PRE-07-Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Anecdotes—A Change of Heart Wanted—Scoffer Silenced—Danger of Immersion—Slanderer Reproved—Universalist Answered—Convention Quieted—Humorous Answers.

Traveling extensively as he did, and mingling with all classes of men, he had of necessity a large and varied experience. He was everywhere at home, and equal to the occasion, whatever it might be. A volume might be filled with incidents, both amusing and instructive, but a few must suffice. At one of his meetings a gentleman was deeply impressed, and told Shaw, with tears, that, if he could only experience a change of heart, he would confess Christ and be baptized immediately. He perceived at once the nature of the difficulty, which was the too common idea that a change of heart was a miraculous change, and not one produced by a belief in, and love for the Lord Jesus Christ. He asked him if he was sorry for his past sins? if he wanted to be a Christian? if he loved God? if he desired to go to heaven? if he believed with all his heart that Jesus Christ was the Son of the living God? To each of these questions, with the greatest earnestness and sincerity, he replied, “I do.” “Then,” said Shaw, “you have all the preparation needed to become a member of the Church of Christ. If your heart were changed from what it now is, you would not be sorry for your sins; you would not want to be a Christian; you would hate God; you would deny the divinity of Christ, and reject the Savior.” He at once saw his mistake, confessed his faith in Christ, and was baptized. At Dowagiac, Michigan, in 1876, the following incident took place, which shows the readiness with which he could meet and silence a scoffer. He had been invited to visit that place after his great meeting at Buchanan, Michigan, where two hundred and twenty-six additions had been made in less than a month. Of course his expected visit was the theme of common conversation, and his coming was looked for with great interest. He reached the place at a time when no one was looking for him, and at once went into a shoe-store, where he found a number of persons discussing the subject of baptism, and learned from their conversation that a meeting was in progress at the church with which he expected to labor, and that additions by baptism had been made almost daily. For some time he sat a silent listener, until one of the party said that he would go down to the river and be baptized by the “Campbellites” for a dollar. Upon this Shaw hastily took a dollar out of his pocket-book and offered it to the man who had made the above remark, saying:

“Here is your dollar; I will go down and see you baptized.” The man hesitated, and finally refused to take it; but Shaw urged him, and insisted that he should do as he had declared he would do. He then made a decided refusal, and Shaw said to him:

“I knew you were lying when you made the offer, and now you are proved guilty.

“What is your name?” said the man thus accused.

“My name is Shaw,” was the reply.”

“What!” said the man, “Shaw the great revivalist?”

“That is what they sometimes call me,” replied Shaw. The man was greatly mortified, but, instead of cherishing hatred against him who had administered such a severe rebuke, he became one of Brother Shaw’s warmest friends.

Another incident of a somewhat different character took place at De Soto, Iowa, in the winter of 1872. Brother Shaw was conducting a series of meetings there, and the interest became intense, not only in the town, but for miles around, and scores of converts were added to the church. Among the converts was a young lady who had long been in feeble health, and was supposed to have heart disease. Some of her friends, who were greatly opposed to immersion, endeavored to convince her that immersion in her case would probably result in death. She was, however, firm in her determination, and true to her convictions of duty, and, regardless of all opposition, was immersed by Brother Shaw. The day following the report became current that she was very ill, and that her immersion would most likely result in her death. That night, as the meeting was about to close, Shaw noticed this young lady was in the audience, and, calling attention to the current report concerning her illness, he said: “This sister is not dead, nor is she seriously ill, as I will now prove.” And then added: “Sister, will you please stand up on the seat that all may see you?” She complied with his request; when he said: “There she is; do you see her? Now, let those who started and circulated the false report hang their heads in shame.” This scene was not forgotten, and served to increase the interest of the meeting.

During his great meeting at Buchanan, Michigan, a Methodist preacher, resident there, endeavored to change the current of public feeling, which was in Shaw’s favor, by gross misrepresentations of his views. On becoming acquainted with the facts in the case, Shaw said to his audience, which was an immense one, that a certain preacher (naming him) had made some false statements, which he specified in full. He then said: “I now advertise this man as guilty of willful falsehood. May God have mercy on him.” Soon after the preacher sought an interview with him, confessed the wrong he had done, and asked forgiveness. As soon as an opportunity presented itself, Shaw publicly called attention to the statements he had previously made, and said: “Brethren and friends, this man has repented of his wrong-doing and asked forgiveness. Let everyone forgive him. I forgive him most freely, and may God’s richest blessings rest upon him.” This made a deep impression, and many were moved to tears.

He rather avoided than provoked controversy, preferring to win by kindness than conquer by force. An instance of this occurred at Humboldt, Kansas, during one of his meetings there. Two young men, Universalists, approached him on the street, and said:

“We have heard, sir, that you are an able and bold defender of the Christian faith. Will you tell us what you think of hell? Is there such a place, where the wicked are tormented in fire forever and ever? We are very anxious to have that question settled, and we hope you will be able to give us some light upon it.”

Shaw fixed his eyes on the ground for a moment, as in deep thought, and then looking up, replied: “I shall preach to-night, in Young’s Hall, on Bridge Street, and as there may be others whose thoughts are turned in the same direction as yours, if you will come I will give my views on that subject, so that all may have the benefit of them.” This pleased them, and they soon spread the report that Knowles Shaw was going to tell what he thought about hell that night; and the result was not only every seat, but all the standing-room, was occupied.

