Decatur Democrat, Volume 43, Number 38, Decatur, Adams County, 30 November 1899 — Page 10

| IN HIS STEPS. ! |fT| H • - • «k» •—- QB ::; -What WouKt I I S Ji <3csus Do?” t I I : - ■;t — ■• By Charles M. Sheldon. £ EB* '• ..> ' f- *3*/ ' . . Copyrighted and published in book form by the ♦ ."' < '*'* . . Advance Publishing Co, of Chicago. <-♦> ■• • • •> • YX .*. . ... . . . . . . . . . . .... . .

CHAPTER I. For hereunto were ye called; because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, that ye should follow his steps. It was Friday morning, and the Rev. Henry Maxwell was trying to finish his Sunday morning sermon. He had been interrupted several times and was growing nervous as the morning wore away and the sermon grew very slowly toward a satisfactory finish. “Mary, ’’ he called to his wife as he went up stairs after the last interruption. “if any one comes after this I wish yon would say that I am very busy and cannot come down unless it is something very important. ” “Yes. Henry. But I am going over to visit the kindergarten, and you will have the house all to yourself. ” The minister went up into his study and shut the door In a few minutes he heard his wife go out. He settled himself at his desk with a sigh of relief and began to write. His text was from I Peter ii, 21. “For hereunto were ye called; because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, that ye should follow his steps. ” He had emphasized in the first part of his sermon the atonement as a personal sacrifice, calling attention to the ; fact of Jesus’ suffering in various ways, [ in his life as well as in his death. He had gone on to emphasize the atone-1 ment from the side of example, giving j illustrations from the life and teaching of Jesus to show how faith in the Christ helped to save men because of the pattern or character he displayed for their imitation. He was now on the third and last point, the necessity of following Jesus in his sacrifice and example. He had just put down. “(3) Steps—what are they?’’ and was about to enumerate them in logical order when the bell rang sharply. It was one of those clockwork bells and always went off as a clock might go if it tried to strike 12 all at once. Henry Maxwell sat at his desk and frowned a little. He made no movement to answer the bell. Very soon it rang again Then he rose and walked over to one of his windows, which commanded a view of the front door. A man was standing on the steps. He was a young man very shabbily dressed. “Looks like a tramp. ” said the minister. "I suppose I’ll have to go down, and"— He did not finish the sentence, but went down stairs and opened the front door There was a moment's pause as the two men stood facing each other. Then the shabby looking young man said “I'm out of a job. sir. and thought maybe you might put me in the way of getting something.' "I don’t know of anything. Jobs are scarce," replied the minister, beginning to shut the door slowly. “I didn't know but you might perhaps be able to give me a line to the city railway or superintendent of the shops or something.'' continued the young man. shifting his faded hat from one hand to the other nervously.

•‘lt would be of no use. You will have to excuse me. I am very busy this morning. I hope you will find something Sorry 1 can't give you something to do here. But I keep only a horse and a cow and do the work myself. •' The Rev. Henry Maxwell closed the door and heard the man walk down the steps. As he went up into his study he saw from his hall window that the man was going slowly down the street, still holding his hat between his hands There was something in the figure so dejected, homeless and forsaken that the minister hesitated a moment as he stood looking at it. Then he turned to his desk and with a sigh began the writing where he had left off. He had no more interruptions, and when his wife came in two hours later the sermon was finished, and the loose leaves were gathered up and neatly tied together and laid on his Bible, all ready for the Sunday morning service. “A queer thing happened at the kindergarten this morning. Henry. " said his wife while they were eating dinner “You know. I went over with Mrs. Brown to visit the school, and just after the gathes, while the children were at the tables, the door opened, and a young man came in. holding a dirty hat in both hands. He sat down near the door and never said a word, only looked at the children. He was evidently a tramp, and Miss Wren and her assistant, Miss Kyle, were a little frightened at first, but he sat there very quietly, and after a few minutes he went out” “Perhaps he was tired and wanted to rest somewhere. The same man called here. I think. Did you say he looked like a tramp?' “Ves. very dusty, shabby and generally tramplike—not more than 39 or 33 years old. I should say. " “The same man.” said the Rev Henry Maxwell thoughtfully “Did yon finish your sermon. Henry?” his wife asked after a *“iuse. “Yes. all done. It has been a very busy week with me. The two sermons cost me a. good deal of labor. " They will be appreciated by a large audience tomorrow. I hope." replied his wife, smiling “What are you going to preach about in the morning?” “Following Christ I take up the

