upon my soul. I approve of things that are excellent but am wanting in faith, fervour and courage. If the flames that consumed the martyrs were before me, and the command given that I should pass through them, it seems to me that I would at once leap through the fire, and yet, strange to say, my timid nature too often shrinks when duty is presented.”

Shortly after their fourth child came into the home, Mrs. PalmerÂ’s life was almost despaired of. Upon her return to health, she attended a camp meeting at which clear light was given upon the doctrine of holiness. The result was that her soul hungered and thirsted for the deeper work of grace so necessary to the success of the Christian life.

“The Lord has given me a desire for purity. I am sure I would not knowingly keep back anything from God. But, alas, there must be some hindrance.”

Soon after arriving home, the Palmers experienced what was probably the most heart-rending and poignant experience of the lives. The mother was caring for her eleven-month old daughter, when she was called from the room to receive a visitor. Laying the child down in her cradle, with its gauze curtains, she exclaimed, “O you little angel,” and left her in the care of a nurse.

About an hour later, hearing a scream, she ran to the babyÂ’s room, aghast at what met her eyes. The curtains around the bed were aflame. She snatched the child from the inferno, just as the little one gave her mother a look of agony and passed into a state of unconsciousness. Within a few hours it was all over. The carelessness of the nurse in filling a paraffin lamp was responsible for the infantÂ’s death.

God enabled the mother to cherish no feelings of resentment, but rather to accept the grief from the hands of a loving God, Who never errs in His dealings with the children of men. Those words of Jesus to Peter, “What I do thou knowest not now; but thou shalt know hereafter,” fell upon her heart with sweetest comfort.

The bereavement elicited the following words from Mrs. Palmer as to its effect upon her spiritual life:

“Then began a weaning from the world wholly beyond any former experiences. Previous to this, I had some ambitions connected with this world. My husband was honoured in his profession, and the tide of worldly preferment and prosperity ran high. Some of my contemporaries, though religious, were ceasing to stem the tide of worldliness. I might perhaps have done the same. But, in infinite love and wisdom, this trial was permitted. And ever since I have been weaned from the world and have loved to walk in the lowly vale with my meek and lowly Saviour.

“Perhaps the light of eternity may reveal that the death of our lovely child has been subservient to the spiritual life of thousands. From the hour of her death, I resolved that the time I might have devoted to her, if living, should be spent in doing something which might be helpful toward the salvation of souls. In connection with the saving of souls, it was the beginning of days with me. And now shall I not to all eternity praise Him Whose judgments are unsearchable and ‘His ways past finding out’?”

In accordance with her decision to labour more ardently in Christian service, Mrs. Palmer accepted a Bible class for young women in the Allen Street Church. At its beginning, it numbered around fifty or sixty, but again and again so increased in number that larger rooms for the gathering had to be secured. She continued this activity over a period of years when her precarious state of health necessitated a trip abroad.

The need of complete consecration to God was made clear. “The first object presented to be given up was one with which every fibre of my being seemed interwoven.” She wondered what she would have to live for if she yielded up the dearest object of her heart’s affection. The she remembered Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his Isaac, and she was enabled from her very heart to say, “Take this object, if Thou dost require. Take life or friends away. I am wholly Thine. Every tie has been severed.”

The next obstacle to be surmounted was that of faith. Writing of this victory she said:
“I had always thought of the doctrine as difficult. Now I saw that it is only to believe heartily what, in fact, I had always professed to believe – that is, that the Bible is the Word of God, just as truly as though I could hear Him speaking in tones of thunder from SinaiÂ’s Mount, and faith is to believe it.

“It was at this point that the covenant was consummated between God and my soul that I would live a life of faith; that however diversified lifeÂ’s current might roll – though I might be called to endure more complicated and long continued trials of my faith than were ever before conceived of, or even brought to a climax where, as with the father of the faithful, commands and promises might seem to conflict – I would still believe, though I might die in the effort. I would hold on in the death struggle. In the strength of Omnipotence, I laid hold on the word, ‘I will receive you.Â’

“Faith apprehended the written word, not as a dead letter, but as the living voice of the living God. The Holy Scriptures were intensified to my mind as the lively or living oracles – the voice of God to me as truly as though I could every moment hear Him speaking in tones of thunder from Sinai. And now that, through the in workings of the Holy Spirit, I had presented all my redeemed powers to God, through Christ, how could I doubt His immutable word, ‘I will receive you’? Oh, with what light, clearness and power were the words invested, ‘Sanctify them through thy truth: thy word is truth’!”

Her faith was immediately tested, for no wonderful divine manifestation followed. Then “shut up to faith – naked faith in a naked promise,” she advanced to the next step, that of confession. Her testimony to the fact was, “The Lord God Omnipotent reigneth unrivalled in my heart.”

It was the night of July 27, 1837, that Mrs. Palmer determined that she would shut herself in with God until the witness of the Spirit was hers that she was accepted of God. The tempter whispered that she might be there all night, and all the next day and even more. But the heart of the searcher was set to seek God with all her soul, mind and strength, and she was not disappointed as the entry in her journal for that date reveals:

“The Lord reigns unrivalled in my heart. He has my supreme affections. For some days paost I have experienced such a heartfelt want of the assurance of being cleansed from all unrighteousness, to know that the motives influencing every thought, word and action originate from a pure fountain, that I last evening resolved I could no longer do without it.
“Between the hours of eight and nine, while pleading at the throne of grace for a present fulfillment of the exceeding great and precious promises – pleading also the fullness and freeness of the Atonement, its unbounded efficacy, and making an entire surrender of body, soul and spirit, time, talents and influence, and also of the dearest ties of my nature, my beloved husband and child, in a word, my earthly all – I received the assurance that God the Father, through the atoning Lamb, accepted the sacrifice. My heart was emptied of self, and cleansed of all idols, from all filthiness of flesh and spirit, and I realized that I dwelt in God, and felt that He had become the portion of my soul, my ALL in ALL.”

The life received must be maintained and, amid many duties, Mrs. Palmer learned to do this by observing regular seasons for communion with God.

“I will endeavour to rise at four; spend from four to six reading the Scriptures and other devotional exercises; half an hour for closet duties at mid-day. I will resolve, at this season, to bear in special remembrance those who have said, ‘Pray for me,’ not forgetting the exhortation in 1Tim.2:1. If practicable, I will get an hour to spend with God at the close of the day.

“I now saw that I had obtained this blessing, by laying all upon the altar. I had retained it, by still keeping all upon the altar, ‘a living sacrifice.’ So long as it remained there, I perceived that both the faithfulness and the justice of God stood pledged for its acceptance. While kept upon this altar, it must be cleansed from all unrighteousness; for the blood of Jesus cleanseth; not that it can or will at some future period, but cleanseth now, just when the offering is presented.

“By this I saw that I could no more believe for the future moment, than I could breathe for the future, and perceived that I must be contented to live by the moment, and rely upon God to sustain me in spiritual existence just as confidently as for sustainment in natural existence. So long as the offering was kept upon the altar, I saw it to be not only a privilege, but a duty, to believe.

“I also saw that just so soon as I should begin to lean to my own understanding, feeling that I cannot do this or the other duty, just in the degree in which this is indulged in, the offering would be taken from off the altar, and I should have no right to believe the offering ‘holy and acceptable’.”

For more than thirty-five years after her reception of this experience, she and her husband laboured incessantly to spread “Scriptural holiness”. Mrs. Palmer’s books on holiness have shed light upon the pathway of many a Christian pilgrim journeying to the Celestial City. Among these are “The Way of Holiness”, “The Promise of the Father” and “Faith and Its Effects”. The last named ran through twenty-two editions in the United States alone, and all of her writings were eagerly perused by hundreds of thousands, both in America and Britain.

