The Drill: Christian Discipline

“Each of God’s soldiers bears
A sword divine;
Stretch out thy trembling hands
To-day for thine.”

Arms and armor are all-important in secular and sacred warfare, but how to wield the one and wear the other must be learned. The God of battles seldom makes a raw soldier into a great leader all at once. Moses tarries in Horeb, and Elijah in the desert, and Paul in Arabia, to get a preparation for their work; and with forty days in the wilderness even our Lord’s ministry begins. The man we are following here was girded and disciplined in various ways. For these experiences eight years will be none too long.

Naturally enough his voice was quickly heard in the social meetings of the church. But he was a novice in religious things, and needed instruction especially in the word of God. Probably he was more ignorant of even the letter of Scripture than many a half-grown boy to-day. He had not been a member of the Sunday-school, nor a regular church attendant by any means, and little of Bible truth lay in his mind excepting such scraps and fragments as home-training might have fastened there. This deficiency he sought, far and fast as possible, to supply. In the brewery where he was employed, he would write down on the walls in the morning two or three short texts to be committed and thought over while at his tasks. On a shelf near by, or else in his pocket, was kept a small Bible, and when there was an unoccupied moment that would be in his hands. Evenings, when no religious service claimed his time, over that same book he would bend for hours, som.etimes on his knees. Thus little by little he acquired that familiarity with the written word which he afterward displayed. Many a reader of this page will recall instances where he foiled opposers and silenced cavillers, as his Master did the tempter on the mountain, by quotations apt and irresistible.

No talent lent him was allowed to rust from disuse. Fast as he received he gave. He believed it as wrong to hoard grace as gold. Comm.union with Christ was only a holy portal through which to pass to the help of man. He began to talk with individuals about their hope; not so pointedly or skilfully as in later years, for tact and fidelity such as characterized him must partly be acquired. But from the start no one spent half an hour in his presence without being made to feel that with John Vassar religion was a real thing. In the prayer circle and in revival services he became a power. In the schoolhouses out of town, where meetings were often held, his help was sought. One such visit of his comes up as we write. It probably occurred a year or two after his conversion. It was a cold winter night, and the little old schoolhouse on the hill was packed. The Spirit of God was working in the district, and many were inquiring or rejoicing in a good hope. Others were ill at ease. Uncle John was at

home in such a place; especially at home on that panic*

iilar spot and amid the group gathered there. On these

very benches he sat in boyhood, and some of these fathers

and mothers were then by his side. The exercises of the

hour have faded from our mind, but one association of the

night remains. When the people had started homeward

along the roads or across the fields, out came ringing one

of the melodies of those days. Uncle John was leading

in the hymn, and half a dozen others were joining in,

and though they were probably half a mile away, every

word reported itself on the keen frosty air. Some who

stopped to listen thought the strains almost sweet enough

to be the echoes of celestial songs. Let the worldling

sneer or the skeptic smile at the mention of such scenes

and seasons, but we will remember the years of the right

hand of the Most High.

But there were to enter into the drill of the soldier

experiences of a sterner kind. If there is a land of Beulah for the Christian to pass through, there is a valley of

Baca too. Uncle John is to see a happy home break up,

its lights one by one go out, its members pass away, till

he is left utterly alone. He is to say like many another.

“And lonely rooms and suffering beds,
These for my training-place were given.”

Two boys, with the wife, made up his household. The younger sickened first. He died in September, 1847. The elder, a lad of nine years, an uncommonly bright and interesting child, was taken the following autumn, after an illness of but a few hours. He breathed his last in parental arms, whispering the dear Lord’s words, “Suffer the little children to come unto me.”

Under these repeated strokes the wife and mother, never strong, gave way. A year of weary wasting and patient suffering followed, and then, in November of 1849, she found the rest remaining to the people of God. That cheerless autumn night was the only time when we ever saw Uncle John even momentarily cast down. Then for half an hour he did lie down and weep like a heart-broken child. Nor was it strange. Long watching had nearly worn him out. Only four weeks previously he had closed his venerable father’s eyes for the last long sleep. The loves of earth had been breaking fast. But faith quickly rose again and rejoiced in God. The eagle flies highest not in serene but stormy skies, and the believer beats heavenward when the hours are dark and the tempest wild. The heart of the lonely man recovered soon the old peace and trust, and exulted in the Rock of his salvation. Like the needle of the mariner, deflected for an instant when a storm first strikes the ship, but swinging right and holding steady soon, the smitten soul turned to its Stay and Rest. For those who had gone it was worship. For the one left it was work yet for a little while. With soul new-braced let him go to it — new-braced by sorrow as well as joy; disciplined by loss no less than gain. He was to be a son of consolation to many a mourner in coming days. He was to minister to smitten spirits with a woman’s tenderness. He was to look into eyes dim with tears, and say, ‘’ I have been in this very pass, and know its bitterness and blessedness.”

It is of these days that his then pastor and lifelong friend, Rev. J. Hyatt Smith, writes: “Brother Vassar was a member of my first charge, and for many Sabbaths at the commencement of my ministry used to help me greatly by looking me right in the eye. One day, as soon as I began my sermon, he put his head down, and did not raise it till the sermon was finished. What it meant I could not tell. This was repeated the next Sabbath, and the next. I asked then an explanation. He replied, * Beloved, I have a better plan than looking you in the eye. I start even with you, praying while you preach; and to every appealing truth I say, “Lord, send that home. Lord, send that home.” ‘He is the only man who ever helped me by putting down his head while I preached. I drove the nail with the gospel hammer, and he clinched it with believing prayer.

“I shall ever remember how gently he would criticise my sermons, and even his rebukes were so pregnant with the love of Jesus that I was instructed and improved without a hurt.

