The Rev. Paul Ford was sick at heart. Month by month, for a year past, conditions in the parish under him had been growing worse and worse; until it seemed that now, turn which way he would[148], he encountered only wrangling, backbiting, scandal, and jealousy. He had argued, pleaded, rebuked, and ignored by turns; and always and through all he had prayed earnestly, hopefully. But today miserably he was forced to own that matters were no better, but rather worse.
Two of his deacons were at swords points[149] over a silly something that only endless brooding had made of any account. Three of his most energetic women workers had withdrawn from the Ladies Aid Society because a tiny spark of gossip had been fanned by wagging tongues into a devouring flame of scandal. The choir had split over the amount of solo work given to a fanciedly preferred singer. Even the Christian Endeavor Society was in a ferment of unrest owing to open criticism of two of its officers. As to the Sunday school it had been the resignation of its superintendent and two of its teachers that had been the last straw, and that had sent the harassed minister to the quiet woods for prayer and meditation.
Under the green arch of the trees the Rev. Paul Ford faced the thing squarely. To his mind, the crisis had come. Something must be done and done at once. The entire work of the church was at a standstill. The Sunday services, the week-day prayer meeting, the missionary teas, even the suppers and socials were becoming less and less well-attended. True, a few conscientious workers were still left. But they pulled at cross purposes[150], usually; and always they showed themselves to be acutely aware of the critical eyes all about them, and of the tongues that had nothing to do but to talk about what the eyes saw.
And because of all this, the Rev. Paul Ford understood very well that he (Gods minister), the church, the town, and even Christianity itself was suffering; and must suffer still more unless
Clearly something must be done, and done at once. But what?
Clearly something must be done, and done at once. But what?
Slowly the minister took from his pocket the notes he had made for his next Sundays sermon. Frowningly he looked at them. His mouth settled into stern lines, as aloud, very impressively, he read the verses on which he had determined to speak:
But woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye shut up the kingdom of heaven against men: for ye neither go in yourselves, neither suffer ye them that are entering to go in.
Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye devour widows houses, and for a pretence make long prayer: therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation.
Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye pay tithe of mint and anise and cummin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith: these ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone.
It was a bitter denunciation. In the green aisles of the woods, the ministers deep voice rang out with scathing effect. Even the birds and squirrels seemed hushed into awed silence. It brought to the minister a vivid realization of how those words would sound the next Sunday when he should utter them before his people in the sacred hush of the church.
His people! they WERE his people. Could he do it? Dare he do it? Dare he not do it? It was a fearful denunciation, even without the words that would follow his own words. He had prayed and prayed. He had pleaded earnestly for help, for guidance. He longed oh, how earnestly he longed! to take now, in this crisis, the right step. But was this the right step?
Slowly the minister folded the papers and thrust them back into his pocket. Then, with a sigh that was almost a moan, he flung himself down at the foot of a tree, and covered his face with his hands.
It was there that Pollyanna, on her way home from the Pendleton house, found him. With a little cry she ran forward.
Oh, oh, Mr. Ford! You YOU havent broken YOUR leg or or anything, have you? she gasped.
The minister dropped his hands, and looked up quickly. He tried to smile.
No, dear no, indeed! Im just resting.
Oh, sighed Pollyanna, falling back a little. Thats all right, then. You see, Mr. Pendleton HAD broken his leg when I found him but he was lying down, though. And you are sitting up.
Yes, I am sitting up; and I havent broken anything that doctors can mend.
The last words were very low, but Pollyanna heard them. A swift change crossed her face. Her eyes glowed with tender sympathy.
I know what you mean something plagues you[151]. Father used to feel like that, lots of times. I reckon ministers do most generally. You see theres such a lot depends on em, somehow.
The Rev. Paul Ford turned a little wonderingly.
Was YOUR father a minister, Pollyanna?
Yes, sir. Didnt you know? I supposed everybody knew that. He married Aunt Pollys sister, and she was my mother.
Oh, I understand. But, you see, I havent been here many years, so I dont know all the family histories.
Yes, sir I mean, no, sir, smiled Pollyanna.
There was a long pause. The minister, still sitting at the foot of the tree, appeared to have forgotten Pollyannas presence. He had pulled some papers from his pocket and unfolded them; but he was not looking at them. He was gazing, instead, at a leaf on the ground a little distance away and it was not even a pretty leaf. It was brown and dead.