She, with her sister, Mrs. Sarah Langford, published a religious paper entitled, “The Guide to Holiness”. For more more than half a century, it sent out light on the deeper life of God in the soul of man. Someone remarked of these sisters that “they were raised up of God as leaders of His people, when the doctrine and experience of sanctification had been toned down, till there was little left of them.”

But Mrs. Palmer was no dreamy mystic, and faithfulness to small duties in the home as wife and mother was never shirked because she had yielded all to God. A well-ordered household where the smallest details were given attention resulted. Her home was made to serve the interests of GodÂ’s kingdom. The large drawing room was thrown open for meetings for the promotion of a deeper apprehension of ChristÂ’s atoning provisions. Here many ministers and servants of Christ came from varying denominational backgrounds with hungry hearts to seek and find a greater enduement for service.

Her labours also extended to the eastern States, Canada and Nova Scotia. In 1859 Dr. & Mrs. Palmer traveled extensively, but owing to the ill health of her husband, they cut short their more distant appointments for a longer stay in the British Isles. Many of the larger cities were visited and services were conducted.

While ministering in Newcastle, they became acquainted with the Booths who were just then stepping out by faith from the Methodist Connexion so that they might be free for wider evangelistic efforts. Mrs. Palmer, writing to Mrs. Booth regarding this step, said:

“Yours of several weeks since, announcing your decision to leave the New Connexion, was received. I do not doubt but the step that you and your husband have taken will result in your both having a much brighter crown to cast at the feet of the world’s Redeemer. There is a danger of permitting earthly position and the fear of grieving friends whom we love, and who we know love us, to keep us from following on in the narrowest part of the narrow way. Oh, may you ever be numbered with those who follow the Saviour closely! I need not say that if you do this, your path will sometimes lead through evil as well as good report. But it is enough for the disciple that he be as his Master.

“We rejoice in what the Lord is doing by you. Glory be to the Triune Deity! My faith grasps great blessings for you. I do not doubt but the Captain of the armies of Israel will go out before you and permit you to see multitudes saved.

“My dear Mr. Palmer was taken so ill with a severe cold which threatened to settle permanently on his lungs that we had written to disengage ourselves from numerous places, and came here in view of being at the nearest point to America, or some more congenial climate. We, of course, did not intend to commence work here. My object in writing to you now is to ask whether your devoted husband and yourself will be able to come and take our place. I have though sometimes that we might in some way be permitted to work into each other’s hands, and thus increase the revenue of praise to our Lord and make our union in Heaven the sweeter. I have been deeply interested to hear how you have borne the consecrated Cross, as a co-laborer with your excellent husband.”
Mrs. Palmer faced considerable opposition while in Britain. The subject of “female ministry” was brought to the fore by a pamphlet issued by a Rev. A. Rees a Church clergyman, in which the right of a woman to preach was violently attacked on Scriptural grounds. Mrs. Booth labored from 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. for a week in preparing an answer in which she most ably defended woman’s right to minister, opening the door for the many who were to dispense the Word of Life so effectually through Salvation Army channels.

Commissioner Booth-Tucker in his biography of Mrs. Booth throws light upon the contest and also gives us an insight into Mrs. PalmerÂ’s ministry:

“The occasion for this onslaught was the visit of the American evangelists, Dr. & Mrs. Palmer, who were holding services at the time in Newcastle. The Doctor himself was an earnest, good-natured, easy-going personage. But the principal figure in the meeting was his wife. Mrs. Palmer was a remarkable woman, intellectual, original and devoted. As a speaker, her chief attraction laY in her simplicity, and in the striking illustrations with which her addresses were interspersed. Aiming directly at the hearts of her hearers, and relying evidently upon the cooperation of the Holy Spirit, she became a rallying point for all that was best and most earnest in the churches. Mrs. Booth had been unable to attend the meetings, but reports of them had from time to time reached her, and the fact that a woman was the prominent agent in this movement had deeply interested her. Hence, she had so sooner heard of the pamphlet published by Mr. Rees than her soul was stirred to its deepest center.”

On June 13, 1872, the last year of Mrs. PalmerÂ’s life, she wrote:

“Oh, yes, this body is the temple of the Holy Ghost. Whence this absence of all desire to live for self? Whence these ceaseless inworkings, to live, think, speak and work for God? Whence this absorbing, controlling love for God and His cause? Conscious, deeply conscious that I have received the sentence of death in myself. Whence this realization of reliance, momentary reliance on Him that raiseth the dead? Is it not because the Holy Spirit as a living actuating principle, has taken full possession of, and is now working in me to will and do of His good pleasure?”

Another entry in September of the same year:

“My wedding day. This evening, forty-five years ago, I was united in holy wedlock to my beloved W.C.P/. Six dear children have been given us. Three are waiting to welcome us on the shores of immortality, and three are with us amid the scenes of probation. May all make their calling and election sure, and at last appear an unbroken family in Heaven. Husband and I feel that we have been wedded forever. We are most blessedly one in the Lord. What a life of love and labor for Jesus we have had!”

Among Mrs. PalmerÂ’s last written testimonies, before the setting of her earthly sun, were the words:

“I want to say that my teachings have been correct, and I am now testing them in this hour of extreme suffering and find that I am fully saved, with not a shadow of a doubt. The altar is a beautiful type; it is a Scriptural figure, and I am resting upon it. And the altar, which is Christ, sanctifies the gift. The blood of Jesus cleanseth me from all unrighteousness.”

“Thy soul, thy body, and thy every power,
Were purchased unto Him, and Him alone;
And not one day, no, not one passing hour,
Canst thou by virtual right use as thine own.
The LordÂ’s free servant, thy RedeemerÂ’s claim,
SealÂ’d with His bloodÂ’s deep traceless signature.
Then go forth in His might – work in His Name
Prove faithful until death; thy crown is sure.”

“Leave Robert Chapman alone; we talk about heavenly places; but he lives in them.” These were the words, to a critic, of J. N. Darby, contemporary of George Muller and a leader in the Christian Brethren Movement in England, at a time when the clouds of controversy were very dark indeed.

And true it is that R. C. Chapman shines out above all parties and differences, as a man of God; loving, but uncompromising; gentle, but searching; humble, but one who spoke with authority; gifted, but utterly childlike; self-effacing, but never-to-be-forgotten.

What was his secret? In the few available accounts concerning his early Christian life, apart from his conversion, there is an utter dearth of personal testimony. The purposeful destruction of his papers leave on display the “fruit of the Spirit” dangling before us most appetizingly, but tending to keep the branch out of sight. The key to the secret of his beautiful Christian life is evident, however, for his passion was, whatever the cost, to be a Bible Christian. And that cost was the Cross of Christ.

Robert Cleaver Chapman was the son of Thomas Chapman of Whitby on the Yorkshire coast. The father was a wealthy merchant, whose family boasted an ancient coat of arms. At the time of RobertÂ’s birth, in 1803, the family was resident in Elsinore, Denmark. The lad grew up surrounded by luxury, and no one could have imagined that his mature years would be spent in a small house in a poor working-class district; and that he would be utterly dependent upon God for the supply of every temporal need.

Upon the return of the family to England, RobertÂ’s education was continued at a respectable boarding school in Yorkshire. At fifteen, he left for London where, as an apprentice clerk, he studied law. The surroundings and the daily tasks were far from congenial to an out-of-doors lad from the north. But young Chapman determined to make a success of the legal profession and, by long hours and diligent application (qualities later applied to his study of GodÂ’s Word), he became an attorney at the early age of twenty.

Being a Chapman of Whitby, he was admitted into fashionable circles and often invited to select parties. His rapidly developing poise and confidence bid fair to make him a popular and much sought-after young man in society.

However, he was not immune to thoughts of religion. He had read the Bible carefully and, convinced that it was the Word of God, endeavored to keep the law and to find salvation by good works.

