The Scotter Circuit 3.

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Transcription of article published in the Primitive Methodist Magazine by Rev. John Graham

IN the various departments of our work on the Scotter Circuit no less than a hundred religious services are held every week. Each and all involve considerable care and toil. Although the Circuit is fairly wide, it is compact. Extending fifteen miles from north to south, it is equidistant from the eastern to the western borders. Scotter itself is almost central, and the roads radiate from it rather more irregularly than the spokes from the hub of a wheel. Modern methods of travel have drawn the segments closer together; roads are good; a cyclist may journey nearly everywhere without the necessity of dismounting. In this well-defined area are eighteen villages, and our flag is unfurled in every one of them. They are marshalled in quick succession, link by link, without a hiatus. In all the past century there has never been one lapsed cause. Our fathers did their work right well. Each of the unpretentious chapels is the light and inspiration of the village, a fount of joy, and a sweet influence. Many of the villagers have only two supreme interests in life; one is the daily routine of work, the other the welfare of their little Christian community.

Flowing through the Circuit is a stream of religious life, which may be quiet, but it is also very deep. An insatiable hunger exists for the Word of Life. The demand for good sermons is always in excess of the supply. The folks meet and listen in a stillness which is ever the best applause. No preacher keeps back his best, nor fears to waste his sweetness, especially if he turns on the tap of the pure evangel of Christ. The message of Good News is invariably appreciated. As proof thereof the broken sentences of the preacher will be transformed in the after-meeting in the alembic of holy and devout hearts, and he will be utterly amazed to hear how his hodden grey in the prayers of saints is fringed with scarlet and with gold. Every Lord’s Day the Gospel is proclaimed to about three thousand souls, and on special occasions very many more. Week night services are well sustained. In the larger villages a hundred may be present, and the meeting will go with a swing. One hamlet Church has only seven or eight members; a few scattered houses flank George Eliot’s Floss, but the minister seldom discourses to less than thirty people. This diminutive sanctuary is hardly built on terra firma, for as the preacher waxes towards his peroration he may hear the roar of the Aegir, and feel the swish of its impact against the chapel walls. Blessed is the man who previous to that rising has felt the overflow of soul that gives the lips full speech, for he will pass into the experience of the poet:—

“Oft when the Word is on me to deliver,
Lifts the illusion and the truth lies bare;
Desert or throng, the city or the river,
Melts in a lucid paradise of air.”

As the sylvan year circles round to the golden autumn the wheels of the Circuit begin to revolve for a series of harvest festivals. Arrangements are made for sermons, song-services, meetings, sales, suppers, and what not. The weather is usually superb, the sun seeming to stand still in the heavens. Gladness is in every heart. “They joy before Thee according to the joy in harvest.” The ministers have a busy time at this season, going out early, getting back late. The generous people, lavish in thankfulness, bring gifts of fruits, flowers, and vegetables, and beautify the chapel to their heart’s content. In Zion appears a carnival of colour and comestible, and familiar scenes are transformed as by the magic wand of Harun-al-Rascid, How gorgeous now the sights, the perfumes how sweet! Perhaps the most wonderful thing is the alacrity of the givers of such good things to spend their last bawbee in buying them back again. Then follows a supper of rabbit and chicken-pies with bushels of potatoes. Had the author of “Neddy Jacques” ever been present at one of these suppers his adorning of the scene would not have been the outward adorning of turnips and carrots, but the ornament of the pure and fervent love which prompted the gifts.

Another enterprise of the Circuit is the celebration of the missionary anniversaries. Every Church plays its part as is fitting. Six or seven deputations successively arrive in tall hats, frock coats, and bursting bags. The old and young are overawed. These opulent urban brethren are accustomed to ride in tram-cars and seldom get beyond the range of the city lamps. At home they switch on the electric light when the MS. of the sermon may be arrayed in glory before them. In the course of one short week at Scotter they learn a few things. Light has marvellously diffusive power. To be sure a good deal of interest is manifested in the villages in this annual effort for the Missionary Society. Children ply their cards; ladies their bags and boxes. A holy rivalry to excel reigns. The Circuit ministers are on their mettle in presence of the city pastors, and the rafters ring with home and imported eloquence. The innocent devices employed to swell the funds !. On one occasion at a place embalmed in Mr. Kendall’s history the collection fell a little short of the previous year. The chairman was a bachelor, westward of fifty. He had given a generous donation, but when he heard there was a trifle short he said: “We must make it up.” The Superintendent rose in his rural simplicity and replied: “Yes, it is high time you did make it up.” The house rocked with laughter, and the second collection realized twice as much as the first. Thus goes home the random shaft, when the best laid scheme  “gangs oft agley.”

In the winter time attention is given to Revival Services, to School and Endeavour Conventions, and to the ordination of Local Preachers. And what more need we say? For the time would fail to tell of Class Meetings, of Prayer Meetings, of Temperance Meetings and of pastoral work in the homes of the people. All exercise a good influence, and build up the Kingdom of God. Maybe some of the methods are old-fashioned, but they are apostolic. For

“Let no man think that sudden in a minute
All is accomplished and the work is done;
Though with thine earliest dawn thou shouldest begin it,
Scarce were it ended in thy setting sun.”

The type of Christian character generally prevalent on the Circuit is the Pietistic. A close union with Christ is manifest; a quiet spiritual exaltation; a deep assurance of peace with God. The Bible is most lovingly-handled and well-known. This goodly treasure is explored from Genesis to Revelation, both in its main thoroughfares and obscure by-paths. Let a preacher begin a quotation from the Sacred Volume, before he is half through with it he sees the lips of a silver-haired saint whispering it to the satisfaction of his soul. The highest of all criticism is well known and practised here: that criticism that gets beyond the grammar and lexicon to the spiritual residuum where “deep calleth unto deep at the sound of His water-spouts.” The mystic ever has a language of his own, “the language of Canaan,” and there are many mystics ’mong the Lincolnshire meadows, many Galileans, many good scholars in the School of Christ, many learned in the deep things of God. Episcopus going on his way to an appointment may wave his hand to a busy toiler in the stubbly field, and be dead certain that Hebrews xi, or the text of last Sunday’s sermon is working like yeast in the good soul. Our Christian faith takes such deep root downward, and bears such rich fruit upward.

A spirit of love and unity runs through the whole of these rural Churches. The members and the officials alike take a pride in the old station. They sacrifice time and wages to be present at their Quarterly Meeting. They are loyal to the Connexion. They support every institution of our Zion. They prize proprietary rights in the preachers. They are familiar with the names of our missionaries. They love to see and hear a famous man. They may stealthily try on his hat in the vestry to gauge the measure of his genius. They read our literature, and find pleasure and profit in it. In sum, they love the House of God; the people of God, the Word of God. And as experience clarifies the vision one is enabled to see that that is the reason they flourish like a thousand vines at a thousand silverlings,

References

Primitive Methodist Magazine 1917/697