atonement under the heads of sacrifice and example and then show the steps needed to follow his sacrifice and example. “I am sure it is a good sermon. I hope it won't rain Sunday. We have had so many rainy days lately.” “Yes . the audiences have been quite small for some time. People will not come out to church in a storm. ” The Rev. Henry Maxwell sighed as he said it. He was thinking of the careful, laborious efforts he had made in prepar- ; ing sermons for large audiences that failed to appear. But Sunday morning dawned on the town of Raymond one of those perfect days that sometimes come after long periods of wind and rain and mud. The air was clear and bracing, the sky was free from all threatening signs, and every one in Henry Maxwell's parish prepared to go to church. When the service opened at 11 o’clock, the large building was filled with an audience of the best dressed, most comfortable looking people in Raymond. The First church of Raymond be lieved in having the best music that money could buy, and its quartet choir this morning was a great source of pleasure to the congregation. The anthem was inspiring. All the music was in keeping with the subject of the sermon. And the anthem was an elaborate adaptation to the most modern music, of the hymn: Jesus, I my cross have taken. All to leave and follow thee. Just before the sermon the soprano sang a solo, the well known hymn Where he leads me I will follow. I’ll go with him, with him all the way. Rachel Winslow looked very beautiful that morning as she stood up behind the screen of carved oak which was significantly marked with the emblems of the cross and the crown. Her voice was even more beautiful than her face, and that meannt a great deal. There was a general rusti? of expectation over the audience as she arose. Henry Maxwell settled himself contentedly behind the pulpit. Rachel Winslow’s singing always helped him. He generally arranged for a song before the sermon. It made possible a certain inspiration of feeling that he knew made his delivery more impressive. People said to themselves they had never heard such singing even in the First church. It is certain that if it had not been a church service her solo would have been vigorously applauded It even seemed to Henry Maxwell when she sat down that something like an attempted clapping of hands or striking of feet on the floor swept through the church. He was startled by it. As he rose, however, and laid his sermon on the open Bible he said to himself he had been deceived. Os course it could not occur In a few moments he was absorbed in his sermon, and everything else was forgotten in the pleasure of the deliverv.

No one had ever accused Henry Maxwell of being a dull preacher. On the contrary, he had often been charged with being sensational, not in what he said so much as in his way of saying it. But the First church people liked that. It gave their preacher and their parish a pleasant distinction that was agreeable. It was also true that the pastor of the First church loved to preach. He seldom exchanged. He was eager to be in his own pulpit when Sunday came. There was an exhilarating half hour for him as he stood facing a church full of people and knew that he had a hear ing. He was peculiarly sensitive to variations in the attendance. He never preached well before-a small audience. The weather also affected him decidedly. He was at his best before just such an audience as faced him now. on just such a morning He felt a glow of satisfaction as he went on. The church was the first in the city. It had the best choir. It had a membership composed of the leading people, representatives of the wealth, society and intelligence of Raymond. He was going abroad on a three months' vacation in the summer. and the circumstances of his pastorate. his influence and his position as pastor cf the first church in the city— It is not certain that the Rev. Henry Maxwell knew just how he could carry on all that thought in connection with his sermon, but as he drew near the end of it he knew that he had at some point in his delivery had all these feelings. They had entered into the very substance of his thought It might have been all in a few seconds of time, but he had been conscious of defining his position and his emotions as well as if he had held a soliloquy, and his delivery partook of the thrill of deep personal satisfaction. The sermon was interesting. It was full of striking sentences. They would have commanded attention printed. Spoken with the passion of a dramatic utterance that had the good taste never to offend with a suspicion of ranting or declamation, they were very effective. If the Rev. Henry Maxwell that morning felt satisfied with the conditions of his pastorate, the parish of First church also had a similar feeling as it congratulated itself on the presence in the pulpit of this scholarly, refined, somewhat striking face and figure, preaching with such animation and freedom from all vulgar, noisy or disagreeable mannerism.

