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CHRISTIAN^INDEX AND SOUTH-WESTERN BAPTIST.
VOL. 47-NO. 16.
A RELIGIOUS AND FAMILY PAPER,
PUBLISHED WEEKLY IE ATLANTA, Q-A.
JT. J. T O O Proprietor.
FOR TERMS SEE FOURTH PAGE
An Essay on the Reciprocal Duties of Church
es and Pastors.
Bv Rev. Leonard T. Dotal.
Bead before the Minister s' Meeting held in Griffin, Ga.
December 21th, 1867.
If the Pastors of Churches, mhst thus be
panoplied with the whole aimor of God; if
the Lord Jesus from whom they receive their
commission, has imposed these onerous, but
delightful burdens upon them ; if prompted by
the influence of the Holy Spirit, they involun
tarily exclaim, “ Woe is me if l preach not
the Gospelthe great practical question is :
“ What are the duties of Churches to their
Pastors ?
We shall proceed to present our view of
the subject as brief as possible, and with the
earnest prayer, that Christians may awake to
the solemn responsibilities resting upon them,
and discharge, with fidelity, the trust reposed
in them. It is true that the tempest of war
has swept over our beautiful heritage, pros
trating our industrial pursuits, and sweeping
away the bulk of our fortunes. We have
been left comparatively poor; and penury and
want stare us in the face.• Pastors and peo
pie feel alike the devastations of the recent
conflict of arms. But is it true, tha|jWe have
been so reduced and straightened ip our cir
.. eumstanees, that we cannot supply the minis
ters with the necessaries of life? Shall we
drive our Pastors into the farm, workshops,
school room, office, or counting room to labor
for the support and maintainance of them
selves and their families ? If we d<>, they can
not devote their time and talents to the dis
charge of the duties of their holy mission ; and
the cause of the Lord Jesus, must consequent
ly suffer. What then is the obvious duty of
the churches, in this the hour of our trial ?
We maintain —
Ist. That the Churches should provide for
the pecuniary wants of their Pastors.
We do not mean to say, that the Churches
are to enrich their Pastors; but we do affirm
earnestly, that they must provide for their ne
cessities. It is a sqjemn duty which the Lord
of Glory has imposed upon them, which they
cannot ignore without incurring the Divine
displeasure, and proving recreant to their ob
ligations as Christians. That the churches
may properly understand their duties in this
respect, we refer to a few texts, which are too
blear to be misapprehended, and too pungent
to be avoided with impunity. Paul in his
first letter to the Corinthians, ix ; 13, 14, says:
“Do you not know, that they which minister
about holy thingi, live of the things of the
temple : and they which wait at the altar, are,
partakers with the altar ; evew so, hath the
Lord ordained that they the
Gospel, shall live of the Gospel. ”
which offered sacrifices un
der the'ceremonial law* were provided for
and devoted their whole time to the discharge
of their official duties; to force conviction on
the minds of his Corinthian brethren, the
Apostle declared that he “ who preaches the
Gospel should live* of the Gospel ” as the
Priesthood lived of the sacrifices offered in
the temple. If we closely scrutinize the phra'
seology of this text, we will find, that it is
not a permissive rule prescribed by the Lord
Jesus, but a positive decree, binding upon all
of His disciples. How then do Christians dis
obey this solemn injunction, without com
punction of conscience, and imagine that their
advances to their Pastor are donations, in
stead of a debt due him, for.services rendered
in his official character. Again,-it is written/
“The laborer is worthy of his hire,” Luke,
x: 7. Here it will be, perceived, that the
Pastor is not pronounced worthy of a charita
ble contribution, but of his hire. He is not
and should nut, be a beggar, or an object of
charity, t He has been commissioned from on
high to Labor for the conversion of the world,
and the paramount obligation, and reciprocal
duty of his church, is, to sustain him in the
discharge of the arduous duties of his office.
Again, the Apostle propounds to his Corinth
ian brethren, and to every member of the vis
ible church, the solemn enquiry : “ Who go
eth a warfare any time at his own expense?