In a letter written to Mr. Gladstone when Chapman was ninety-one years of age, he said, “The undersigned, in his youth, sought diligently and with strong purpose, to establish his own righteousness, in hope thereby to obtain eternal life. In the eyes of all who knew him, he had become a blameless young man, and devout.”

Gradually he began to see the hopelessness of obtaining God’s approval in this way. “I hugged my chains,” he said. “I would not – could not – hear the voice of Jesus. My cup was bitter with my guilt and the fruit of my doings. Sick was I of the world, hating it in vexation of spirit, while yet I was unable and unwilling to cast it out.”

Churchman though Robert was, he accepted the invitation of a deacon of John Street Chapel to hear the eloquent and godly pastor, James Harrington Evans, a former clergyman of the Church of England. Reluctantly the young man assented, wondering what type of service was conducted by the nonconformists.

“What shall we think of him who is building his hopes of pardon, acceptance and salvation upon his own wretched and miserable doings?” queried Pastor Evans. “What shall we think of him who, instead of building on the safe and sure foundation of a crucified Saviour, is building on tears, on prayers, on almsdeeds, on religious, or rather, irreligious services; who builds his expectations of Heaven upon the ruins of God’s holy law, and thinks that in order to save him, God must undeify Himself?”

“All this is sand – treacherous, yielding sand; for it is as possible for God to cease to be, as to cease to be just. ‘A just God and a Saviour; there is none beside me.’ An unjust God is no God, and he who tramples on His own law is no better.”

As he listened to pastor Evans’ message, the young lawyer felt his edifice of good works crumbling around him, and he was enabled by divine grace to trust only in the merits of his Saviour. What peace and joy flooded his heart! In his own words, “In the good and set time Thou spakest to me, saying, ‘This is the rest wherewith ye may cause the weary to rest; and this is the refreshing.’ And how sweet Thy words, ‘Son, be of good cheer; thy sins be forgiven thee!’ How precious the sight of the Lamb of God, and how glorious the robe of righteousness, hiding from the holy eyes of my Judge all my sin and pollution!”

Few could have imagined the future servant of God in the young man who ascended the pulpit steps one Sunday morning to tell, earnestly and simply, what had taken place in his life. His sky-blue, swallow-tailed coat, with large gilt buttons, marking him as a member of the fashionable set, was startling to the staid congregation. But a solemn hush settled over them, as he told of his newfound peace.

Someone has said that the first twenty-four hours of a convertÂ’s history may well determine the future quality of his Christianity. And Chapman gave immediate promise of becoming a wholehearted, other-world follower of the Lord Jesus Christ.

In his “Meditations” we read,

“The offence of the Cross hath not ceased. No sooner did I know Thee and confess Thee, than I became a stranger to the sons of Hagar, who gender only to bondage, whose child I was by nature. Thy love drew me aside from the path of the worldly, whether wicked or devout. I became an offence to those I forsook, even those of my own flesh and blood. And wherefore were they angry? Because, in taking up my Cross, I became a witness against them by me boasting only in Thee, and counting all who are of the works of the law to be under the curse.”

In all this opposition, Mr. Chapman was helped by the warm, spiritual atmosphere of the Chapel and the keen interest and care of the pastor whom he grew to love and even unconsciously tried to imitate in preaching, but with little success. He especially valued and drew strength from the weekly breaking of bread.

Pastor Evans had early seen the dangers of spiritual pride in his own life and now, through grace, consistently and honestly regarded himself “less than the last of all saints”. Through his influence, a deep hunger to be as nothing, that he might “win Christ”, took hold of young Chapman. As a result, he soon was following his lowly Master in ministering to the poor and grossly sinful. Instead of attending gay parties as previously, he spent evenings, not devoted to the study of the Bible, in reaching the destitute in the districts around Gray’s Inn Lane. This only widened the gulf between him and his former friends, as well as most of his relatives.

For three years, his worldly prospects improved, and he began to practise as a solicitor on his own account. His gracious manner and keen intelligence assured him of much success. However, at twenty-nine years of age, he knew God was calling him to sell all his possessions, give away his private fortune and devote his entire time to His service.

He accepted an invitation to become the pastor of a Strict Baptist Chapel in Barnstable, Devon. Upon his arrival, he secured temporary lodging in a humble house on a side street. Later he rented one in New Buildings, not far from the chapel, but just over the wall from a tannery, which emitted the most disagreeable odours.

A relative of ChapmanÂ’s, in fact, the only one who deigned to visit him in this place, hired a cab to take him there. When dropped off at Number 6, he assured the cabman there must be a mistake, for this could not possibly be the home of Robert Chapman!

But, when converted, Chapman had realized that pride was his besetting sin. So, in his hatred of that evil principle, in the very town where he had once driven with relatives in a carriage with coachmen and footmen, he chose to live in a workingman’s cottage on a side street. “My pride never got over it,” he once admitted.

He most solemnly remarked at one time that it was a pity there were so few D.D.Â’s

“Surely not!” returned a somewhat shocked brother.

“Yes,” was the reply. “We want more people in Psalm 119:25, ‘Down in the dust’. Then we would also have more quickened, ‘according to thy word’.”

The young bachelor, persuaded that God wanted his small home to be a “guest house” for Christian people, threw the doors wide open to any who came. And when, for a period of time, none appeared, he “prayed” them in. The questions of room never worried him in the least, and his observation was, “The Lord takes care of that.” And He surely did, for none ever were turned away.

Chapman took upon himself to polish the boots and shoes of his guests. When some protested, he insisted that Jesus taught us to wash the saintsÂ’ feet; that in modern civilization the nearest approach to obedience to that command was to black their boots.

Such became the reputation of the presence and outflowing of love in his humble cottage that a letter from abroad addressed to R. C. Chapman, University of Love, England, actually was delivered to his door.

An American guest, who took a short “course” at this institution of heavenly learning, wrote of Chapman’s rising at three-thirty in the morning, of his spending the entire forenoon in prayer and Bible study, interspersed necessarily with the preparation of breakfast, lighting of fires and other household tasks.

His hostÂ’s combination of authority and humility was most amazing, and it seemed that Mr. Chapman expounded the Scriptures almost as an oracle. And yet, when he accompanied his guest to the station, he hung on his every word, as though he could not afford to miss anything that would give further spiritual enlightenment.

Chapman’s communion and fellowship with God were most intimate. “When I bow to God, God stoops to me,” he declared. Again, “As the father and child do all they can to please each other, so I do all I can to please God, and God does all He can to please me.”

He was told of a “perfectionist” who said he had reverted to the state of Adam, born without sin and with only the possibility, in an unguarded moment, of wrongdoing.

“Adam’s state!” he exclaimed with vehemence. “Back to Adam’s state! I would not change places with Adam before the Fall for a hundred thousand worlds.”

Chapman cultivated the grace of brotherly love. His one friendly relative, while visiting him, looked into his larder and asked if he might obtain some groceries for him. Chapman consented on condition that he purchase them from a certain shopkeeper, whom he named. This merchant, gratified by the largeness of the order, was discomfited and totally incredulous when told it was to be delivered to Chapman, whom he detested. After delivering the groceries, this man, who had formerly made Chapman the target of his abuse, was discovered prostrate on his face before the man of God in tears, begging forgiveness.

When told of the fault of another, Chapman was wont to say, “Let us go to our brother and tell him of this.” One day, a member of the Chapel called on him, expressing distress at the conduct of a certain sister. He listened and, as she concluded her grievances, retired from the room for a few minutes. Returning with his overcoat and Bible, he remarked, “I’m going now.”

“But, Mr. Chapman, I came for your advice.”

“I will give it,” was his reply, “when you come with me to call on the sister. You see, I never judge by appearance but must always hear both sides.”

Most reluctantly the visitor accompanied him, but after the three had conversed awhile, in a most humble manner, she confessed her lack of charity.