He took as his theme the “Christian Life,” and until nearly the close of the discourse did not make the slightest allusion to the subject that had brought so many there. At length he said: “Two young men accosted me on the street to-day and asked my opinion concerning hell. I promised to give it tonight, and, as they are here, I will proceed to do so. Within a few years past, the angel of death has visited my family three times, taking one of my beloved children at each visit. I thought perhaps that the climate in which I lived had something to do with this fatality, and began to ask myself, May I not find a healthier region than where I now reside? I thought of my only daughter, her weakly constitution, her lack of vital force, and wondered if I could not find a more congenial climate, where she might be longer spared to me than I feared she would where we dwelt. I heard of Kansas, its broad prairies, its pure and healthful atmosphere. I asked every one I saw that had been there about its climate, water, and especially about its society; and the reports I heard were so favorable that I finally resolved to go. After I started, my anxiety increased, and I did not close my inquiries until I reached here. Now, why all that interest, all those inquiries? Simply because the thought of going there had taken full possession of my mind.

“About sixteen years ago I became dissatisfied with this world, its short-lived and fading pleasures, and raised the question, Is there not a better world than this? I was told that there was; that the name of that land was Heaven; that its capital was the New Jerusalem, whose streets were paved with gold; that its walls were jasper, and its gates pearl; that the river of life flowed through it; that it was a healthful clime; no sickness nor sorrow there; that its society was pure, composed of the best that the earth had ever known; and that I should be happy forever if I could enter there. The testimony was good; it came from the Son of God; Jesus had left the courts of glory, and came all the way to this sinful world of ours to tell us of his Father’s house, with its many mansions; and then went back, after sealing the testimony with his blood, to prepare a place for us. I believed the testimony; and having a desire to better my condition, I started with a genuine ticket, stamped with, ‘He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved.’ I have been traveling in that direction ever since, making inquiries of the Book of God all the way. The nearer I get the clearer are the directions; and I am so fully persuaded that it is the best country to which a man can journey that I am constantly telling others all I know about it, and trying to get them to go with me to share its joys. As to that other country, about which those young men are so anxious to hear, I must say that I have heard of it, but the reports were so very unfavorable that I concluded it was not as good a country, and perhaps much worse than this; and as I never thought of emigrating unless it were to a better country, and to better my condition, I have thought but little about it, as I have not the least intention or desire to go there. I have therefore determined to spend my time in setting forth the glories of the better country, of heaven. We want you all to go with us; we want bold and true soldiers; hell-scared ones don’t amount to much, unless you can manage to keep them scared all the way.” The answer was satisfactory—there was no reason for wishing to hear more about hell.

He was ready-witted, self-possessed, had a sense of the fitness of things. If his audience seemed dull or wearied, he would stop preaching, and sing a lively song or tell an apt story, which never failed to rest and revive. In the same way he would relieve the monotony of a business meeting, and even bring order out of confusion. He attended a convention at one time, but did not reach the place until the audience was gathered. The house was packed; no one knew him, and he took his seat among the crowd until the session was closed and the people dismissed. They were slow to leave, however; greetings took place between those who had not met for a season; the members residing there were inviting strangers to their homes; all over the house groups were engaged in conversation, and all so absorbed that no one could hear the chairman of the meeting, who had forgotten to make an important announcement, and was vainly endeavoring to gain the attention of the crowd to rectify the mistake. His efforts were all in vain. All were so interested in hearing or talking to each other that after several attempts he was obliged to give up in despair. At this juncture, Shaw got up on one of the seats and began to sing. All in the house soon had their attention attracted to the singer; those who had gone out came back to listen to the song, and long before he closed the silence was almost breathless, so charmed were all with the singer and song. When he ceased he called out, now, Mr. Chairman, you can make your announcement. He did so, and Shaw was at once the best known man at the convention.

He was not devoid of humor, as the following incidents will show. At one of his morning meetings, he had for his subject “The Shepherd and the Sheep.” He said the most important thing in feeding sheep was to put something in the trough; that sheep would not come back more than twenty or thirty times when they did not get anything to eat; that the food, too, must be something that they would eat; that they would not come back many times if they found nothing but shavings in the trough; and that if the shepherd stood by and gave them a whack over the head with a club they would not be likely to come back very often. Now it happened that very morning he had been quite impatient with some of the sisters at rehearsal about the singing, and had scolded them severely. He went to dinner with one of them, and while eating, she said:

“Brother Shaw, you don’t practice what you preach?”

“How so,” said he.

“Why,” she replied, “you said you must not whack the sheep on the head with a club when they come up to be fed, and you scolded us so this morning about the singing.

“Oh,” said he, “I was not feeding you then; I was teaching you to bleat, and you have to whack the sheep to make them bleat.”

While on his way to attend the State Meeting at Emporia, Kansas, his attention was called to a man in the same car, who was utterly disgusted with the West, and with Kansas in particular; abusing the country and people in unmeasured terms; saying that the society was made up of the very scum of the Eastern States. Shaw bore it all for awhile, but at last, as if agreeing with him, said in a tone loud enough to attract attention:

“Stranger, you have told the truth this time; I have traveled all over Kansas, and I find it peopled, as you say, with the very scum of Eastern society; but it is the kind of scum that rises on milk.” A shout of loud and long-continued laughter from all the passengers told that the arrow had reached its mark, and Kansas was vindicated.