Suddenly, into the midst of this perfect accord and concord between pseaeher and audience, there came a very remarkable interruption. It would be difficult to indicate the extent of the shock which this interruption measured. It was so unexpected, so entirely contrary to any thought of any person present, that it offered no room for argument or. for the time being, of resistance. The sermon had come to a close. The Rev. Henry Maxwell had turned the half of the big Bible over upon his manuscripts and was about to sit down as the quartet prepared to rise and sing the closing selection. All for Jesus, all for Jesus, AU my Icing’s ransomed powers, when the entire congregation was startled by the sound of a man’s voice. It came from the rear of the church, from one of the seats under the gallery. The next moment the figure of a man came out of the shadow there and walked down the middle aisle. Before the startled congregation realized what was being done the man had reached the open space in front of the pulpit and had turned about, facing the people. “I’ve been wondering since I came in here”—they were the words he used under the gallery, and he repeated them —“if it would be just the thing to say a word at the close of this service. I’m not drunk, and I'm not crazy, and I’m perfectly harmless. But if I die. as there is every likelihood I shall in a few days, I want the satisfaction of thinking that I said my say in a place like this, before just this sort of a crowd." Henry Maxwell bad not taken his seat, and he now remained standing, leaning on his pulpit, looking down at the stranger. It was the man who had come to his house Friday morning, the same dusty, worn, shabby looking young man. He held his faded hat in his two hands. It seemed to be a favorite gesture. He had not been shaved, and his hair was rough and tangled. It was doubtful if any one like this had ever confronted the First church within the sanctuary. It was tolerably familiar with this sort of humanity out on the street, around the railroad shops, wandering up and down the ;«genue, but it had never dreamed of such an incident as this so near. There was nothing offensive in the man’s manner or tone. He was not excited. and he spoke in a low but distinct voice. Henry Maxwell was conscious. even as he stood there smitten into dumb astonishment at the event, that somehow the man’s action reminded him of a person he had once seen walking and talking in his sleep. No one in the church made any morion to stop the stranger or in any way interrupt him. Perhaps the first shock of his sudden appearance deepened into genuine perplexity concerning what was best to do. However that may be. he went on as if he had no thought of interruption and no thought of the unusual element he had introduced into the decorum of the First church service, and ail the while he was speaking Henry Maxwell leaned over the pulpit, his face growing more white and sad every moment. But he made no movement to stop him. and the people sat smitten into breathless silence. One other face, that of Rachel Winslow, from the choir seats, stared, white and intent, down at the shabby figure with the faded hat Her face was striking at any time. Under the pressure of the present unheard of incident it was as personally distinct as if it had been framed in fire.

“I’m not an ordinary tramp, though I don’t know of any teaching of Jesus that makes one kind of a tramp less worth saving than another. Do you?’ He put the question as naturally as if the whole congregation had been a small private Bible class. He paused just a moment and coughed painfully Then he went on. “I lost tny job ten months ago. I am a printer by trade. The new linotype machines are beautiful specimens of invention, but I know six men who have killed themselves inside of the year just on account of those machines. Os course I don’t blame the newspapers for getting the machines. Meanwhile what can a man do ? I know I never learned but the one trade, and that’s all I can do. I’ve tramped all over the country trying to find something. There are a good many others like me. I’m not complaining, am I? .’st stating facts. But I was wondering, us 1 sat there under the gallery, if what you call following Jesus is the same thing as what he taught “What did he mean when he said. ‘Follow me?' The minister said”—here the man turned about and looked up at the pulpit—“that it was necessary for the disciple of Jesus to follow his steps, and he said the steps were obedience, faith, love and imitation But I did not hear him tell just what be meant that to mean, especially the last step. What do Christians mean by following the steps of Jesus? I've tramped through this city for three- days trying to find a job. and in all that time I’ve not had a word of sympathy or comfort except from your minister here, who said he was sorry for me and hoped 1 would find a job somewhere I suppose it is because you get so imposed on by the professional tramp that you have lost your interest in the other sort. I’m not blaming anybody, am I ? Just stating facts. Os course I understand you can’t all go out of your way to hunt up jobs for people like me. I'm not asking you to. but what I feel puzzled about is what is meant by following Jesus. Do you mean that you are suffering and denying yourselves and trying to save lost suffering humanity just as I understand Jesus did? What do you mean by it ? I see the ragged edge of things a good deal. I understand there are more than 500 men in this city in my case. Most of them have families. My wife died four months ago. I’m glad she is out of trouble. My little girl is staying with a printer's family until I

find a job. Somehow I get puzzled when I see so many Christians living in luxury and singing, 'Jesus, I my | cross have taken, all to leave and fol- , low thee, ’ and remember how my wife died in a tenement in New York city, gasping for air and asking God to take I the little girl too. Os course I don’t ex- | pect you people can prevent every one . from dying of starvation, lack of proper nourishment and tenement air. But what does following Jest®mean? I understand that Christian people own a good many of the tenements. A mem- I ber of a church was the owner of the | one where my wife died, and I have wondered if following Jesus all the way was true in his case. I heard some people singing at a church prayer meeting the other night.