When anyone in his presence criticized the public address of a speaker, his reaction was, “Let us tell him so”; at the same time rising from his chair. This attitude, in a very effective way, dampened further criticism. Thus did his parishioners understand his hatred of talebearing.

On another occasion, when he was calling from house to house with one of his church members, he met a woman who felt it her duty to give him a most severe tongue-lashing. He listened for a while, with no comment. Then he called to his colleague across the street, “Dear brother, listen to this sister, she is telling me all that is in her heart.” Needless to say, the stream of vituperation dried up at once.

God granted a long and useful life to His servant. He preached his last sermon just before his ninety-eighth birthday. At the ripe old age of ninety-nine years, Robert Chapman passed away with the words upon his lips, “The peace of God, which passeth all understanding.”

Doubtless the treasury of Christian literature is the poorer because Robert Chapman, in a spirit of self-abnegation, destroyed most of his papers. However, from the limited supply available, the few we do include reveal the character of the man.

Quotations By Robert Cleaver Chapman

“Our need of prayer is as frequent as the moments of the day; and as we grow in spirituality of mind, our continual needs will be felt by us more and more.”

“It is a great help to us when we see that our prayers and our labours are to be as the grain of wheat falling into the ground. If we look for death and burial first, we shall be able to go on in patience; and in due time shall assuredly reap an abundant harvest.”

“One of the best answers to prayer is to be able to continue in prayer.”

“To be strong in faith two things are needful – a very low esteem of ourselves and a very high esteem of Christ.”

“What is most precious in the sight of God is often least noticed by men.”

“To rise above the first Adam, we must live in the last Adam. We shall then be able in spirit to use the language of the 8th Psalm, and have all things under our feet.”

“The ruin of a kingdom is a little thing in God’s sight, in comparison with division among a handful of sinners redeemed by the blood of Christ.”

“A good workman gains skill by his mistakes.”

“Christ twice passed the angels by. He sank far below them in His humiliation; He rose far above them in His exaltation.”

“To have nothing and to be nothing, this is riches, quietness, rest.”

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Who would have thought it! Young, formerly ambitious Brengle on his knees polishing eighteen pair of boots! He who had turned down the call to a popular pulpit of a large Methodist Church in an American city was actually performing this most menial task of the Salvation Army Training Barracks in London. The struggle was sharp but short. He wondered if all his educational advantages and personal talents were being thrown away. Then the Holy Spirit brought to his remembrance his Great Exemplar. “If Jesus could wash the disciples’ feet, I can blacken the Cadets’ boots!” was the happy conclusion. And so young Brengle accepted cheerfully the rigorous methods of William Booth in training soldiers of the Cross and for almost half a century he was to be a highly used specialist in promoting a deep concept of consecration and holy living in the world-wide circle of Salvation Army influence.

Samuel Logan Brengle was born in Fredericksburg, Indiana, U.S.A., of William and Rebecca Brengle, June 1, 1860.

When the lad was two years of age, his schoolteacher father responded to the call of his country to serve in the Northern Army during the American Civil War. Wounded in the siege of Vicksburg, the brave young soldier returned home only to succumb to his wounds. The godly wife and mother, now entrusted with the rearing of her only child, faithfully instructed him in the things of God. Although she married again and life consisted of one move after another, attendance at church never was neglected.

Revival services came to the small town of Olney, Illinois, where the family lived, and the youth sought for peace of heart at the close of each service. For five nights in succession, he knelt in prayer, believing that such an act of decision would make him a Christian. But no divine witness followed.

Some time later, in a walk with his mother, they talked together concerning the latest proposed move to Texas of the ever-restless stepfather. “Mother,” exclaimed Samuel, “I’m glad we didn’t move to Texas. If we had, I might have fallen in with a rough, drunken lot of fellows and lost my soul. But we stayed here, and I have become a Christian.”

With this declaration, there came such a sense of peace and rest of soul that he knew beyond all doubt he was accepted of God. For weeks, he reveled in his Heaven-sent experience. But the work of redemption within was not complete as he was yet to learn.

As he walked home from school one day with several companions, an argument arose, whereupon one of the boys called Sam a most undesirable name. Then and there, young Brengle became aware of the presence of evil within his heart as, in retaliation, he dealt a hearty blow with the fist. Immediately the wonted calm of his soul was exchanged for a storm of confusion and distress. Nor could he feel a sense of rightness with his Maker until he had sought forgiveness at the throne of grace for the unseemly act.

Throwing himself heartily into church work, at fifteen years of age, he became assistant superintendent of the Sunday School. His eagerness for knowledge led his teachers in the High School to recommend that he study grammar with an excellent professor who lived about fifteen miles distant. His mother consented to this agreement, though the close relationship existing between her and Samuel made the parting mutually painful.

The lad was thrown into a most bewildering emotional state when his mother, after a brief illness, passed away. His sorrow seemed to be assuaged only by a closer application to his studies and, as he advanced in them, the next step in his career was college. The sale of the farm provided funds. And Brengle, at seventeen years of age, enrolled as a student in what is now DePauw University in Greencastle, Indiana.

His college career marked him as a brilliant scholar, particularly in oratory, and ambitions of a political nature began to appear on the horizon of his life. But God had another plan for Brengle, which now and again flitted across his vision, although he was almost unwilling to acknowledge its existence. And that was that he was to preach the Gospel. In a somewhat unusual way, he was led to comply.

Because of his natural eloquence, he was chosen to speak at an annual convention upon an important matter on which depended the very life of the fraternity to which he belonged. He was so burdened with the sense of responsibility entailed that in anguish of spirit he prayed for divine help, vowing that if his speech accomplished its purpose he would yield the point and obey God wherever His call led him. When his prayer was answered, he could not disregard the blueprint of life that God had at various times tried to show him.

After graduation, he served for a brief time as a circuit preacher of the Methodist Church. Then friends advised him to take up the study of theology and, spurred by the ambition to become a preacher of note, Brengle enrolled at Boston Theological Seminary.

This decision ushered in the most important experience of his career. For eight years, he had been painfully aware of an inner conflict between the forces of good and of evil within his own heart, with no clear knowledge as to the way the problem could be solved. In Boston he was blessed, just when he needed it most, by the instruction of Dr. Daniel Steele concerning the provision of Calvary for the sin of his wayward heart. This godly tutor was able to prove from the Scripture that inner deliverance was possible, and he could also confirm the reality by personal testimony. How timely was this Heaven-planned contact! And much study brought a greater Teacher than Steele – the Holy Spirit Himself.

In BrengleÂ’s own words,

“I saw the humility of Jesus Christ and my pride; the meekness of Jesus and my temper; the lowliness of Jesus and my ambition; the purity of Jesus and my unclean heart; the faithfulness of Jesus and the deceitfulness of my heart; the unselfishness of Jesus and my selfishness; the trust and faith of Jesus and my doubts and unbelief; the holiness of Jesus and my unholiness. I got my eyes off everybody but Jesus and myself, and I came to loathe myself.”

Interwoven with the knowledge that God had called him to preach was the unworthy but insistent urge to be a big preacher. How subtle was the temptation, “If I can only be a great preach like Moody! He ascribes his power to the baptism of the Holy Spirit. Perhaps if I seek the baptism, I shall have this power!” And he further adds, “I was seeking the Holy Spirit that I might use Him, rather than that He might use me.”

The morning of January 9, 1895, found Brengle awake early, his soul stirred to the depths. The Spirit of God was trying to bring him to a definite issue. “Today,” exclaimed the young man, “I must obtain – or be lost forever.” But his ambition for ministerial greatness had not yet been brought to the Cross, although he prayed, “Lord, if thou wilt only sanctify me, I will take the meanest little appointment there is.”