Who planteth a vineyard and eateth not of
the fruit thereof? and who feedeth a flock and
eateth not of the rail it,,of the flock? If we
have sown unto you spiritual things, is it a
great thing if we shall reap of you carnal
things?” —(lst Coriuthian, ix: 7, 11.) The
Apostle’s language is clear and unmistakable;
indeed it is a pointed rebuke to those who
imagine that Pastors should devote their time
and attention to their churches, without de
manding of the membership what is justly
due them. As we do not desire to animad
vert too strongly, on the delinquencies of
the membership of the churches to their Pas
tors, we do not propose to direct their at ten
tion to any additional texts; for if those al
ready quoted, fail to awaken them to a sense
of their duty, we regard their cases as hope
less, and their consciences as impenetrable as
the mountain rock. The primitive churches
provided for the immediate necessities of their
Pastors, and sent them forth into the world
on thejr h >ly missions bearing precious seed ;
a'ii. w?hy do un churches of this genera
tion obey the Apostolic injunction, and follow
the noble example of the early Christians?—
The usual, and I may add, inadmissible reply
is, “ We are not able to pay the preacher. ”
Let us examine the excuse briefly, and ascer
tain whether it will stand the test of truth,
and be received as valid, in the day of final
accounts. In the days of the Apostles, the
disciples of Christ were subject to ignomini
ous expulsions from their homes.—tortured
for conscience sake, and consumed at the stake
for ejevotion to the cause of the Master.—
They were hunted down like wild beasts, and
their property forcibly taken from them.—
Like the Captain of their salvation, “They
had not where to lay their heads ”; and yet,
they persistently sent forth their ministering
brethren with their prayers and tears, to bless
their persecutors. While they preached, me
FRANKLIN PRINTING HOUSE, ATLANTA, GA., THURSDAY, APRIL 16. 1868.
churches prayed and provided for their want*,
and the necessities of their families. Such
was the history of the churches, for the first,
three centuries, and during the dark ages
when the fires of persecution, lighted up the
Eastern Continent with the consuming bodies
of the martyrs of the faith. And yet, we who
enjoy the blessings of civilization, and the
puwer and influence of the Gospel, in a count
ry blessed with a soil capable of producing
every thing necessary for our comfort and en
joyment, complain of poverty,and refuse to
pay the Pastor a just compensation for his
labors. Can the churches expect the divine
blessing, so long as they manifest such pepuri
ousness, injustice, and contempt for the word
of God? Can they hope that God will con
vert their children, and pour the Holy Spirit
upon a sin-cursed world, amidst such apathy,
and indifference to the triumphs of the Gospel,
and the extension of the Redeemer’s Kingdom?
Shall we be told, that although our fields, the
present year, have waved with golden har
vests, and we have been provided with food
and raiment, by the Father of mercies,
the churches are too poor to spare a little of
their abundance to their ministering brethren ?
If each mender of a church, composed of
thirty communicants, should send his' Pastor
four bushels of corn, one bushel of wheat, and
forty poui|ds of pork, the aggregate be
one hundred and twenty bushels of corn,
twelve gbunds of flour, and twelve
hundred pounds of pork. In addition to thjs,
if each were to pay ten dollars cash, the swm
of three hundred dollars would b T e r£i|ed, an
amount sufficient,-‘with the abovfe supples, to
’provide handsomely for the wants of a Pas
tor, provided h<>rne, and living- in the
country. Os course, Pastors of city churches
should be better sustained, as their outlays
for house rent, fuel, and other incidental ex-
penses arc much greater.
We believe, that there are few churches in
this heaven favored land, that could not ap
proximate these figures without material in
jury, if they would make the proper effort,
and be willing to offer the sacrifice. Let it
be done, and the churches will flourish like
trees planted by the river of waters, and the
universal complaint of Christian indifference
to the interests of Zion, will be silenced, and
the faithful Pastor, who has wept over the
languishing condition of his church, will be
made to rejoice, and labor with an earnestness
and zeal, worthy of the cause in which he is
engaged. This must, be done. The Lord Je
sus demands the sacrifice. The perishing
millions of our race, must be taught the way
of salvation. The Pastor, whose soul longs
for the coming of the Lord, is ready to begin
the work, if stimulated by his brethren ; and
the sweet assurance thjjt his labor “ shall not
be in vain in the Lord,” will give him addi
tional power. “ Loose him and let him go.”
“ Why stand ye here all the day idle?” Ye
careless ones! how can you escape the condem
nation and chastisement of the Lord Jehovah,
if you stand by with lolded hands while your
Pastor is struggling with adversity, his chil
dren crying for bread, and the partner of his
sorrow toiling for a scanty subsistence. If
the churches continue to manifest this stolid
indifference to the prosperity of Zion, they
need not wonder, if God should withhold the
early and latter rain,—send mildew upon the
earth, and chastise with severity his faithless
and disobedient children. The wail of the
ancient prophet was, that the people stoned
the servants of God, who were sent to rebuke
their infidelity. The same lamentation now
greets the ears of those who are at ease in
Zion. It is true, that the ministers are not
stoned to death, but the churches are killing
them by the slower process of starvation.—
The money wasted in attending parties, balls,
and the circus, and in the purchace of togge
ry, to beguile the young into graves of idola
try, it applied to the payment of the salary
of the Pastor, would be sufficient to relievo
him from the cares of the world, and enable
him to devote his whole time and attention
to the ministry of the word. If the profess
ing Christian for some real, or fancied wrong,
Jails out with his neighbor, he at once engages
the: services of a-faithful and experienced law
yer, to avenge, the insult, without regard to
cost, or expense. If he gets sick, a faithful
messenger, is dispatched for a physician to
heal his malady, without enquiring the price
of prescriptions; and yet, when the soul, the
priceless jewel of the skies, the gem that must
flash in the sunlight of heaven forever, or
wail amid the fires that are never quenched,
is involved, it awakens no sympathy, and stirs
•not the slumbering energies of the Christian.
