The Reluctant Bridegroom (7 page)

“Come along, Rebekah!” Mary urged. “There’ll still be some good seats if we hurry. Let me take Timmy.”

“No, you just lead the way, Mary—I’m not tired.” Mary’s stamina amazed Rebekah. The two-mile walk to the church had been difficult, and they had taken turns carrying the baby. Rebekah wondered at the determination of her friend, who usually came alone—carrying Timmy both ways. Following Mary up the steps, she marveled at the light of expectation on the faces of those around her. Everyone seemed to be sharing some sort of glad anticipation at the service to come, just as Mary did. This was a novelty to Rebekah, for her faithfulness in attending services had been required of her by her parents. Uneasily she realized that her religion lacked something—whatever it was that put excitement on the faces of the men and women who moved eagerly to find seats.

“Now—this will do us fine!” The two women found seats relatively close to the front. Mary took Timmy, and Rebekah stretched her aching arms as she looked over the crowd. The church was packed, and the place hummed as people talked and laughed together.

The platform was bare except for a few straight chairs and a stand with a pitcher of water on it. In front of the platform was a long, low bench that caught her attention because it was placed in such a way that no one sitting on it could possibly see. “What’s that bench for, Mary?” she asked.

“That? Why, that’s the anxious seat, Becky.”

“The
what?
”

Mary laughed and squeezed Rebekah’s arm. “That’s what Rev. Finney used to call it.” She had a sober light in her eyes as she recounted the story. “I used to go to Chatham Street Chapel when I was living a bad life. Went there many a time so drunk I could hardly stand up—and with some of the lowest men who ever drew breath.” She had been blunt about the sordidness of her past life—and now the memory of those days came back to her, drawing her lips tight with regret. After a few seconds, her face softened. “But that’s all under the blood of Jesus, praise God!”

“But—what’s the anxious seat?”

“Ah, you’ll see tonight, Becky. When Rev. Finney preaches the gospel, talking about how wicked sinners are and how they need to leave their sin—why, people start to get
anxious!
You’ll see! First time, I just went to the chapel to hear Mr. Finney ’cause a friend of mine asked me. Had no idea of getting religion—not likely! I just come in, and we set right on the balcony. ’Course, I was just wanting it to be over so I could go get some gin. There was the singing—and then Rev. Finney stood up behind the pulpit and started preaching—and that was it for Mary Sullivan!”

“What happened?”

“Why, he preached about Jesus on the cross, and how the Savior was nailed to it for our sins. It was real strange, Rebekah! There was nigh onto a thousand people in the place—but all at once it was like he was talking right to
me.
He looked right up to the balcony and pointed at me—and he called out, ‘Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world!’—oh, Rebekah, it just came near to
killin’
me! I started to cry, and all the time he preached I was just sitting there cryin’ an’ cryin’!”

Rebekah saw tears fill Mary’s eyes. “What happened then, Mary?”

“When Rev. Finney finished preaching, he asked everyone who wanted to be saved from their sin to come to the front, but I couldn’t do it! I was too bad! So I was just cryin’ like to die, and this young woman come and put her hand on my arm and said kind of quiet like, ‘Sister, let me go with you to the anxious seat. God wants to do a work in your life.’ So I went down and it was a time, I tell you, Becky!

“The devil had me tight, and lots of people come to pray for me, but seemed like nothing worked—and finally Rev. Finney himself come and looked at me with them blazing eyes of his, and he prayed for me so hard—and as he was praying, I just sort of gave up—and soon as I did, the Lord came into my heart and I was saved!”

Mary’s worn face, lined with fatigue, glowed; Rebekah wondered at the joy she saw there. “It was hard, Rebekah—after, I mean. Oh, it was hard! I’d been drinking a lot and running with a wild crowd! And I—I was carrying Timmy, though I didn’t know it. I’d never worked, but the Lord carried me through it all. My job ain’t much, but it’s enough for Timmy and me—and now the Lord’s sent you to me to help!—Oh, look, the service is about to start . . .”

Rebekah looked up to see a tall man in a black suit come out on the platform, followed by several others who seated themselves in the other chairs. “That’s Brother White,” Mary said. “He does the music.”

White shouted, “Let us sing of the mercies of the Lord!” As he lifted his voice, everyone stood and joined in, and the sound of hundreds of voices filled the church and overflowed outside. It was a song that Rebekah had often sung in her own church, but it had never sounded like this!

The sound rose like waves, breaking against the walls with a joyful triumph Rebekah had never heard before. The trained voices of the choir in her home church had been technically superior—but this was full of
life!
Filled with joy, she was moved to tears as the worshipful words rolled out:

The singing went on and on, at times triumphant and victorious, sometimes more quietly, but always the faces of those around her glowed with expressions of such peace and joy that Rebekah marvelled.

After several more hymns, the song leader stepped back, and another man seated in the chairs behind him stood up. “That’s Rev. Finney!” Mary whispered. Charles Grandison Finney was a serious-looking, smooth-shaven man of medium height. Stepping forward to read his text, he paused, then looked around the church. His gaze was intensely electrifying, penetrating the crowd. Rebekah felt as if he were looking right at her, though she knew that was unlikely. As he read his text, the clear tones of his solemn voice carried easily to the farthest corners of the building.