His carnal heart, meanwhile, found comfort in the thought that even though he should be assigned to a small, obscure church, he could still be a powerful speaker. Then a flash of divine light discovered the enormity of his love of self to such an extent that, broken completely before the revelation, he exclaimed, “Lord, I wanted to be an eloquent preacher but, if by stammering and stuttering, I can bring greater glory to Thee than by eloquence, then let me stammer and stutter.” But the Holy Spirit delayed His coming. Suddenly, however, the darkness of his soul was pierced by the words, “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

“I believe that,” was Brengle’s response, and then the Lord Whom he sought came suddenly to His temple. To the end of his days, Brengle never doubted the reality of this work of grace in his soul, nor did he ever cease to magnify it. Two days later, another manifestation of God flooded his soul. Of this experience, he said:

“I opened my Bible and, while reading some of the words of Jesus, He gave me such a blessing as I never had dreamed a man could have this side of Heaven. It was an unutterable revelation. It was a Heaven of love that came into my heart. My soul melted like wax before fire. I sobbed and sobbed. I loathed myself that I had ever sinned against Him or doubted Him or lived for myself and not for His glory. Every ambition for self was now gone. The pure flame of love burned like a blazing fire would burn a moth.

I walked out over Boston Commons before breakfast, weeping for joy and praising God. Oh, how I loved! In that hour I knew Jesus, and I loved Him till it seemed my heart would break with love. I was filled with love for all His creatures. I heard the little sparrows chattering; I loved them. I saw a little worm wriggling across my path; I stepped over it; I didn’t want to hurt any living thing. I loved the dogs, I loved the horses, I loved the little urchins on the street, I loved the strangers who hurried past me, I loved the heathen, I loved the whole world.”

To be sure, such a flood-tide of emotion subsided, but in its place came the certainty and solidity of an unwavering faith that made Brengle the spiritual giant he became. Again he writes,

“One day, with amazement, I said to a friend, ‘This is the perfect love about which the apostle John wrote; but it is beyond all I dreamed of; in it is personality. This love thinks, wills, talks with me, corrects me, instructs me and teaches me.’ And then I knew that God, the Holy Ghost, was in this love, and that this love was God for ‘God is love.’

“Oh, the rapture mingled with reverential, holy fear – for it is a rapturous, yet divinely fearful thing – to be indwelt by the Holy Ghost, to be a temple of the living God! Great heights are always opposite of great depths, and, from the heights of this blessed experience, many have plunged into the dark depths of fanaticism. But we must not draw back from the experience through fear. All danger will be avoided by meekness and lowliness of heart; by humble, faithful service; by esteeming others better than ourselves, and in honor preferring them before ourselves; by keeping an open, teachable spirit. In a word, by looking steadily unto Jesus to Whom the Holy Spirit continually points us; for He would not have us fix our attention exclusively upon Himself and His work in us, but also upon the Crucified One and His work for us, that we may walk in the steps of Him Whose blood purchases our pardon and makes and keeps us clean.”

Doors of opportunity swung open. The flattering offer of the pastorate of the largest Methodist Church in the northern part of the state of Indiana formerly would have been accepted without hesitation. Now it was rejected. Brengle felt that divine guidance was directing him to the Salvation Army. He had heard General Booth speak and had been greatly moved. The open-air efforts of those intrepid warriors of the Cross had a strange appeal and, when a Voice whispered, “These are My people,” the die was cast. He determined to go to England, where he could personally offer himself to General Booth and where he could receive adequate training for Christian service.

He had contracted an engagement with a young Salvationist, Elizabeth Swift. In every way, she seemed to meet the high standards he had set for himself concerning marriage and, with her full consent, he set sail for England two days after the wedding.

General Booth eyed Brengle with an air of coolness. “You belong to the dangerous classes,” he said. “You have been your own boss for so long that I don’t think you will want to submit to Salvation Army discipline. We are an Army, and we demand obedience.”

However, “on trial”, Brengle was sent to a training school where his first assignment was to black the boots of eighteen other cadets! When he remembered that Jesus washed the feet of His disciples, his heart sang for joy. Never did he shrink from the humble quarters where he later found himself, the visitation routine, the every-night services and the selling of the “War Cry”.

After six months training, he returned, as Captain Brengle, to his native land where, with his wife, he labored for the salvation of sinners and the sanctification of the soldiers in the Army itself. “To insist upon holiness” wherever stationed was the passion of his heart, and for forty years his clarion call was heard all over the United States. His circle of influence widened to England, the Continent, and even to Australia, New Zealand and the Hawaiian Islands.

A fellow-officer met Brengle at a railway station in California. So desirous was he for spiritual help that he could not wait for the first Convention service. “I want you for myself as well,” he exclaimed. “I’ve read your writings, sensed your spirit, and I believe you can help me. I’ve grown a little dry in my own soul.”

This man and two other officers later engaged in daily prayer that Samuel Logan Brengle would be set aside by the Army for spiritual work only, that is for the building up of the spiritual life among officers and soldiers. They petitioned headquarters to this effect, and their request was granted. This recognizing Colonel Brengle as a prophet of God, seems to have coincided with his own sense of call for we find this entry in his diary,

“And Samuel grew, and the Lord was with him, and did let none of his words fall to the ground. And all Israel from Dan even to Beersheba knew that Samuel was established to be a prophet of the Lord! (1 Samuel 3:19) What earthly honor or fame can compare with this! What dignity to be a ‘prophet of the Lord!’”

Brengle never dealt in generalities. Having seen the sin of his own heart, he knew what was in man. More than one hearer declared that Brengle preached directly at him. He was never guilty of making his congregation feel that they could in any way temporize with their submission to God. “Now is the day of salvation,” he declared and, wherever he proclaimed the Gospel, the penitent forms saw many a spiritual victory.

As great as he was as a preacher, it is as a writer for which he will be longest remembered. He wrote only eight books, but is has been estimated that no less than a million copies have been printed in English and other languages as well. “Helps to Holiness” holds a very high place in its field and has been widely circulated to the spiritual enlightenment of thousands.

Birth-throes of agony often precede the production of that which is to bless multitudes. Enjoying his work in a certain town, Brengle received the startling message that he was appointed to Number 1 Boston Corps. He said later that a feeling of faintness came over him as he read the telegram, for this Corps was located in an extremely difficult area. Poverty, drink and crime degraded the inhabitants among whom they would be working. Quiet for study and writing would seem impossible. What is more, the hall was not far from the Theological Institute and former fellow students would be visiting him in anything but enviable quarters. Boston spelled to him a living martyrdom. He prayed,

“Lord, why do I feel this way? Am I proud? Is this appointment an offence to my pride? Am I not dead to these things?”

He then read the declaration of St. Paul, “I am ready not to be bound only, but also to die at Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus.” He could not but exclaim, “Dear Lord, I too will be faithful. I am willing, not only to go to Boston and to suffer there if necessary, but I am willing even to die in Boston for Thee!”

Little did he foresee how near he would come to dying, nor could he know the blessed outcome to the spiritual interests of posterity. The Brengles proceeded to Boston where blessing followed. And then one night a drunkard, enraged because he had been ejected from the hall, hurled a paving brick which struck Brengle on the head. The devoted man hovered for some time between life and death and, for eighteen months, he was unable to preach. But fire, such as had come upon Brengle’s sacrifice, could not be easily contained. The message of holiness burned in his bones. He wrote articles on the subject for the “War Cry” which were later collected and published under the title, “Helps to Holiness”. Mrs. Brengle later painted on the offensive missile, the words of Joseph referring to his brothers’ selling him as a slave, “As for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good, to save much people alive.”

Another of his useful books was the fruit of the distressing crisis which arose upon the secession of the Ballington Booths from the Salvation Army. To help keep the soldiers engaged in warfare for souls rather than in controversy, articles were written on the subject of soul-winning, which were eventually published as “Soul-Winner’s Secret”.

Commissioner Brengle often was asked the secret of retaining the blessing of sanctification. Two years before his death he gave sound advice in answer to the query.