Surely, we tread upon enchanted ground—
have been charmed by the syren voice of the
tempter, and lured by the treacherous in
fluences to which we have yielded, while a
voice, yes a sweet voice echoes from the cross
and trembles down the corridors of time,
saying, “it you love me, keep my command
ments.”
The watchman upon the walls of Zion, the
sentinel upon the outposts of the camp of Is
rael, dare* not cry, “all is well.” Whilst the
membership slumbers, he watches on the high
towers of Zion ; the nights are long and drea
ry ; the pitiless storms of hunger and neg
lect, make it a night of weeping. He has
watched in tears, but the beneficiaries of his
intense desires, and unremitting labors, have
forgotten hirn. Now, he too sleeps from ex
haustion, while the enemy is stealing into the
slumbering camp. “Awake thou that sleep
est, arise from the dead. ” “ Awake, oh,
sleeper, and call upon thy God.” Shall the
church arm them for the fight, and war a
good warfare, or permit the enemy to storm
the ramparts of Zion, by crushing their cap
tains, without making an effort to repel the
assault? These are questions of tremendous
import, and each must answer at the bar of
conscience : “ Have I done my duty, or have
I, by neglecting to provide for my Pastor,
contributed to the languishing condition of
the church ?”
{To be Continued.)
Pbayer Winged prayers have ustfally a wing
ed answer—they ate answered — Caryl.
The Friends.
I.
“ Percy, will you go with me to church, to
night ? ” asked a young man of his friend, as
they stood together for a moment at the
street corner. The last church bell was ring
ing, and many were passing just then, on their
way to the sanctuary. Perhaps it was a nov
el question for Harry Del mar to ask, for
Percy Grey moved nearer to him and scanned
narrowly his usually expressive face, as if he
doubted the seriousness of the proposal. But
the bright gas light showed a pair of earnest
*eyes, looking eatgerly for some indication of
assent; but Percy only laughed sarcastically,
and shrugged his shoulders, as if the bare idea
were preposterous. Harry was too much in
terested, however, to be answered thus, and
he asked : “ Can you give any reason for re
fusing ? ”
“None better than this: 1 have an en
gagement, and besides, do not wish to go; but
what do you mean standing here with such a
solemn phiz, asking rtke such questions, have
you turned saint?” *
“ Don’t Percy; I changed my
views on tile subject of religion since I talked
with you last. I see things from a different
stand-point now. I have avoided you for the
last week, in order that 1 might examine the
case with as little prejudice as possible, and
now, tyam ready to renounce all my former
ielieff^
strange commingling of mirth, disgust*
atod astonishment struggled for the mastery
Percy’s features when Harry said this;
but he exciairritd : “ Harry Deljnar, 1 little
expected this of you, you, the leader of our
set, to have your brain filled %ith such notions!
But you are joking, or rather, you have beeq
shut up at home, till you are “ blue come,
shake off tffese vapors, and go with me. We
have a club meeting to-qjght, you know ; and
there will be some rare spirits in our midst.
Walters tells me we will have a ‘big speech,’
which I know will be all that you will need
to set your troubled heart at ease.”
“No, l cannot go, nor must you —come
with me. T’will be better than listening to
Walters and others like him, whose strongest
arguments are mere sophistry. ”
“ Delmar, do you really mean to desert
us ? Where are your principles, man ?
What will all the club say to this ? ” And
with his most persuasive tone he continued,
turning, meanwhile, towards their old resort.
But Harry, who was not to be moved, only
urged the more, the importance of leaving off
those old habits, when Walters passed by,
and Percy, calling after him, turned abruptly
from Harry and left him alone.
As Delmar walked in the direction of the
church, his mind was full of sorrowful thought.
A few weeks before he had been one of those
“ rare spirits ” of whom Perey spoke, but a
gracious revival commencing in the town, he
was led to abandon his former habits ; and
from a strong atheist, he had become an hum
ble, trusting follower of Christ. After his
own soul had found peace in believing, the
burden of his desires was, that his best friend,
Percy Grey, might be led to y the same healing
waters. Percy was a young man of many
fine qualities, and, now that Harry’s eyes
were opened, he shuddered to see him en
trapped in the snares of evil associates ; and
all the joys of the newly found love, burning
so warmly in his own heart, caused him to re
solve that henceforth it was to be his life-work
to labor for the salvatiou of his friend, though
it be long ere the Lord send down his bless
Day after day the work of the Lord pro
gressed, but Percy Grey kept aloof from its
influence, and his heart grew harder, till many
looked upon hirn as a confirmed sceptic, and
hopelessly lost. But Harry never forgot to
spread his case before the Lord, and his un
yielding faith, his sterling integrity did more
toward softening Percy’s aversion to Christian
ity than the. most elaborate discourse, many
of whose arguments were refuted simply by
a survey ot Harry’s pious walk. But he was
to be led through deep waters before he could
be made to bow submissively to a Divine
Ruler.