Pollyanna, looking at him, felt vaguely sorry for him.
It its a nice day, she began hopefully.
For a moment there was no answer; then the minister looked up with a start.
What? Oh! yes, it is a very nice day.
And tisnt cold at all, either, even if tis October, observed Pollyanna, still more hopefully. Mr. Pendleton had a fire, but he said he didnt need it. It was just to look at. I like to look at fires, dont you?
There was no reply this time, though Pollyanna waited patiently, before she tried again by a new route.
Do you like being a minister?
The Rev. Paul Ford looked up now, very quickly.
Do I like Why, what an odd question! Why do you ask that, my dear?
Nothing only the way you looked. It made me think of my father. He used to look like that sometimes.
Did he? The ministers voice was polite, but his eyes had gone back to the dried leaf on the ground.
Yes, and I used to ask him just as I did you if he was glad he was a minister.
The man under the tree smiled a little sadly.
Well what did he say?
Oh, he always said he was, of course, but most always he said, too, that he wouldnt STAY a minister a minute if twasnt for the rejoicing texts.
The WHAT? The Rev. Paul Fords eyes left the leaf and gazed wonderingly into Pollyannas merry little face.
Well, thats what father used to call em, she laughed. Of course the Bible didnt name em that. But its all those that begin Be glad in the Lord, or rejoice greatly, or shout for joy, and all that, you know such a lot of em. Once, when father felt specially bad, he counted em. There were eight hundred of em.
Eight hundred!
Yes that told you to rejoice and be glad, you know; thats why father named em the rejoicing texts.
Oh! There was an odd look on the ministers face. His eyes had fallen to the words on the top paper in his hands But woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! And so your father liked those rejoicing texts, he murmured.
Oh, yes, nodded Pollyanna, emphatically. He said he felt better right away[152], that first day he thought to count em. He said if God took the trouble to tell us eight hundred times to be glad and rejoice, He must want us to do it SOME. And father felt ashamed that he hadnt done it more. After that, they got to be such a comfort to him, you know, when things went wrong; when the Ladies Aiders got to fight I mean, when they DIDNt AGREE about something, corrected Pollyanna, hastily. Why, it was those texts, too, father said, that made HIM think of the game he began with ME on the crutches but he said twas the rejoicing texts that started him on it.
And what game might that be?[153] asked the minister.
About finding something in everything to be glad about, you know. As I said, he began with me on the crutches. And once more Pollyanna told her story this time to a man who listened with tender eyes and understanding ears.
A little later Pollyanna and the minister descended the hill, hand in hand. Pollyannas face was radiant. Pollyanna loved to talk, and she had been talking now for some time: there seemed to be so many, many things about the game, her father, and the old home life that the minister wanted to know.
At the foot of the hill their ways parted, and Pollyanna down one road, and the minister down another, walked on alone.
In the Rev. Paul Fords study that evening the minister sat thinking. Near him on the desk lay a few loose sheets of paper his sermon notes. Under the suspended pencil in his fingers lay other sheets of paper, blank his sermon to be[154]. But the minister was not thinking either of what he had written, or of what he intended to write. In his imagination he was far away in a little Western town with a missionary minister who was poor, sick, worried, and almost alone in the world but who was poring over the Bible to find how many times his Lord and Master had told him to rejoice and be glad.
After a time, with a long sigh, the Rev. Paul Ford roused himself, came back from the far Western town, and adjusted the sheets of paper under his hand.
Matthew, twenty-third; 1314 and 23, he wrote; then, with a gesture of impatience, he dropped his pencil and pulled toward him a magazine left on the desk by his wife a few minutes before. Listlessly his tired eyes turned from paragraph to paragraph until these words arrested them:
A father one day said to his son, Tom, who, he knew, had refused to fill his mothers woodbox that morning: Tom, Im sure youll be glad to go and bring in some wood for your mother. And without a word Tom went. Why? Just because his father showed so plainly that he expected him to do the right thing. Suppose he had said: Tom, I overheard what you said to your mother this morning, and Im ashamed of you. Go at once and fill that wood-box! Ill warrant that woodbox would be empty yet, so far as Tom was concerned!