“Keep in the will of God, obey Him, seek Him daily, waiting at His gates. Read the Bible regularly. Never neglect secret prayer. Keep testifying to the grace bestowed upon you. Help others.

I have been asked again if the realization of sanctification has ever waned during the past fifty years. Judging by my emotions, yes; judging by my volitions, no. There have been times when my emotional experience has ebbed out, and I wondered whether I had lost my Lord and my experience. Once I was sure I had, and I cast away my confidence; and for twenty-eight days was sorely tempted and sifted by the devil. When deliverance came – for I was not cast away – I discovered that my will had not wavered in its purpose, that my volitions had held fast to Christ in the midst of the emotional storm and desolation that swept over my soul.

“To all my tempted comrades, I would say: ‘Hold fast! Be faithful, regardless of how you feel, for Christ will never leave His own. He knows the way you take. He, too, was tempted for forty days and nights of the devil.’ That trial of faith and loyalty proved to be one of the greatest blessings of my life.

“Sanctification has meant complete abandonment to the will of God, but not in such a way that my will has become passive in its functioning. It has had to be, and has been, active, firm, assertive in purpose, to be the Lord’s. I have not been allowed to sit in passive rapture singing myself away to everlasting bliss. God and man must cooperate, work together, both in the reception and continuance of the blessing.

“The great heights are set over against the great depths. So the highest religious attainments are set over against the dark depths of fanaticism. And the only way to escape falling into that abyss is by being humble-minded and praying such a prayer as David’s: ‘Teach me good judgment and knowledge.’ I have prayed for years that my light and my love might keep step with each other. Light without love may lead to pride – may make us supercilious and give us a false sense of superiority. Love without light may lead to great indiscretions and false judgment and fanaticism.

“But we must beware of thinking that there is no further development. We are bidden to ‘grow in grace.’ We have entered into a rich grace through this act of sanctification, and we are to grow in it, though we cannot grow into it. We may, and should, increase daily in knowledge, in good judgment, in understanding, in ever-increasing love and devotion to God and to the well-being of our fellow-men. Jesus Himself grew in wisdom as He grew in stature and in truth.

“We should forever get rid of the idea that sanctification is purely an emotional condition. It is equally volitional. You cannot, however, have any great inner experience without emotion. One of the greatest dangers to religion today is the fear, probably born of pride, that people have of emotion. They are so anxious to be balanced and well poised that they cease to be vital and natural. They become faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null – no more.

“The highest religious experiences make men and women as natural as little children, and each one will express himself according to his own temperament. I would say to young people, ‘Don’t be standardized. Be yourselves. Have some enthusiasm in your religion. Don’t be a slave to what others may think. Keep your eyes off people and on Jesus and cultivate love for the people who try you. They may not always be wise, but if they are good, bear with them.’

“Some of my prayers I have not yet seen answered, but others that I poured forth with tears and strong desire for His glory and the salvation and sanctification of men fifty years ago are being answered before my eyes today in ways I did not, could not, foresee.

“These fifty years have been rich in spiritual blessing and sweet fellowship with my Lord and His people. But they also have been years of toil, of temptation, of tribulation and sometimes of sore discipline of spirit amounting to agony. My Master is a Man with a cross, Who bade me take up my Cross and follow Him if I would be His disciple, learn of Him, and finally share His triumph.”

In the year 1931, Commissioner Brengle was retired from active service in the Salvation Army, though he continued to fulfill speaking engagements for at least two more years. Then declining health and failing eyesight brought about a curtailment, and finally, a cessation of public activity. On May 19, 1936, God called His servant to Himself.

In the early hours of the morning, a wife, hearing her husband’s footsteps, expectantly opened the door to welcome him after his long hours of labour in mission work in New York City. She could not conceal her surprise, when she saw with him a shabbily-clad youth of the Negro race. "Who is this, Stephen?" she queried in a most expressive tone. "An angel in ebony", he replied, at the same time escorting the lad into the hallway of his comfortable home. The man of the house was none other than Stephen Merritt, a good Methodist minister and home secretary to Bishop William Taylor.

The boy was Samuel Morris, who through strange and miraculous ways, by God’s guidance alone, had been brought from the African bush to the crowded city of New York and from the depths of paganism to the heights of divine grace. And no more fit appellation than that of "angel in ebony" could have been given him.

Kaboo, an African prince, was born in the Ivory Coast in 1872. His father, a petty chieftain, became involved in several tribal wars. It was the custom at that time for the oldest son of the vanquished chief to be taken by the conquering tribe and retained until payment of the war indemnity. Should it be deferred, the unfortunate hostage was subject to physical torture of the most brutal type. Care was taken that the father of the pawn be notified of the punishment.

Kaboo was first carried away when a small child. The tribute was brought promptly, so he was returned to his home. The second time the boy was held for several years. He never talked of the dreadful treatment he had received, apparently trying to erase it from his memory. On the third occasion of his father’s defeat, the victors were headed by a brutal savage whose ability to devise cruel and ingenious forms of torture would seem to have been almost unparalleled.

Fifteen-year-old Kaboo was carried away captive and, as soon as possible, ivory, nuts, rubber and sundry articles were brought to the conqueror. Though accepted, it was not enough for the ransom, so with aching hearts the people of the boy’s village parted with everything possible to redeem him. In addition to quite a varied cargo of goods, the father, fearing that the youth would die under prolonged torture, decided to offer one of his daughters in exchange for his son. The amount brought was declared still insufficient and Kaboo, knowing the fate that awaited his sister, refused to return to his home.

Since no further indemnity seemed to be in the offing, Kaboo was given a daily beating. Each time the punishment was more severe, and the thorny poison vine used reduced his back to shreds of torn bleeding flesh. When the boy would be unable either to sit or stand, the fiendish plan was that he be laid over a cross tree and beaten into unconsciousness. The next form of torture was to be a burial to the neck. His mouth, kept open by an inserted stick would be smeared with something sweet. This would attract ants and cause the most exquisite pain. Driver-ants, which consume human flesh, would then be permitted to do their worst, and Kaboo’s skeleton was to be placed where all defaulters could view it and be suitably warned.

What happened after the youth was placed upon the cross tree can be explained only by the fact that there is a God in Heaven Who can, when He so wills, exert His power in man’s behalf. Kaboo afterward said that a bright Light appeared, enveloping his bleeding form, and a Voice, also heard by those around, told him to flee. With the command, came the ability to obey, though his natural strength was almost depleted.

He found shelter in a tree hollow until darkness settled down upon the jungle. With the coming of day, a "kindly Light" illuminated his path and, by its aid, for a matter of weeks he was led, he knew not where. But he was guarded from wild beasts and poisonous serpents, as well as from cannibals who inhabited the tropical forests. Nuts and fruits provided sustenance, and one never-to-be forgotten day he found himself on a plantation outside Monrovia, the capital of Liberia. Here Kaboo found employment.

It was on a Friday he had escaped from his would-be murderers, and it was on the same day of the week that he reached the one place in Liberia where the laws of civilisation were enforced and he was safe. From that time, every Friday, his "Deliverance Day", he abstained from both food and drink.

On Sunday, Kaboo attended church and heard the account of the conversion of the apostle Paul. As the missionary, through an interpreter, spoke of the Light that shone about him on the Damascus road, the lad exclaimed, "I have seen that Light! It is the same Light that brought me here." The missionary, Miss Knolls, a graduate of a Christian college in the United States, only recently had come to Liberia, and her prayerful interest in the attentive African youth before long was rewarded by his entrance into the kingdom of God. He became a humble learner at the feet of Jesus and showed daily evidence of a divine touch upon his life.

It was not long, however, before Kaboo became awakened to the need of a still greater change. His dark past had left desires to revenge upon those who had so cruelly tortured him. He yearned for deliverance from innate and nameless fears. Hungering and thirsting for more of God, after a day’s toil, he spent much time in prayer. His companions in the small quarters where he slept failed to understand the deep longings that caused him at times to break out in supplication to God, and he was forced into the woods to talk to his heavenly Father.