The bloody banner of war was unfurled,
and Percy, with his countrymen, took up arms
in the defence of his rights and liberties.—
Side be side he stood with Harry, and the
bonds of that friendship which had been
formed amid the peaceful pursuits of home
life, were only cemented by the hardships of
a long campaign. On the tedious march, the
red field of battle, or around the glowing camp
fire, they were alike inseparable. Percy stifl
clung to his old doctrine, and in this alone
were they divided. However, Harry had
found an ally in the person of a young soldier.
Not more than nineteen summers had passed
over his head, yet he possessed all those man
ly qualities which we look for in men of
more mature years. His high-toned princi
ples, his free and easy manners, were perfect
ly irresistible, and soon the trio were fast
friends. Charlie Haitipton, whose character
had been moulded by pious parents, did much
to strengthen Harry in his daily walk, and
the influence of two such professors could but
make Percy favor, more and more, a religion
which from his childhood he had despised.
One night when the contending armies lay
encamped opposite each other, and an en
gagement was expected the next day, the
three friends were seated around a- blazing
fire in Harry’s tent. But a cloud hung over
the usually sunny face of Charlie, and all the
efforts of Harry an 1 Percy were powerless to
drive away its shadow. After sitting for.
some time in a fit of abstraction, he said that
on the morrow he should meet the enemy for
the last time, for a presentiment of death had
forced itself on his mind all day. His clear,
ringing, voice faltered for an instant when he
saw the expression of pain on the face of his
friends; but he continued dwelling on the
subject with such earuestness, that in spite of
their efforts to consider it a mere fancy, the
thought fell like a cold, dead weight on their
hearts. He spoke of the friendship which
had knit their souls so closely together; and
'' '■ .-••‘•jSK &'**?&.* ~
of the home and its lov<ed ones far away,
which he should never *p*.again ; then of the
approach of. death, as if 'be reganJfai it as a
kind release. It if that Saviour, in
whom he trusted so illicitly, had drawn
as'de the veil, and given Him glimpses of his
inheritance beyond the ; for his eye
kindled with joy, and his'voice had that tran
quil modulation which is#ftly heard when the
soul feels that all is well.
Long after he had folded his blanket around
him, and lay sleeping so peacefully, Harry
sat, and gazing in the globing embers, mused
on his strange conversation ; ’twas not like
Charlie’s happy spirit, to entertain gloomy
forebodings, and though he endeavored to
shake off the impression, a dull aching sensa
tion oppressed him, an 4 drove slumber far
from his pillow. The same feeling weighed
on Percy’s heart, who bad been ordered to
guard a post not far distant. As he should
ered his rifle, and began the monotonous pac
ing to and fro, the words rang in his ear, and
his elastic step grew slaver, as he thought
of codling days, which wyuld miss the light of
Charlie's smile. Back and forth he passed again
andagain, but half unconscious, as memory re
called the time when they bad first known
each other, and dwelt nth loving minuteness
on every noble trait of the sleeping boy.
. The fitful light, reveaji'i.- only here and there
an object, conspired to r< nder the night more
■gloomy, and the thoughts of the lonely guard
came faster, and faster, back from the past. He
compared his own life wjth that of the intre
pid Harry, and with the high principled Char
lie. His soul would fajn have turned shud
deringly from this but faithful memory field
her blotted scroll before-ljim, till an involun
tary groan broke from his lips, and he pressed
his hand hardly on his heart, as if to still its
tumultuous throbbing. ‘ Conscience, aroused
from its lethargy, was .doing its work, and
when relieved of his post, he retired to snatch
a few moments’ was perfectly mis
erable.
The morning dawned,'fend the booming of
cannon, aud the hissing of shells, announced
the beginning of the iwy* With defiant,
fearless tread, the men taarched into the hot
conflict. All through the day Delmar, Grey
and Thompson had fought side by side, but
late in the evening, white making a gallant
charge, Charlie was moitally wounded. As
he reeled and fell, Percy caught him in his
arms, and in the next >noment was himself
struck by the fragmentofa shell,with such force
as to inflict a deep fleslrwound on his head.
Heedless of the crimscs) gore that trickled
down on his own face, be raised the inani
mate form of Charlb, and endeavored to
check the gushing tide of blood, till the pallid
lips, the glazing eye, UM how surely the mis
sile of death had done its work. The waver
ing lines of the enemy at length gave way,
and the victorious pursuers left the dead, the
wounded, far behind theft). The pealing thun
der of battle sounded far off, and at last
ceased, and the victors returned to care for
those, whose spilt blood told the fearful cost
of the glorious triumph.
