Speaking for Christ to a Traveling Companion

I soon found that it was not necessaty to be with a needy soul in an” inquiry meetii/’ dr in a room alone with him, where circumstances seemed to favor a religious conversation, before I improved the opportunity to speak a word for Christ to him. If there was an opportunity to speak on any subject, there was an opportunity to speak on the theme of themes, and I there* fore came to act on this conviction.

Entering, one November morning, at the Grand Central Station in New York, a crowded train for Boston, I found the only vacant seat was one alongside of a pleasant-&ced, large-framed young man, and that seat I took, and began to read the morning paper. After a fyw minutes my seat-mate took from his valise a large case bottle of whiskey and a metal drinking-cup. Before drinking himself, he proffered it to me. As I thanked him and declined it, he drank by himself. I still read my paper, but I thought of my seat -mate, and I watched for an opportunity. In a little while he again turned to his valise, and, as before, took out his whiskey bottle. Once more he offered it to me, and again I declined it with thanks. As he put away the bottle, after drinking from it the second time, he said:

“Don’t you ever drink, my friend?”

“No, my friend, I do not.”

“Well, I guess you think I’m a pretty rough fellow.”

“I think you’re a very generous-hearted fellow. But I tell you frankly I don’t think your whiskey-drinking is the best thing about you.”

“Well, I don’t believe it is.”

“Why do you keep it up, then?”

At this he told me something of his story. He was a Massachusetts country 32

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boy, now a clerk in a large New York jobbing house. He was just going to his old country home to spend Thanksgiving. He confessed that he had fallen into bad ways in the city, very different ways from those of his boyhood in Massachusetts. I asked him about his mother, and he spoke lovingly and tenderly of her. He said he knew she was praying for him constantly. This brought us into close quarters. I told him that I was sure his mother would be happy if he prayed for himself, and that he knew that he ought to do this. I urged him to do it

He was evidently surprised and touched by my expressions of interest in him. Then he spoke gratefully of another show of interest in him. He said:

“I was coming up Broadway, the other night It was about midnight I had been having ’ a time.’ I’ll own up, I’d been off* on a regular ’ bum, A little ahead of me I saw a fellow in a doorway, and he came out as if he were coming for me. I squared 33 away towards him, as I came near himp for I thought he was ’ laying ’ for me. But as I got opposite to him he just gave me a card, and asked me to accept it, and I passed on.

“When I got to the next lamp-post I looked at that card, and it told about a place on Twenty-third Street, called a ‘Young Men’s Christian Association.’ where they’d like to have young men come in any time, and make themselves at home. And there that fellow, that I’d squared away to, was out there at midnight * laying’ for just such * bummers ’ as I was, to invite ’em to come in and make themselves at home in that place. I * swow,’ I mean to go up to that place, when I get back, and give ’em five dollars for the good they’re doing.”

I told my seat-mate that those who love Christ love such as he, because Christ loves them. And I urgd him to make his Thanksgiving Day at his old homestead a real day of thanksgiving, by telling his good mother that her prayers for him were answered B ZtavcUm Companton

“That would make my old mother pretty happy, if I did that,” he said heartily.

“Wouldn’t you like to make your old mother happy, as you go home to have a Thanksgiving with her?” I asked.

“Indeed I would,” he said.

* As we came to my Hartford home, where I was to leave the train, I took his’ hand and urged him again to do what he knew was his duty, and which would glad-* den his good mother’s heart He thanked me for my interest in his welfare. He pronused to talk with his mother of our conversation. He assured me that he would endeavor to profit by our talk. I urged him to commit himself to Christ as the all-sufficient Saviour, and we parted.

This was an illustration of the truth that not always does a word for Christ to a seat-mate in the cars, as we travel, result in evidence that that word is blessed in the final act of decision by the needy one. Yet it also illustrates the fact that a faithful word to a temporary seat-mate may be a 35

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profitable opportunity for giving faithful counsel, even though we know nothing as to the final outcome.