Late one night, he returned to his bed, his heart still lifted in prayer when, he said later,
"All at once my room grew light. At first, I though the sun was rising, but the others were sound asleep. The room grew lighted, until it was filled with glory. The burden of my heart suddenly disappeared, and I was filled with a sense of inner joy. My body felt as light as a feather. I was filled with a power that made me feel I could almost fly. I could not contain my joy, but shouted until everyone in the barracks was awakened. There was no more sleep that night. Some thought I had gone crazy; others, that a devil had gotten into me.I was now a son of the heavenly King. I knew then that my Father had saved me for a purpose and that He would work with me."

Kaboo by no means understood the theology of what had taken place. But, in response to deep longings after God, a complete commitment to Him, and his simple faith, the Holy spirit had come to this unlettered, ignorant African boy in such power that the lives touched by his saintly and almost other-world influence are more than can be numbered.
He became a member of the Methodist church in Monrovia and was baptized under the nameof Samuel Morris. It was chosen by Miss Knolls in a gesture of gratitude to an American banker of that name who, during missionary training years, had assisted her financially. Samuel spent two happy years in Monrovia, supporting himself by doing odd jobs. Miss Knolls and others gave him lessons in English and reading, and he proved to be an apt pupil.

By a most peculiar and yet providential coincidence, his path crossed that of a young slave boy who had witnessed his torture as a pawn. He had escaped from his masters and made his way to Monrovia. Through Samuel’s influence, the lad was led to Christ and baptized under the name of Henry O’Neil. He, too, had seen the Light that shone around Kaboo on the cross tree and had heard the Voice that bade him rise and flee. The youths became fast friends, as well as worthy ambassadors of the Lord Jesus.

One of the missionaries. recognizing Sammy’s potential for spiritual leadership, advised him to go to the United States for further education, so that eventually he could be a greater help to his own people.

As the matter was engaging the boy’s thoughts, someone read to him the fourteenth chapter of John’s gospel, where Christ told His disciples of the future coming of the Spirit of God to the world. This was the first occasion that what he himself had experienced in the plantation bunk house was defined. For hours at a time, the lad pondered the subject and went from missionary to missionary in Monrovia, asking questions about the Holy Spirit. Finally, one friend, unable to answer his queries further, said that most of her knowledge had been gleaned from Stephen Merritt of New York City.

"I will go to New York to see him," declared Sammy. As soon as he could, he walked to the seacoast where a sailing vessel was anchored in the harbour. When the captain came ashore in a small boat to bargain about the cargo to be assembled, great was his astonishment upon being confronted by a young native, who greeted him with the words, "My Father in Heaven told me you would take me to New York. I want to see Stephen Merritt who lives there."

"You are crazy, boy," was the captain’s rejoinder, turning away with an oath.
He came to the shore several times, and on each occasion Sammy repeated his plea. Before the scheduled sailing, however, the captain was forced to replace some deserters. The lad approached him again with the confident assertion, "My Father told me you will take me now."

"How much shall I pay you?"

"Nothing. Just take me to New York, so I can see Stephen Merritt." And Sammy Morris began another chapter of his book of life. As he boarded the vessel, he saw a youth lying on the deck, unable to walk because of an injury. Sammy knelt at his side asking God to heal him. At once the prayer was answered. The captain supposed that the boy he had taken aboard was an experienced sailor and, when he learned otherwise, was about to send him ashore. "Please keep him. He has done so much for me," pleaded the lad for whom prayer had been answered.

Consent was gruffly given but, as occasion offered, the captain rained cuffs and blows on him as well as on the crew, who presented the most ungodly array of men that could be imagined. A veritable giant, a Malay, whom everyone feared, took an especial dislike to Sammy, vowing to kill him. During a drunken brawl, the Malay, cutlass in hand, was advancing on some of his shipmates, when Sammy quietly stepped in front of him with the words, "Don’t kill! Don’t kill!" A strange power seized the half-crazed man and, dropping his weapon, he retired to his bunk.

Hearing the commotion, the captain appeared, ready to shoot the miscreants but, when he saw that Sammy had stopped the fighting, followed him below deck. As the lad knelt and prayed for all on board, the Holy Spirit sent a shaft of conviction to the heart of the wicked man, and kneling, probably for the first time in his life, he thanked God for sending this boy among them. His whole manner of life was renovated. Rum no longer was distributed to the crew; fighting gave way to prayer services and to Sammy’s singing of the old Gospel hymns that never fail to reach the heart. When the Malay was stricken with an illness that seemed fatal, Sammy’s prayers were answered in his restoration to health. The boy he had hated then became the object of his devotion.

When the ship reached New York after nearly six months at sea, the crew provided Sammy with clothing. Though by no means the best, it enabled him to go ashore fully clad. The parting with his friends, for that was what these rough sailors had become, was painful, and many wept as they bade the lad good-bye. This humble, Spirit-filled boy, by his influence and prayers, had opened their eyes to a higher plane of living than they ever had believed possible. Some of them became true penitents at Calvary’s Cross.

On Friday, the ship was docked and, as Sammy set foot on American soil, he called out to the first person he saw, "Where can I find Stephen Morris?"

The tramp, for so he was, had attended a city mission where he had met that gentleman and knew exactly where to find him. "I’ll take you to him for a dollar," he offered. After a long walk, Sammy and his companion reached Mr. Merritt’s office, as he was locking the door to leave for the day.

"I am Samuel Morris. I have just come from Africa to talk with you about the Holy Spirit," was the lad’s greeting. Mr. Merritt conducted the youth to the Mission next door to his office, promising to see him later.

"I want my dollar," called out the tramp, who had been completely forgotten in the strange meeting.

"Stephen Merritt pays my bills," replied Sammy. And his newly-found friend smilingly handed the guide his fee.

After attending to some business, Mr. Merritt returned to the Mission. He never forgot the sight that greeted him. Seventeen men on their knees, with tears streaming down their cheeks, were humble suppliants for God’s mercy. Sammy stood in their midst, his dusky face aglow with the light of Heaven. At the conclusion of the service, Mr. Merritt took the boy to his own home, where he gave him the bedroom reserved for the Bishop when he came to New York. The surroundings were so bewildering to the African lad that Mr. Merritt, much to his own amusement and enjoyment, had to help him prepare for the night. At breakfast the next morning, Sammy, having had no food since Thursday evening, did full justice to Mrs. Merritt’s culinary skill.

It was Mr. Merritt’s duty that day to officiate at a funeral, and he decided to take his young guest along. Two other ministers were to assist and to be conveyed to the service in his carriage. The sight of a poorly-clad black boy in the coach of the home secretary of the Bishop was startling in the extreme, and they climbed into the carriage with a reluctance they could not hide. To relieve his own embarrassment and to put his friends at ease as they drove along, Mr. Merritt pointed out to Sammy various places of importance in the metropolis. But the interest of the youth in these wonders was slight and, suddenly turning to his host, he questioned, "Have you even prayed in a coach?" No, he had never done so, was the admission.

"We will pray," said the lad and, as Mr. Merritt stopped the horses and knelt, Sammy talked to God after this fashion: "Father, I wanted to see Stephen Merritt, so I could talk to him about the Holy Ghost. He shows me the harbour, the churches, the banks and other large buildings, but says nothing to me about this Spirit I want to know more about. Fill him with Thyself, so that he will not think, talk, write or preach about anything else."

In all the former years of his religious life, never had the presence of the Holy Spirit been so real to Stephen Merritt, as when this African youth, his soul aflame with the love of God, prayed for him in such untoward surroundings. From that time, he was a changed man, and his ministerial friends caught a vision of holiness they never before had seen.