“In going out on my first round of parish calls, I was told that I would find Brother Vassar at the brewery. I entered the building, and approaching him unobserved, saw a man standing near a great caldron of boiling hops with a book in his hand. Looking over his shoulder, I noticed that it was ‘Fox’s Book of Martyrs ’ that was being read.

“In going out of the place one of the workmen asked, ‘Did you find him V I said, * Yes.’ * Well,’ said he, ’ there is one spot in this brewery that is better than any church in Poughkeepsie, and that is where that man prays.’

“Mrs. Vassar was at the point of death. Her disease was consumption, and she feared strangulation. She therefore asked me one day to pray that she might die easily. In the sympathy of the moment I promised, but on meeting Brother Vassar in the next room, I said to him that I had made a hard promise. ‘Why T was his reply. * Because I have no faith,’ was my answer; ’ and I have no faith simply because there is no promise.’ *Why,’ said he, speaking as a man to a child (and I was only a child in experience), ’ if you were the son of a wealthy father who loved you, and would never deny you anything that was for your real good, and you needed a hundred dollars, would n’t you say, I shall have a hundred dollars, your faith springing from your father’s wealth and your father’s love i*’ God’s promise was deduced from the knowledge of God’s relation to the saint. In that day such a statement was a revelation to me. We went to prayer. Our prayer was answered. Mrs. Vassar

died

“‘As dies a wave along the shore.’”

Of this same period Mrs. R. A. Thurston, of Poughkeepsie, says:

“My acquaintance with John E. Vassar began in the spring of 1849. The first thing about the man that surprised me was, that, with his daily work and the severe sickness then existing in his home, he was able to do so much for Christ and for his fellow-men. He was a peacemaker, a comforter, a helper wherever there was need.

Were any cast down? he came with words of hope. Were any indifferent? so earnest and loving and arousing were his words, that the slumbering started into new life. Were any sick, or anxious about salvation? he quickly found it out, and was at their sides. In the social meetings, he was wonderful. In remark or prayer, his face seemed to glow as if heaven had come down, his soul and ours to greet. When we heard his clear voice leading in some sweet song of Zion, we thought that never before were so many rich gifts and graces bestowed on a single man.

“I was in the habit of frequently visiting his sick wife, and often carried some little delicacy along. The morning following her death, unaware that the end had come, I went down to the house with a pitcher containing something for her in my hand. At the door I met Brother Vassar, and asked him to take in what I had brought, that I might hasten back. Clasping his hands together, he said, * Bless the Lord! my wife is in heaven. She needs nothing more.’ I could not understand then how he -could rejoice while his dead companion lay in the still and darkened house, but I understand it now. He would not be so selfish as to let his loss outweigh her gain. He would rather rejoice and give God thanks that for her, sorrow and suffering were over, and the eternal glory reached.”

S. M. Shaw, Esq., editor of the “Freeman’s Journal,” Cooperstown, N. Y., speaking of this period in Uncle John’s life, says:

“I knew the late beloved John E. Vassar for several years previous to January i, 1849. a teacher in the Sabbath-school which I then superintended, and one of the most prompt, faithful, and successful.

“If there was a truly * holy’ man in that school or church, he was the one entitled to the appellation. He showed his love to God, not alone by a consistent walk, but by his true-hearted and unselfish love and service of his fellow-men. He was a cheerful, happy Christian, whose ever-welcome presence was sunshine. A cloud was never seen upon his face except when considering another’s trials or sufferings, and then he was ever ready with a word of comfort and cheer. In this world’s goods he was poor, but his heart was rich in love and tenderness. Of his means he was a cheerful giver. To his pastor he was a devoted friend, and he was as modest and unassuming as he was good.”

Another adds:

“Never did he seem in the least degree to lack the spirit of devotion, or to be unready for any Christian service. When all around him were cold he was at white heat, when others were dead, he was full of life. He never came to a meeting however flat and dull that after a little drooping of his head in prayer he did not lift and thrill. It was marvellous beyond expression how quickly he could turn an ebbing tide to flood.

“He had wonderful gifts, few ministers have so much natural ability. At times he was truly eloquent. His experience was rich, his memory marvellous, his use of language extraordinary, his power to rouse the people seldom equalled; and yet with all his gifts and excellencieshewas as humble as a little child. He always felt that he was the least of all saints, not meet indeed to be called a saint. He never assumed anything, distrusted himself and was ever ready to give the best place to another. He kept nothing back from his loving Lord. Whether he sang, prayed, or exhorted, it was all done in the same spirit; or whether he ate or drank or whatever he did, it all was done to the glory of God. He would come into the meeting, slip along quietly from pew to pew, find out every tender-hearted one who was seeking the Saviour, and as soon as there was a lull in the meeting, he would be heard in prayer for the dear soul who was kneeling at his side. Sometimes there would be three or four on their knees before God, all crying for mercy while he was pleading so earnestly in his simple child-like faith that God would save them. Rest was a stranger to him while souls were around him unsaved.”

Thus, by fidelity in things at home, he qualified himself for other trusts. He did not belong to that clique of religious perambulaters who are more useful anywhere else than in their own homes. He took hold with his brethren of the nearest work he found to do, and so fitted hi^self for and grew into larger tasks and broader spheres.

Eight or nine years so spent are sufficient, and he goes out now to extensive and efficient service. He has become used to the uniform, and he likes it well. He has learned how to handle the sword of the Spirit, and ward off the assaults of Satan on his shield of faith. He has skirmished with the foe, and found out his strength.

His armor has been burnished by affliction till it shines. Above all, loyalty to his Captain has become the passion of his soul. Now he is looking for a place somewhere in the lines. All he asks is a private’s position, and less than a private’s pay. He will not be kept looking long.