“All for Jesus, all for Jesus, All my being’s ransomed powers, All my thoughts and all my doings, All my days and all my hours, “and I kept wondering, as I sat on the steps outside, just what they meant by it. It seems to me there’s an awful lot of trouble in the world that somehow wouldn’t exist if all the people who sing such songs went and lived them out. I suppose I don’t understand. But what would Jesus do? Is that what you mean by following his steps? It seems to me sometimes as if the people in the city churches had good clothes and nice houses to live in, and money to spend for luxuries, and could go away on summer vacations and all that, while the people outside of the churches, thousands of them, I mean, die in tenements, and walk the streets for jobs, and never have a piano or a picture in the house, and grow up in misery and drunkenness and sin. ’’ The man gave a queer lurch over in the direction of the communion table and laid one grimy hand on it. His hat fell upon the carpet at his feet. A stir went through the congregation. Dr. West half rose from his seat, but as yet the silence was unbroken by any voice or movement worth mentioning in the audience. The man passed his other hand across his eyes and then, without any warning, fell heavily forward on his face, full length, up the aisle. Henry Maxwell spoke. “We will consider the service dismissed.” He was down the pulpit stairs and kneeling by the prostrate form before any one else The audience instantly rose, and the aisle was crowded. Dr. West pronounced the man alive. He had fainted away. “Some heart trouble.” the doctor also muttered as he helped to carry him into the pastor’s study. Henry Maxwell and a group of his church members remained some time in the study. The man lay on the couch there and breathed heavily. When the question of what to do with him came up. the minister insisted upon taking him to his house. He lived near by and had an extra room. Rachel Winslow said: “Mother has no company at present. 1 am sure we would be glad to give him a place with us." She looked strangely agitated. No one noticed it particularly They were all excited over the strange event, the strangest that First church people could remember. But the minister insisted on taking charge cf the man, and when a carriage came the unconscious but living form was carried to his house, and with the entrance of that humanity into the minister’s spare room a new chapter in Henry Maxwell’s life began, and yet no one. himself least of all. dreamed of the remarkable change it was destined to make in all his after definition of Christian discipleship. The event created a great sensation in the First church parish. People talked of nothing else for a week. It was the general impression that the man had wandered into the church in a condition of mental disturbance caused by his troubles and that all the time he was talking he was in a strange delirium of fever and really ignorant of his surroundings. That was the most charitable construction to put upon his action. It was the general agreement also that there was a singular absence of anything bitter or complaining in what the man had said. He had throughout spoken in a mild, apologetic tone, almost as if he were one of the congregation seeking for light on a very difficult subject. The third day after his removal to the minister’s house there was a marked change in his condition. The doctor spoke of it and offered no hope. Saturday morning he still lingered, although he had rapidly failed as the week drew near to its close Sunday morning just before the clock struck 1 he rallied and asked if his child had come. The minister had sent for her as soon as he had been able to secure her address from some letters found in the man's pocket. He had been conscious and able to talk coherently only a few moments since his attack. "The child is coming. She will be here. ” Henry Maxwell said as he sat there, his face showing marks of the strain of the week’s vigil, for he had insisted on sitting up nearly every night.

“I shall never see her in this world.’’ the man whispered. Then he uttered with great difficulty the words: “Yon have been good to me. Somehow I feel as if it was what Jesus would do.’’ After a few moments he turned his head slightly, and before Henry Maxwell could realize the fact the doctor said. “He is gone. ” The Sunday morning that dawned on the city of Raymond was exactly like the Sunday of the week before. Henry Maxwell entered his pulpit to face one of the largest congregations that had ever crowded First church. He was haggard and looked as if he had just risen from a long illness. His wife was at home with the little girl who had come on the morning train an hour after her father died. He lay in that spare room, his troubles over, and Henry Maxwell could see the face as he opened the Bible and arranged his different notices on the side of the desk as he had been in the habit of doing for ten years The service that morning contained a new element No one could remember