Delmar retraced his steps to where he re
membered having seen Charlie fall, but he
stood transfixed, for a moment, when he saw
the two prostrate forms, for the shock to Per
cy’s feelings, together with pain, and loss of
blood, had been too much for him, and he
had lain unconscious for some time, with the
head of poor, dead Charlie, resting on his arm.
Percy was somewhat restored by having cold
water dashed over his blood-stained face, and
when he was able to stagger to a seat, Har
ry’s next thought was of the brave soldier,
the tried friend, who lay so near, cold and
lifeless. But affection for the living demand
ed his care, and only for a moment did he
bend over the white face, only once press his
hand on the icy forehead, then with colorless
cheek, but steady nerve, he severed a single
lock of the chestnut hair; and with only his
cloak for sheet and shroud, the shallow grave
received the remains of the young hero; his
name was carved on the tree that sheltered
his last resting place, and the life-drama of
Charlie Hampton was over.
Percy Grey had sat like one stupefied, un
til Harry laid his hand on his shoulder, and
pointed to the distant city where they must
go, but hoarsely whispering, “ Not yet, oh,
not yet!” and shivering‘with agony he sank
down by the grave. The sun was fast setting,
and its red rays struggling through the smoke
of battle, fell feeblyonthe fresh, moist clods
arid on the bared heads of those who knelt
beside them.
Into the hospital, long ranges of
narrow berths, Percy was carried, with a rag
ing fever. Day after day passed, but still his
blood sped like fiery coursers through his
veins, till a pale, emaciated frame, was all that
remained of his once strong, symmetrical
form. In his delirium, he again grappled
with the foe in deadly fight, or listened to the
merry laugh of Charlie, around the camp fire.
More than one brushed away a hasty tear, as
they heard him plead, in piteous tones, for
those friends, or saw him start up to go
to them.
But the fierce disease gave way ; its power
haa passed, and he lay as helpless as an infant.
Consciousness returned, intellect slowly re
sumed its sway, but his pride was gone ; his
only desire was to obtain rest and peace, but
wJiere was he to find this? His infidelity
had no solace to offer, and his yearning heart
turned now in its weakness to that source of
all strength, which, in self-reliance, he had des
pised. And to the child in faith, the long
sought peace came' and rested on his troubled
soul.
The war ended, and on Charlie Hampton’s
grave now blooms many a fragrant token of
love’s presence; and a simple marble slab
tells how, and when he died. Though the
best hopes of many a heart lie crushed under
the ruins of the dreadful conflict, yet, Percy
Grey does not murmur at that dark provi
dence, which alone seemed sufficient to arouse
him to a sense of his soul’s lost condition;
while Delmar bows, with humble reverence,
before God, who “ maketh the wrath of man
to praise Him, and the remainder will He re
strain;” Lizzie May.
Mrmry, 18«8.
Superior Credibility of Testimony to a Mlrn
ele.—Belief in Miracles not Contrary to
Reason.—Direct Proof of Miracles.
I—Having, in a former article, shown the
fallacy of certain arguments intended to show
that a Miracle cannot be proved*, the way is
opened for claiming a higher degree of credi
bility for testimony, when it relate& tp a Mir
acle, than when it relates to ordinary facts.
The criteria which determine the value of
testimony, are the same in each case. One
of these is, the degree of attention of the wit
ness to the facts at the time the/ transpire.
The more remarkable the facts, the greater
will be the attention. The more strongly at
tention is drawn to any event, the more dis
tinct and indelible the impression which it
makes, and the less the liability to a lapse of
memory. Nothing is more common than
that persons retain a distinct remembrance
of extraordinary facts. There is less liabili
ty to mistake, therefore, on the part of one
testifying to a Miracle, than if his testimony
related to an ordinary occurrence. We de
mand stronger testimony, it is true, for an
extraordinary event, because we regard ante
cedent probability as an element of proof; and
also, because our interest in ordinary facts is
less. But were we required to decide upon
the testimony alone, the same criteria must be
applied to the latter as to the former; and it
is evident that the increased attention would
be an element ip favor of the witnesses to an
extraordinary event. In»the resurection of
Lazarus, for example, it is far more proba
ble that those who witnessed it would retain a
distinct recollection of the facts, than that
they should have remembered the particular
medicine prescribed by a physician in his or
dinary practice; and by just so much is their
testimony the more valuable. When, there
fore, we have ascertained the character of a
witness'to be reliable, there is more reason
for believing his testimony to a miraculous,
than to an ordinary, fact. To this may be
objected, greater liability to deception, with
respect to extraordinary events. A juggler,
for example, performing his tricks, before an
ignorant audience, might lead them to suppose
that he actually did what he proposed to do.
Even in this case, however, the competency
of the witnesses, as to the apparent facts, is
all the more credible, because of their awaken
ed attention, though as to the cause of these
apparent facts, they are ignorant and deceived.