I have had hundreds of such conversa* tions with seat-mates on the car, seat-mates whom I had never seen before, and whom I never met again. I never had such a conversation which I had reason to regjret, or which seemed to be distasteful to my companion. And many such a conversation has brought out the warmest side of a fellow- Christian, whom I have come to be intimate with in aRer years. ‘Improving such an occasion is a manifest duty. The result of such a conversation is with Him for whom we seek to improve it

One morning, as I was riding on a train In Western Connecticut, I saw a young man whom I had seen at a religious meeting the evening before. I had never seen him except at that time; but there was a deep religious interest just then in the church where I had seen him, and accord-B tEtaveUii0 (tottipaiuon

ingly I took a seat by his side and began conversation on the subject. He seemed glad to be spoken to about it, and I said I hoped he would enter into Christ’s service with the others there who were doing so. He said he wished it were so.

“Then why isn’t it so?” I asked. “You have nothing to do but to commit yourself at once to the loving Saviour as his servant and follower. He is more ready to accept you than you are to offer yourselfl”

“Do you mean, Mr. Trumbull, that here on this car-seat, just now, I can give myself to the Saviour, and he will accept me without any further preparation on my part?”

“I mean just that,” I said. “The Saviour is ready when you are. There is no gain in your waiting; and no farther preparation is needed than for you to be ready to give yourself to him and to trust him unhesitatingly.”

He said not a word more about himself, 37

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but he gave evidence of a loving, trustful soul, when he reached out in thought after another, sayang:

‘* Mr. Trumbull, I’ve a brother who ought to be a follower of Christ I wbh you could talk to him.”

That is one of the first evidences of the Christian spirit and life, — an interest in another soul, and the forgetting of self in that care for another Dr. Guthrie emphasized this truth in an illustration in his “Gospel in Ezekiel,” that impressed me profoundly in my early Christian life. A drifting boat was found in mid-ocean, that had come from a sinking vessel Discovered by a passing ship, a boat and crew were sent in its pursuit A man wellnigh exhausted was found in the boat from the wreck. As this man was lifted up, and taken out into the other boat, he partially revived, and his first feeble words were, before he sank again into unconsciousness, “There’s another man in the boat” Saved himself his first thought was to have an-B «taveUii0 Companion

ofdMr saved. That’s the sign of true life. My seat«mate on the car that morning gave this sign of life, and we parted for the time as we neared our destination.

The next thing that I heard from him was by letter from a retired country place in Vermont, where he was evidencing his interest in souls in more ways than one. He wrote of it, and I was moved by his letten It gave fresh evidence that he was in Christ’s service. He urged me to do more for souls and for the Saviour, and to urge others to do similarly. In his letter, he wrote:

“O Mr. Trumbull! you cannot urge the followers of Jesus in too strong terms to talk more of him. A kind word may save a soul! That soul may save a thousand! Do they realize it? When I remember, at times, how my soul has longed, when a mere boy, a stranger in a geat city, for some one to take an interest in me and my soul’s welfare, I feel as though I should fly away for fear there is some one 39 near me smothering the same awful feelings, and longing for that kind word of Christian sympathy.

“I remember very well, the morning I packed my things to go and fill that situation in that city, how my mother prayed for me, and said, as she thought of the temptations I should be subject to, *0 William, how I wish you were a Christian!’ I wished so too. She hoped all would be right When, that day, I went into the garden to say good-by to father, as he saw me coming he turned his head to hide the tears, and he reached out his calloused hand, calloused for me, and said: ‘You are going away from home, William, and all you have in this world is your good name. Keep that Attend church every Sabbath regularly somewhere, and you will come out all right’ I promised him I would. I went away very sad, but determined to keep my promise.

“For one whole year, Sabbath after Sabbath, I attended one church, and sat in the 40

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same seat, and no one ever intimated that he thought I had a soul; and I was never sufficiently acquainted with a member of the church or congregation to be on speaking terms; yet, at times, my sense of guilt was overwhelming, and oh for a friend I *Say not ye, There are yet four months, and then cometh harvest?... Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already unto harvest*” Could there be better evidence that he realized a Christian’s duty, and that he wanted every Christian to do that duty?