when the minister had preached in the morning without notes. As a m«tt« of fact he had done so occasionally when he first entered the ministry, but for a long time he had carefully written out everv word of his morning sermon and nearly alwavs his evening discourse as well.’ It cannot be said that his sermon this morning was very striking or impressive. He talked with considerable hesitation. It was evident that some great idea struggled in his thought for utterance, but it was not expressed in the theme he had chosen for his preaching. It was near the close of hie sermon that he began to gather a certain strength that had been painfully lacking at the beginning. He closed the Bible, and. stepping out at the side of the desk, he faced his people and began to talk to them about the remarkable scene of the week before. “Our brother” —somehow the words sounded a little strange coming from Henry Maxwell’s lips—"passed away this morning. I have not yet had time to learn all his history. He had one sister living in Chicago. I have written her and have not yet received an answer. His little girl is with us and will remain for the time.”

He paused and looked over the house. He thought he had never seen so many earnest faces during the entire pastorate. He was not able yet to tell his people his experiences, the crisis through which he was even now moving, but something of his feeling passed from him to them, and it did not seem to him that he was acting under a careless impulse at all to go on and break to them this morning something of the message he bore in his heart. So he went on: “The appearance and words of this stranger in the church last Sunday made a very powerful impression on me. lam not able to conceal from you or myself the fact that what he said, followed, as it has been, by his death in my house, has compelled me to ask as I never asked before, 'What does following Jesus mean?’ I am not in a position yet to utter any condemnation of this people or. to a certain extent, cf myself, either in our Christlike relations to this man or the number he represents in the world. Bnt all that does not prevent me from feeling that much that the man said was so vitally true that we must face it in an attempt to answer it or else stand condemned as Christian disciples. A good deal that was said here last Sunday was in the nature of a challenge to Christianity as it is seen and felt in our churches. 1 have felt this with increasing emphasis every day since, and 1 do not know that any time is more appropriate than the present for me to propose a plan or a purpose which has been forming in my mind as a satisfactory reply to much that was said here last Sunday. Again Henry Maxwell paused and looked into the faces of his people There were some strong, earnest men and women in the First church. The minister could see Edward Norman, editor of the Raymond Daily News. He had been a member of First church for ten years. No man was more honored in the community. There was Alexander Powers, superintendent of the railread shops. There was Donald Marsh, president of Lincoln college, situated in the suburbs of Raymond. There was Milton Wright, one of the great merchants of Raymond, having in his employ at least 100 men in various shops. There was Dr. West, who, although still comparatively young, was quoted as authority in special surgical cases There was young Jasper Chase, the author, who had written one successful book and was said to be at work on a new novel. There was Miss Virginia Page, the heiress, who through the recent death of her father had inherited a million at least and was gifted with unusual attractions of person and intellect. And, not least of all, Rachel Winslow from her seat in the choir glowed with her peculiar beauty cf light this morning because she was so intensely interested in the whole scene There was some reason perhaps, in view of such material in the First church, for Henry Maxwell’s feeling of satisfaction whenever he considered his parish as he had the previous Sunday There was a large number of strong individual characters who claimed membership there. But as he noted their faces this morning Henry Maxwell was simply wondering how many of them would respond to the strange proposition he was about to make. He continued slowly, taking time to choose his words carefully and giving the people an impression they had never felt before, even when he was at his best, with his most dramatic delivery. “What I am going to propose now is something which ought not to appear unusual or at all impossible of execution. yet I am aware that it will be so regarded by a large number perhaps of the members of the church. But. in order that may have a thorough understanding of what we are considering. I will put my proposition very plainly, perhaps bluntly. I want volunteers from the First church who will pledge themselves earnestly and honestly for an entire year not to do anything without first asking the question. •What would Jesus do?' And after asking that question each one will follow Jesus as exactly as he knows how, no matter what the results may be. I will, of course, include myself in this company of volunteers and shall take for granted that n-.y church here will not be surprised at my future conduct as based upon this standard of action and will not oppose whatever is done if they think Christ would do it Have I made my meaning clear ? At the close of the service here I want all those members of the church who are willing to join such a company to remain, and we will talk over the details of the plan. Our motto will be, ‘What would Jesus do?’ Our aim will be to act just as he would if he were in our places, regardless of immediate results. In other words, we propose to follow Jesus’ steps as closely and as literally as we believe