The deception is not as to what they actually
saw, but as to its cause. All, therefore, that
this increased liability to deception demands,
is, care to distinguish between testimony as to
facts, and as to the cause of these facts, and
to ascertain, whether, in relation to the form
er, deception was possible.
ll.—lt has been asserted that belief in a mi
racle, is contrary to reason ; because it is con
trary to reason to helieve what we cannot
comprehend, and a miracle is incomprehensi
ble.
Ist. It is not true that our belief is limited
by our comprehension. We believe in God,
but we cannot comprehend either His being
or His nature. Os the fact of His existence
we have evidence—of the mode of that exis
tencc we have no knowledge. Os His char
acter we have partial revelations, but a full
comprehension of it, is a natural impossibility.
Regarding the most common operations of
natural law’s, we are alike ignorant. No phi
losopher can comprehend the production of a
spire of grass. All that can be known, are
some of the more immediate agencies ; and of
these we cannot comprehend how they pro
duce the result. All our knowledge is limited
and relative. We are compelled to believe
facts, independently of our knowledge of their
causes. Nay, more, we are compelled to be
lieve in the absolute , although we cannot com
prehend what the absolute is. So far is it from
being contrary to reason to believe what we
cannot comprehend, that we are forced to do
so every day.
2nd. But, we can comprehend a miracu
lous fact as far as we can comprehend any
other fact. Those who witnessed the healing
of the impotent man, at the pool of Bethesda,
knew just as much of what was submitted to
their senses, as they could have known ifi he
had been cured by bathing in the pool. And
as in the latter case they would have been
compelled to believe in the remedial virtue of
the waters, so in the former were they com
pelled to believe in the healing power of the
words of Jesus. It would not be necessary
that they should comprehend how the waters
effected a cure; neither was it that they should
know how the words of Jesus did it. Their
belief would be rational in either case, in the
absence of such knowledge; and their testimo
ny to the facts would lose none of its value
by reason of their ignorance.
It will be said, however, “ It is rational for
us to believe that medicated baths cure dis
ease, because we can understand something ©f
their natural adaptation to this result; but ft is
irrational to believe that a mere vford can
have this effect, because we canhot under
stand how it can have any such tendency.”—
This form of the objection goes upon a prin
ciple that would render the beliefof any phys
ical fact any person who is
ignorant of the laws of the phenomenon. The
peasant, for example, must not believe that
the seasons rotate, because he does not know
why they do so. No man must believe that
the moon influences the tides, because therea
san is inscrutable.
But, further, when we have assigned an ad
equate cause for the miracle—the power of
God—it is no more irrational to believe it
was produced by that power, than if, a care
ful analysis having demonstrated the medical
properties of the waters, we should believe a
cure to have been effected by them. It is not
irrational to believe the fact of creation,
though it is impossible to eomprehend the
mode of it, and it cannot, therefore, be irra
tional to believe in the exertion of Divine
power, in any case, simply because we cannot
comprehend it.
lll.—But, supposing the facts of an/ re
puted miracle, to be proved, the second inqui
ry,—“ Are they miraculous ? Can it be
proved that they are ?—comes to be consid
ered.
Jesus at the marriage feast at Cana in Gali
lee, caused the water-pots to be filled with
water; and then, at his command, wine was
drawn from them for the company. Let it
be granted that the facts were as stated : Was
this a miracle? There are two sources of evi
dence in reply to this question :
Ist. That derived from the nature of the
facts and circumstances. Every miracle must
be self-witnessing—that is, such must be the
facts au 1 attending circumstances, as to con
vince those who witness it, that there is the
exertion of supernatural power. A miracle
which requires to be proved bv independent
lestiinflhy, ceases to answer the purpose for
which miracles are wraught. This is as a super
natural testimony. To become such, it must
be obviously the product ©f supernatural pow
er. It must be of a nature not to be ac
counted for by natural laws. And this is
true, not only as relates to those who witness
the event, but with respect to all who have
access to their testimony.As the sun is seen
by his own light, so must a miracle reveal
its own character. That it is possible for
God so to exert his power, that the very act
shall manifest that power, cannot be doubted.
To doubt here would be to blaspheme. And
such an unmistakable manifestation of God’s
power must be seen in any miracle wraught
in his name, or we cannot be required to be
lieve it such. No just objection can be urged
against a candid effort to account, upon natu
ral principles, for any event claiming to be
miraculous. If, by any possibility, it can be
shown that the water placed in these pots be
come wine by a natural process, our thanks
would be due to him who should accomplish
i. But, if, on the contrary, this be impossi
hie, and more, if such u change in the ab
sence of supernatural power, would be in op
position to natural laws well known and ful
ly established, then we are compelled to as
cribe the change to supernatural power.