In the country neighborhood where this new worker for Christ had his present home, the church and Sunday-school were closed, and there was no one to lead in an effort for their re-opening. So he opened the Sunday-school, and soon had sixty pupils connected with it He was superintendent and principal teacher, and was a blessing in that neighborhood. He asked if I could not come up and show him what to do, and how to do it Accordingly, I 41

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went to his home and field, in Vermont, and was gladdened by what I saw of his faithful work among needy souls. But I felt that I had learned more from him than he had from me.

How many souls there are waiting and longing to be blessed, as that Vermont boy watted and longed in his first year away from home! One day, on Broadway, I noticed a crowd about a little child. Pushing in among others, I saw that it was a strayed child. He was lost, and he knew no way of finding himself or his dear ones. Seeing my look of tender sympathetic interest in him, the child looked up, and stretched out his hand to me, saying, in pleading tones, “Won’t you please to show me my way home?” That cry has been sounding in my ears ever since, when I find myself near a wandering soul like that Vermont boy in the city, and like others who are about us on every side, as we ride and as we walk. There is work enough to do for Christ if only we

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will help the individuals near us who need our help, and who are ready to be helped.

It is a singular fact that many a Chris-* tian father, who can speak freely on the subject of personal religion to a stranger, or to an ordinary neighbor or acquaintance, seems to shrink from a direct word on this subject with his own child. This is, in a sense, like the feeling of the preacher who can freely make, from the pulpit, appeals for Christ to a large congregation, but who, somehow, feels restrained from urging a single individual, as he is face to face with him, to surrender himself to Christ I have had evidence of this fact, in many a case, to my surprise; and I have been even asked by godly fathers to speak on this subject to their children, because they felt themselves incompetent to do so. To think of it! A Christian father hesitating to speak with his own child about the Saviour who loves them both, and whom the child needs. 43

One Sunday evening, when I was at the house of a New England clergyman, where I was to pass the night, I was speaking to him of his son, whom I had seen, and who had impressed me favorably. The father said that his son was a good boy, but he was entirely ignorant of his attitude toward Christ He had never passed a word with him on this subject. His son seemed to be no more to his father, so far as this was concerned, than was any member of his congregation who had never called at the pastor’s study for religious conversation, or had “risen for prayers” in a church prayer-meeting.

The next morning, as I was to drive several miles to take an early train to my city home, I was glad to find that this son was to accompany me. While it was yet too early for us to see each other’s faces, as we sat on the same seat as we drove, it was not too early for us to come very near to each other in an earnest talk about our common duty and privileges in Christ I 44

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found my young friend ready and glad to talk on the subject He evidently wanted to trust himself to Christ, only he was not quite sure of the way to do it As I pointed the plain path to him, and urged his entering it, he seemed more than glad to trust himself to the Saviour heartily, and at once.

When we reached our destination for the morning, the young man thanked me warmly, and, as we clasped hands heartily in parting, I felt that it had been a profitable morning for both of us; and I thanked God that I had the priceless privilege of. helping that youth into the kingdom, as he had evidentiy long been needing and waiting to be helped.

Some time after this, I addressed, on a Sunday evening, the students in one of our great universities. At the close of the service a student came up to me, calling me by name. It was that young man. He reminded me gratefully of our talk as we drove to the station that winter’s morning. 4S

His resolve of then had never wavered He was well along in his course to the Christian ministry. In that ministry I hope that he endeavored to reach the one person near him by a timely word for Christ, as a more important and more hopeful work for Christ than a general <ippeal, however earnest, to a whole congregation. In any event, it was in that very way that he was won.

When God brings us alongside of one whom we may help, or may feel a responsibility for, we are not to consider the obstacles, or difficulties, in the way. God will take care of them. Nor are we to be hindered by religious or denominational differences that seem to stand between us and him. The question is not whether he is a Roman Catholic, or a Jew, a Muhammadan, a Mormon, a Maronite, or an infideL But the one question is. Can we evidence to him, in such a way as to impress on him, and to deepen his sense of their 46

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preciousness, the surpassing love of God and the blessed fulness of the spirit of Christ? We are not to risk the repelling of him by making prominent the things wherein we differ; but we are to approach him at the one” point of contact/* that from a connection at that point the electric current of sympathy may quiver to the extremities of his very being.