he taught his disciples to do. And h. ' w-ho volunteer to do this will themselves for an entire year ning with today, so to act ” ’ , M^ We u r T ßed ,wain and looked over his church. It i 8 not 1 to describe the sensation that sna/ simple proposition apparently madß a Men glanced at one another in astZ ishment. It was not like Henry j[ a D ' well to define Christian discipleship T this way. There was evident confusj ” of thought over his proposition It w ‘ understood well enough, hut there J’ apparently a great difference of opinion as to the application of Jesus’ teaching and example. Henry Maxwell calmly closed the service with a brief prayer. The organ ist began his postlude immediately after the benediction, and the people be" gan to go out. There was a great deal of conversation. Animated groups stood all over the church discussing the minister’s proposition. It was evidently provoking great discussion. After several minutes Henry Maxwell asked all who expected to remain to pass into the lecture room on the side. He him self was detained at the front of the church talking with several persons there, and when he finally turned around the church was empty. He walked over to the lecture room entrance and went in. He was almost startled to see the people who were there. He had not made up his mind about any of his members but he had hardly expected that so many were ready to enter into such a literal testing of their discipleship as now awaited them. There were perhaps 50 members present. Among them were Rachel Winslow and Virginia Page, Mr. Norman. President Marsh, Alexander Powers, the railroad superintendent; Milton Wright. Dr. West and Jasper Chase. The pastor closed the door of the lecture room and stood before the little group. His face was pale, and his lips trembled with emotion. It was to him a genuine crisis in his own life and that of his parish. No man can tell until he is moved by the Divine Spirit what he may do or how he may change the current of a lifetime of fixed habits of thought and speech and action. Henry Maxwell did not. as we have said, yet know himself all that he was passing through, but he was conscious of a great upheaval in his definitions of Christian discipleship, and he was moved with a depth of feeling he could not measure as he looked into the faces of these men and women on this occasion.

It seemed to him that the most fitting word to be spoken first was that of prayer. He asked them all to pray with him. and almost with the first syllable he uttered there was a distinct presence of the Spirit felt by them all As the prayer went on this presence grew in power. They all felt it. The room was filled with it as plainly as if it had been visible. When the prayer closed, there was a silence that lasted several moments. All the heads were bowed. Henry Maxwell's face was wet with tears. If an audible voice from heaven had sanctioned their pledge to follow the Master’s steps, not one person present could have felt more certain of the Divine blessing. And so the most serious movement ever started in the First church of Raymond was begun. “We all understand.” said Henry Maxwell, speaking very quietly, "what we have undertaken to do. We pledge ourselves to do everything in our daily lives after asking the question, ‘What would Jesus do?' regardless of what may be the result to us. Some time I shall be able to tell you what a marvelous change has come over my life within a week’s time. I cannot now. But the experience I have been through since* last Sunday has left me so dissatisfied with my previous definition of discipleship that I have been compelled to take thio action. I did not dare begin it alone. I know that I am being led by the hand of Divine love in all this. The same Divine impum? must have led you also. Do we under-an 1 fully what we have undertaken .” “I want to ask a question.” said Rachel Winslow. Every one turned toward her. Her face glowed with a beauty that no loveliness could ever create. “1 am a little in doubt as to the source of our knowledge concerning what Jesus would do. Who is to decide for me just what he would do in my case? It is a different age. There are many perplexing questions in our civilization that are not mentioned in the teaching of Jesus. How am I going to tell what he would do?” “There is no way that I know of. replied Mr. Maxwell, "except as we study Jesus through the medium of the Holy Spirit. You remember what Christ said' speaking to his disciples about the Holy Spirit “ ‘Howbeit, when he. the Spirit of Truth is come, he shall guide you into all the truth, for he shall not speak from himself. But what things soever he shall hear, these shall he speak, and he shall declare unto you the things that are to come. He shall glorify me. for he shall take of mine and shall declare it unto you. All things whatsoever the Father hath are mine: therefore said I that he taketh of mine and shall declare it unto you. ’ “There is no other test that I kn* w ,of. We shall all have to decide what Jesus would do after going to that source of knowledge. ’ ’ “What if others say of us when wa do certain things that Jesus would not do so?” asked the superintendent of railroads. “We cannot prevent that, but we must be absolutely honest with our selves. The standard of Christian action cannot vary in most of our acts “And yet what one church member thinks Jesus would do another refuses to accept as his possible course of action. What is to render our conduct uniformly Christlike? Will it be possible to reach the same conclusions always in all cases?’’ asked President Marsh.