2nd. Another source of evidence is, the
timony of the person professing to work
miracles. The value of this testimony de
pends upon the character of the witness, as
exhibited apart from his assumed miracles.—
There must be ample evidence, in the history
of the individua 1 , that he is fionest, and that
he is not laboring under delusion. But if one
evidently honest, and free from all suspicion
of delusion, asserts that God has endowed him
with miraculous power, and claims, by the
exercise of that power, to raise the dead, then
the fact that he does raise the dead, gives the
seal of veracity to this claim. And thus up
on two grounds :
Ist. The possession of this power must be
a matter of personal consciousness. When,
then, one claims to exert it without possess
ing it, he must be either an impostor, or a de
lude,d enthusiast.
2nd. A miracle is wrought as a divine tes
testimonv to the character and mission of the
agent. It is not supposable that God would
endow an impostor with such power. When
therefore, one working miracles, testifies that
he works them by the power of God, the tes
timony and the miracle corroborate each oth
er as evidence of the truth of the claim. We
demand first independent proof of the char
acter of the witness ; and next unimpeachable
evidence of the facts. But having these, the
facts corroborate the assertion of the witness
as to their origin. A. M. Poindex'per.
SflrrlisMS.
Breaching with the Preacher.
Our doctrine of unconscious and undesign
ing influence shows how it is, that the preach
ing of Christ is so oftenunfruitful, especial
ly in times of spiritual cold ties, u isnot be
cause truth ceases to be truth, nor, of neces
sity, because it is preached in a less vivid'
manner, but because there are so many influ
ences preaching against the preacher. He is
one, the people are many ! his attempt to con
vince and persuade is a voluntary influence :
their lives, on the other hand, and especially
the lives of those who profess what is better,
are so many unconscious influences, ever
streaming forth upon the people, and back
and forth between each other.
He preaches the truth, and the}' with one
consent, are preaching the truth down; and
how can he prevail against so many, and by
a kind of influence so unequal ?
When the people of God are glowing with
spiritual devotion to Him, and love to men,
the case is different; then they are all preach
ing with the preacher, and making an atmos
phere of warmth for his words to fall in ;
great is the company of them that publish
the truth, proportionally great is its power.
Shall I say more? Have you not already
felt, my brethren, the application to which I
would bring you? We do not exonerate
ourselves; we do not claim to be nearer to
God or holier than you, but ah ! you do not
Know how easy it is to make a winter about
us, or how cold it feels. — Dr. Bushnell.
Duty of the Pew.
It often happens that persons are convinced
pf sin by the preaching of the Word, and the
minister does not know it. He has no means
af knowing it, and no one else seems to care
know it. Persons become anxious for sal
■tation ; they need some one to direct them,
jiut they are timid and shy and dare not open
heir minds. They wait in hope that some
one will speak to them ; but many such have
waited for the word which was never spoken.
What a pity that people, especially strangers,
should go away from the house of God with
tears in their eyes, and no members of the
church take the slightest notice of them !
Yhere needs more directness in the pew as
veil as in the pulpit. Each member of the
church should feel it his duty to seek personal
intercourse with those members of the con
gregation with whom he is acquainted, in
order that he may make direct personal ap
peals to them, and, if possible, bring them
tnto persoual communion with Christ. No
stranger should be allowed to go to a place
of worship for several Sundays in succession
without receiving kind words, or without be
ing subjected to respectful inquiries by some
members of the church. It would be well if,
in every church, a few godly people, with
jjood address, were appointed to pick up
B*"»ngers, and bring them into friendly inter
.jourse. If a plan of this kind were faithfully
*nd judiciously carried out, thousands of
wandering sheep might every year be brought
into the fold of Christ. In short, we consider
that no Christian has done his duty who has
not, as far as he reasonably could, made a ju
dicious appeal to every member of the circle
of his acquaintance on the subject of personal
salvation.— Qh/risfkin Times.
WHOLE NO. 2386.
The Cross.
Are thv toils nod woes increasing *
Are the Foe’s attacks unceasing t
Look with faith unclouded.
Gaze with eyes uushrouded,
On the Cross!
Dost thou fear that strictest trial ?
Trumblest thou at Christ’s denial ?
Never rest without it,
Clasp thine arms about it,
That deur Cross!
Diabolic legions press thee!
Thoughts and works of sin distress thee ?
It shall chase all terror,
It shall right all error.
That sweet Cross! f
Draw’st thou nigh to Jordan’s river ?
jShould'st thou tremble, noed’st thou quiver?
No I il by it lying,—
No I if on it dying,—
Ou the Cross!
Say then, —Master, w'hile I cherish
That sweet hope, 1 cannot perish I
After this life’s story,
Give thou me the glory
For the Cross 1
Methodius, /., A. £>., 846.
Rest.
“ He giveth His beloved sleep.”
“Os all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward unto soul afar,
Along the Psalmist’s music deep—
Now tell me if that any is,
For gift or grace, surpassing this—
* He giveth His beloved sleep I ’
Sleep soft, beloved, we sometimes say,
And have no power to chase away
Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep ;
But never doleful dream again
Shall break (he happy slumber, when
‘ He giveth His beloved sleep.’
