Covenanter Witness Vol. 53 - Rparchives.org

you."steady."now,"rejoicing."salvation.";"again."me,"They scrupulously avoided me with their eyes. Theymade a wide detour around the spot where I was.They wouldn't let me mar their day of worship, butthey had ruined mine.Days after that became a succession of nothingness. Time was the immeasurably long distance between morning and night, between night and morning. The only feeling I knew was of hunger andaching muscles. The passing world became a blur. I'dstop to rest in a doorway and somehow I'd fall asleep.I'd wander along 14th Street, or Wall Street,ordown by city hall, everywhere being ridiculed whenI asked for food. Some mornings I went around withthe fellows looting trash barrels and garbage cans.I loafed around saloons and helped myself to "freelunch"of pickles and pretzels. Then one night, whenI was desperate, I stood before the Mission and soldthe glasses the drunk had left 'behind.I lost track of the days. It seemed I'd been therealways. One morning I was standingon a cornertrying to decide which street to canvass when aneatly dressed young man stopped nearby to buy apaper."Mister."I tapped his arm. "Could you help meout? Haven't had a bite all day.""Sure."He put a dime in my hand.He looked familiar. "Why," I exclaimed, "you'rethe boy I took to the Mission !"His face lit up. "I've been looking all over forHe grabbed my hand. "I wanted to thank you.It was only because of you that I've found how goodlife can !"really beArm in arm we moved over against the buildings, and he sat down beside me on a step. "WhenI went in the Mission," he related, "they gave mefood and a bed. I didn't go much for the preachin',not the first night. But the second night a wholenew world opened up to me. God was there. I feltHis power surge all over my body ; I felt Him pushingaround inside me. For the first time in my life I feltfresh and clean. It was all so clear, and what thepreacher said was true I just know it was true.I wanted to get up and shout, and tell everybody,and I wanted to work for God. The people at theMission helped me. They gave me these clothes. Theysent me out on jobs Everybody seems nice again,and already I'm workingHis face was radiant, and somehow it rekindled agladness in my heart. I was happy, so happy for thisboy, that all I could do was smile and nod my head.Then he laid his hand on my arm. "I don'tknow what you've got against the Mission, but youought to try it. Maybe you can get back on yourfeet again,too."I smiled. A rather melancholy smile, I guess."I think it's time to do that I replied.time.""Yes, I think it'sSlowly the men filed in, and downstairs we hadwarm, heavy soup, bread, and coffee. I felt betterthan I had in days. Then we filed upstairs to thechapel. All the pews were filled and the organ beganto play. The numbness and the weariness that hadtortured me gradually began to ebb away. There wasa spirit in that hall.The men started singing, "Near to the Heartof God," and I started singing, too. My whole bodybegan to feel a warmth, and when we sat down, IOctober 20, 1954felt at home, at peace among my friends andbrothers.Pastor George Bolton stepped to the pulpit andcalled for testimonies. One man after another stoodup and related how he had been saved throughChrist. Then a man in a neatly pressed blue suitarose. He didn't stand in his place the way the othershad done, but stepped out into the aisle and turnedto face the assembled men."For a week now I haven't had a drink," hestated, "and so help me God, I shall never have adrink again. I was down for the count. Sleeping ingutters, eating from garbage cans. I felt I had tohave it."Haven't I seen him somewhere? I probed backin my mind."Nobody was ever a worse addict than hecontinued. "It ruined my life, but not any more. Iwas desperate, so I came to the Mission,and it washere I foundThe man in the cellar the man whose glassesI had sold ! Slowly that night came back to me."Through Jesus Christ I've found new life. I'mnot dead any more. I can see and feel all the wonderful things God created in this world. I've got a job.Mr. Bolton has written my wife, and she's promisedto come back. I'll see my daughterHis voicequavered. "All of us are sinners, but God is merciful.He's given me the courage and the strength for anew beginning. For this new life I give eternalthanks."Tears were running down my cheeks as he satdown. Street of Forgotten Men ? By whom forgotten ?Surely not by God. Here He was among us. Welcoming ns. Here was Christ, cleansing our hearts. Understand these men? Understand the depths of theirmisery? It is but to understand and know the ugliness, the hopelessness, of a loveless, godless world.George Bolton came back to the platform."You've tried the rest, now try the best," he invited."Step forward to the altar now. Accept the livingChrist into your hearts. Who'll be the first to pray,sinner' ?"'God, be merciful to me, aI could not help myself. I rose and stumbleddown the aisle. I had been away, a long way away,and now, like all these others, I found I could comehome again.THE LINE BETWEENFrom "Listen," usedby permission.From front pagea theological discourse. They wanted but one thingand they wanted it as the one thing needful with allholy desperation . . . not to get into a prayer-school,but rather onto PRAYING GROUND !Their need was met and "they went on theirwayBut now, what about you and I?Have we reached such a place, where the Spirit isgiven liberty to transfer prayer from the "isle ofdreams"to the "impact of deeds from being a religious momento in the Sabbath sanctuary, into avital tool and sharp instrument to be applied andworked with, "out there" on the highways and byways of life . . HAVE WE? Some of us are like thoseat Ephesus; otherwise clear and sound, yet needingto begin all over again with the elementals and vitalities of "praying always with all PRAYER and supplication in the Spirit" . . .249