In my limited experience with humanity I have had occasion to meet and converse as to personal religion with individuals of every one of the above-named religions, or non-religion, as well as with many others; and I have never found our differences a real barrier to our converse or to the cordial recognition of our real heart sympathy. “Every heart is human,” and God’s love is suited to the need of every human heart Our duty is to follow God’s lead, nothing doubting.

One winter Sunday morning, in a country place in Eastern Massachusetts, I found myself a guest in the home of the 47 superintendent of a Sunday-school, at the anniversary of which I was to speak in the afternoon. In the forenoon of that day I was to address a congregation several miles from my present stopping-place. My host was to send me over, in his home team, for my forenoon appointment Accordingly I found myself that very cold day, tucked in, under a heavy robe, in close quarters, in the buggy, with the Irish driven It was evident that that man was just then the every creature** in the world for me to teach the gospel to, and I had no right to expect a blessing on my labors for the rest of the day if I &iled in my duty to him while on my way to my next appointment

To begin with, I told my seat-mate whither and why I was going. This was to indicate my confidence in him. Then I said, as showing my interest in him and his standpoint: You are a Catholic, I suppose.** “Yes, sir,” was his reply, with a tone 48

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that seemed to indicate a conscious barrier between us,

I at once spoke of several Roman Catholic bishops and priests with whom I was intimate, and whom I valued, and then asked,

“Have you a Catholic Church in the village?” — which we had just left.

“There is no church there yet, sir. But a priest comes over once in four weeks, and says mass.’’

“When is the next time for his coming?” I asked.

He’s there to-day, sir.**

••Then I’m keeping you away from
mass. How sorry I am for this I ‘*

“OhI it’s all right, sir. I’m glad to go with you, sir.”

We were on the same plane by this time. It was now my duty to improve this advantage. And I began:

*’ You say you’re a Catholic; are you a

good Catholic? Do you honestly love

God, and trust your blessed Saviour, as you

are taught, by your church, is your duty?”

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•^I’m afraid I’m not a good Catholic, sir. I’m afraid I do not do my duty.”

What better start could you ask for an earnest talk with a nominal Protestant, if he were known to be cold and indifferent, or a backslider, and you wanted to arouse him to deep and intense feeling in the truth of truths? At this starting-point I pressed home the truth:

“My friend, when we think of what the blessed Jesus did for us, how he left his glorious home in heaven, and became a babe in a manger to begin with, and then toiled on here and suffered for years, and was despised and rejected of men, and was crucified and died, in proof of his love for us, and of his Father’s love, in order that we can be saved, is it asking or expecting too much of us that we should show our gratitude in the little things that Christ asks of us?”

“No, sir, it is not.”

And of this sacred theme we talked together pleasantly, on that carriage seat, 50

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that Sunday morning, until we reached our destination. My new host, a clergyman, welcomed me to his home, while he directed the driver, with his horse, to the stable. On entering the parsonage, I said to the pastor that, as the day was very cold, I should be glad to have the driver invited into the kitchen out of the cold Accordingly, he went to the bam to invite the man in. Returning, the pastor told me that the man said he wished to go to the church to hear the gentleman preach that he had just brought over.

As I rose in the pulpit, I saw my seat-mate of the morning facing me in a pew. What he had heard from me about his Saviour, and about his duty to that Saviour, had apparently sharpened his appetite for more. I confess that some of the words of my address that morning were for that one hearer, rather than for the body of the congregation. Then, as at many times before and since, one person was more to me than many persons. As, 51 ln^M^ttal Wotk

at noon, we drove back together, our conversation was again on the theme of themes, with fresh comments on phases of it about which I had talked, in his hearing, from the pulpit

On thinking the day’s work over at its close, I realized, not that a Protestant and a Roman Catholic had found much that they could talk about together to their mutual spiritual profit, but that we two, who had met together as seat-mates on that cold Sunday morning’s ride, might have been profited by the talk, even had we been two Presbyterian elders in conference in revival time. **Go, and do thou likewise’