O earth, so full of dreary noises 1
O men, with wailing In your voices 1
0 delved gold, the waiter’s heap!
0 strife, 0 curse that o’er it fall 1
God makes a silence through von all
And ‘ giveth His beloved sleep. ’
His dews drop mutely on the hill;
His cloud üb'ove it suileth still,
Though on itS'glope men tcil and reap 1
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,
‘ He givefh His beloved sleep. ’
And friends-.flear friends—when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me—
When round my bier you come to weep;
Let one most loving of you all
Say, ‘ Not a tear for her must fall,
‘ lie giveth His beloved sleep.’ ”
— Mrs. Brovoniiuj.
Union—Schism.
The normal state of the church, as organ
ized by Christ and his apostles, in dicates
unity and uniformity. Unity in the faith
and uniformity in the administration of ordi
nances. It is therefore utterly vain to plead
for union, except upon this basis, and here
every sincere follower of Christ ought to
seek the fellowship or communion of the
church. In regard to the duty of union among
all the friends of Christ, there can be no du
biety ; nor are we aware of any who are op
posed to the unity of the church -per se. —
Hence all argument on this point is irrelevant
and unnecessary. There are none of whom
we are aware who contend for “denomina
tionalism ” in opposition to the unity of the
church; but dCnominationalism has arisen
out of the church’s sinful divisions; and
these again from the departure of those with
in her pale from the truth revealed, or the
worship divinely enjoined. Be the numbers
great or small, the sin of schism lies with
those who have perverted the truth or who
have corrupted the ordinances of grace.—
The church’s pristine unity and uniformity
can only be'restored by the returyi of those
who have deviated, to the platform of divine
truth and to the pure dispensation of diviue
ordinances. Every attempt at union short
of this is “a daubing with untempered mor
tar ” by which the breaches of Zion will be
enlarged, rather than built up. — Presbyterian
Witness.
What One Sin Will Do.
There was but one crack in the lanthorn,
and the wind has found it out, and blown out
the candle. How great a mischief one Un
clouded point of character may cause us !
One spark blew up the magazine and shook
the whole country for miles around. One
leak sank the vessel and drowned all on board.
One wound may kill the body. One sin de
stroy the soul.
It little matters how carefully the rest of
the lanthorn is protected, the one point which
is damaged is quite sufficient to admit the
wind; and so it little matters how zealous a
man may be in a thousand things, if he toler
ates one darling sin ; Satan will find out the
flaw and destroy all his hopes. The strength
of a chain is to be measured, not by its strong
est, but by its weakest link, for if the weak
est snaps, what is the use of the rest? Satan
is a very close observer, and knows exactly
where our weak points are ; we have need of
very much watchfulness, and we have great
cause to bless our merciful Lord who prayed
for us us that our faith fail not. Either our
pride, our sloth, our ignorance, our anger, or
our lust would prove our ruin unless grace
interposed ; any one of our senses or faculties
might admit the foe, yea, our very virtues
and graces might be gates of entrance to our
enemies. O, Jesus, if thou hast indeed bought
me with thy blood, be pleased to keep me by
thy power even unto the end.— Spurgeon.
Need Shaking.
My watch stops’; -something is broken in
it. I take it to the watchmaker, and he puts
in anew mainspring. I do not know any
thing about it, except that he does it. And
when it is repaired he lays itaside. Present
ly I go for my watch, and ask him if it is
done. “Oh yes,” he says, “ but 1 do not
know as it is going.” And he takes it, and
finding that it does not go, he winds it up, and
then it does not go, perhaps; but he gives it
a little shake, and it commences ticking and
keeping time.
And I know many persons that have a
mainspring in them, and that have been
wound up, for that matter, but that have not
been shaken yet! And there they are. if
somebody would only take them up and
whirl them round a few times, and say to them,
“You are Christians: tick ! tick!" they would
commence keeping time, and go on keeping
time. I have known persons that spent
months and months, not only making no pro
gress, but losing ground, just for want of
knowledge of the fact that the office of the
Lord Jesus Christ was to take p'eople in or
der that they might be good, and that it was
his nature, after he had taken them, to be pa
tient with them, and help them, and bring all
the power of his being to bear upon them to
save them.
Neglect op Pastors. —At a late social re
union of the children and grandchildren of
Wesleyan Ministers, London, Rev. Thomas
Jackson said: He knew a man some sixty
years ago, on one of the poor circuits in York
shire, whose wife dj#d, and who had not even
the means of meeting the funeral expenses. —
No one offered him any assistance in the
emergency, and the blessed man had to pack
up the clothing of his deceased wife, and go
to Manchester at night and sell it for the pur
pose of defraying the funeral expenses of one
dear to him as his own soul. That was but
a specimen of what those Godlike men en
dured.