When they proposed to buy clothing for Sammy, they thought the best was none too good for this "angel in ebony". Never had such a sermon leaped from the lips of Stephen Merritt, as the one he delivered at the service that day. So powerful was the movement of the Holy Spirit that many persons knelt at the casket, repenting of spiritual deflection.

In view of the lad’s purpose in coming to America, Mr. Merritt decided that Taylor University, then located in Fort Wayne, Indiana, would be the place where Sammy could best receive a Christian education. He recommended him to the school authorities as "a diamond in the rough".

On Sunday, the boy accompanied Mr. Merritt to a Sunday School and was asked to talk about the Holy Spirit. The mirth of the scholars, when the Negro youth mounted the platform, soon was changed to weeping, as the presence of God came into the group. A "Sammy Morris Missionary Society" was formed, which made itself responsible for clothing, books and other things the boy would need at the College. Three trunks of gifts resulted.

Within a few days, Sammy was on his way to Fort Wayne, which he reached on Friday, his "Deliverance Day". Dr. Reade, the President of the College, asked him if he had any preference as to living quarters. "If there is a room nobody else wants, give it to me." Dr. Reade, writing to a friend, said, "I turned away, for my eyes were full of tears. I was asking myself whether I was willing to take what nobody else wanted. In my experience as a teacher, I have had occasion to assign rooms to more than a thousand students. Most of them were noble Christian young ladies and gentlemen, but Sammy Morris was the only one of them who ever said, ‘If there is a room nobody else wants, give it to me.’"

The College was in the throes of a financial struggle, and an appeal was made for funds to educate the lad who had come from the west coast of Africa to learn about the Holy Spirit. The response was disappointing, until a butcher, Josiah Kichler, donated five dollars for what he termed the "Faith Fund". This act and name suggested a way to arouse interest in Sammy’s education and, when the "Faith Fund" was advertised as such, money was given in even increasing amounts.

One day the boy asked Dr. Reade if he might secure employment.

"I want to earn money so that Henry O’Neil can come here to be educated. He is a much better boy than I. He worked with me for Jesus in Liberia."

It was decided that they pray about the matter, and the next day, Sammy, face wreathed in smiles, exclaimed, "Henry O’Neil is coming soon my Father tells me." Within a short time, Dr. Reade was informed that a missionary who had known both boys in Africa had returned to America and was arranging for Henry’s education in the United States.

Sammy’s schooling posed serious problems, for what he had learned in Monrovia had been extremely elementary. He required special teachers, but the matter was settled when several young Christian women assumed the responsibility.

The Sunday after his arrival at the College, Sammy learned of a Negro church in Fort Wayne. He set out to attend it, but it was so far he reached it late. Introducing himself as Samuel Morris who had just come from Africa, he astounded the minister by saying he had a message for the congregation. That gentleman, about to discount such an unusual statement, was restrained, however, by the glow of Heaven on the boy’s face. He said later that, although he did not remember a word of what had been said, he felt the presence of the Holy Spirit as never before. The entire congregation went to its knees, some weeping over their sins, and others rejoicing at what God was doing in their midst.

The results of such a revival could not be hidden, and the local newspapers made known to a wide area the name of Sammy Morris, the young African attending Taylor University. Many persons came from far and near to visit him. Always courteous, but not interested in mere chit-chat, he handed each caller a Bible, with the request that a portion be read aloud. In this way, he hid the Word of God in his heart.

A student in the College, with atheistic principles, thinking he could confound the African lad by his arguments, asked for a personal confrontation with Sammy. When he came into his presence, the boy in accordance with his usual custom, handed him the Bible, requesting that he read a chapter. The older man instead threw the Book on the table saying scornfully, "I never read that Book any more, for I don’t believe a word it says."
Sammy, astounded, was silent for a few minutes. Then, the tears coursing down his cheeks, he asked incredulously,

"My dear brother, when your Father speaks to you, do you not believe Him? When your Brother speaks, do you not believe what He says? The Sun shines, and do you not believe it? God is your Father; Jesus is your Brother, and the Holy Spirit is your Sun. Kneel down and let me pray for you."

The Spirit of God smote the heart of the proud man and, before the end of the term, he was converted and eventually became a Bishop.

During Sammy’s career at the College, the financial condition became most acute, and it seemed the school must be closed. Interested persons felt this could not take place, with such a Spirit-filled student as Sammy Morris in attendance. And the "Faith Fund" saved the College. So many donations were given that the trustees were able to purchase ten acres of ground for a new school in Upland, Indiana. And there Taylor University stands today, a memorial to the Negro youth who exemplified to his generation and all succeeding ones the possibilities and power of God’s grace.

Sammy loved the country that had taken him to its heart. The changing seasons were sources of enchantment and gratitude. He interpreted the falling snowflakes as messages from Heaven and once in prayer fervently exclaimed, "A year here is worth a lifetime in Africa."

But the winters of the United States proved too rigorous for this child of the tropics, and a severe cold weakened his naturally frail constitution. He continued to attend classes and church services, but the fact that he was ill could not be concealed. He was taken to a hospital in Fort Wayne, where loving care did all possible for the "angel in ebony".
At first, Sammy did not understand why prayer for his healing was unanswered. But when his heavenly Father tenderly revealed to him the fact that soon he would be in the City where "the inhabitant shall not say, I am sick," he accepted with joy the knowledge that the purpose of God in his life had been fulfilled. In May, 1893, quietly and peacefully, he fell asleep in Jesus.

But death did not end all. Although the youth himself never reached his native land, other hands than his carried the Gospel torch into its darkness. At a prayer gathering soon after Sammy had passed away, a young man said, "I must go to Africa in his place. It is my prayer that the mantle of his simple faith will be thrown over me." At the same time, two others volunteered their services.

At interesting supplement developed in connection with the atheist student who had been converted during college years. He had entered the ministry and, while conversing with a radical unbeliever, the latter became so angry that he struck a blow which felled the clergyman into unconsciousness. With returning senses, naturally enough, he would have been retaliatory. Instead, however, came a vision of Sammy, under the blows of the drunken sea captain; then praying him into the kingdom of God. "If Samuel Morris could forgive that man," he said, "cannot I have the same spirit?" Struggling to his knees, he lifted his voice in prayer, with the result that the atheist soon was asking forgiveness for his display of temper and crying to God for mercy on such a sinner as he.

Several years after Sammy’s death, the captain who had brought him to America, visited Stephen Merritt. When he heard that his young friend was in Heaven, he burst into tears, saying that most of the sailors who had known the lad were still manning the ship, and that his saintly influence had brought about permanent transformations among them.
After his brief contact with Sammy, Stephen Merritt himself entered into a new era of spiritual life. In a ministry among the mentally disturbed, he was especially blessed, many healings resulting in answer to his prayers.

Sammy’s last resting place in Linden Wood Cemetery in Fort Wayne, Indiana, has become a "Mecca" for many of both the white and black races. The sacred influence of the Holy Spirit seems to linger around the spot, and conversions there have not been unusual.
To any who doubt the validity of the remarkable incidents in the life of the "angel in ebony", the words of Dr. Reade are worthy of thought: "Most of us have gone too far away from the simple faith of childhood, and God cannot do many mighty works in us because of our unbelief."

God Is Working Out His Purpose

Through men whom worldlings count as fools,
Chosen of God, and not of man,
Reared in Thy secret training-schools,
Moves forward Thine eternal plan.

And now, though hidden from our ken
In Midian desert, Sinai’s hill,
Spirit of God, Thou hast Thy men
Waiting Thy time to do Thy will.

When blazing out upon our night
Flashes the Pentecostal flame,
May I be found with heart alight,
Burning to magnify Thy Name

Not as Thy prophets who declare
The Word that thousands hear and own,
If I may have the smallest share
In settling Christ upon His throne..

Bishop Frank Houghton