This preacher followed closely the techniques that he had used during the revivals some years before. Rebekah later learned that Finney had practiced law in upper New York
state, but left his profession to enter the ministry after a dramatic conversion experience. His powerful preaching drew thousands to the revival meetings, but his methods—or the “New Measures,” as they were called—often brought him into conflict with established church leadership: He prayed publicly for people by name, permitted females to pray in public meetings, invaded towns without an invitation from the local pastor, employed the use of the anxious seat, conducted inquiry meetings, and called for the immediate admission of converts into churches.

Finney’s evangelism ministry in “The Burned-Over District” of Rochester had been enormously successful. After two years there, he moved into New York City in 1832; his success as a pastor of the Chatham Street Chapel rivaled his victories as an evangelist. From the time he first took up the work, Finney insisted that the church should not be filled with Christians from other churches, but by new converts. As soon as the mother church was filled, a group was sent out to form a new one. There were seven churches in the area that had been planted by the Chatham Street Chapel, including the one they were attending tonight.

“My text is taken from Luke, chapter thirteen, the third verse,” Finney announced. “ ‘Except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish.’ “ For nearly two hours the congregation sat spellbound as he went from scripture to scripture, proving that men were lost and on their way to hell; that unless they turned from their sin to find forgiveness, there was no hope.

The man had a systematic method of preaching, each point being laid down in careful succession. Like someone building a house, he first laid a foundation, then raised the walls and finally capped it with a roof, so that it stood complete. The roof, in this case, was an invitation: Those who felt they needed to be saved from hell should come forward.

The reaction was immediate. From all over the room, people rose from their places and began moving forward in response to his invitation. His stirring message had deeply
affected them, but Finney’s attention was not directed at the men and women who swarmed the aisles. His eyes were scanning those who yet remained seated. Overwhelmed with compassion for the lost, tears streamed down his cheeks as he cried out: “God so loves the world—so loves
you
—that he sent Jesus to die for you! Will you reject that love? Would you not rather come and let the King of Kings and Lord of Lords come into your heart?”

Rebekah’s mind reeled from what she had heard. She looked down to see that her hands were trembling, and she closed her eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to overflow. She had been in church every Sunday of her life and could quote large sections of the Bible. It had never occurred to her that her religion was lacking in any way—but now as she sat and listened to the cries of grief rising from those who pressed forward to the anxious seat, she was shaken to the very depths of her soul.

She had never considered herself a sinner; a “sinner” was someone who did things like Mary had done—living a life of drunkenness and immorality. Now she saw that she was in the same condition as the worst sinner, for the preacher had made it abundantly clear that there were no “good” sinners—only lost ones on the way to hell. Stripping away all her defenses, he pointed out that morality, church membership, baptism, good works could not save a soul from hell. She felt alone and naked before the eyes of God!

How long she sat there, she didn’t know, but soon she felt Mary’s hand go around her shoulder and heard her whisper, “You need Jesus as your Savior, Becky—don’t you now?”

Rebekah could not answer, for there was a struggle inside of her. Part of her drew back from what was going on. Some seekers near her had fallen to the floor in an agony of grief, and she had been taught in her own church that such fanaticism was not of God. It was all foreign to her, including the cries of those at the anxious seat and the directness of the
church members who moved from person to person, speaking to sinners and urging them to accept Christ.

But in spite of all that, there was a yearning in her heart to find the peace and joy she saw in others. She had found the words of the preacher disturbing, but they had offered her a hope that was very real. “Jesus never fails!” he cried out. “The world will deceive you; your own family may cast you off—but Jesus said, ‘He that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out!’ ”

I will in no wise cast out.
In that moment, the thought of her own loneliness broke Rebekah’s heart, and her eyes filled with tears, blurring her vision. “Oh, I need God!” she whispered to Mary. “But I’m so afraid!”

Mary squeezed her shoulder. “Let’s go down and we’ll pray for God to save you, Becky.”

They made their way to the front, which was crowded with many seekers. Mary handed Timmy to a friend she saw there, then turned and said, “Let’s kneel and pray, Becky!”

Falling to her knees, Rebekah could not think. Her heart was filled with grief, and she could not pray aloud. For a long time she knelt and listened as others prayed, hearing Mary’s cries to God on her behalf—but she seemed to be paralyzed, and for a long time could do nothing but cry. Then she felt a firm hand on her arm, pulling her around.

“Young woman, do you desire Christ?”

She found herself looking directly into the eyes of Rev. Finney, whose gaze seemed to slice into the depths of her soul. She nodded mutely, and he said gently, “Don’t be afraid, child! It’s your time to find the Lord. Now, I will pray for you, and I want you to pray as best you can. If you can’t pray out loud, then just call on God in your heart. Tell Him you’re a sinner, and ask Him to forgive you of all your sins in the name of Jesus. Will you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” Rebekah whispered.

He began to pray in a tone that was low but firm, giving Rebekah courage. He had been so somber in the pulpit, but
as he knelt beside her, he spoke to God as a man would speak to his friend—very confident, very sure; and this assurance enabled her to pray as well: “Lord, save me for Jesus’ sake!”

The moment she did, a peace flooded her, and she gave a glad cry of joy. Finney looked up and said, “You are converted, are you not? Jesus has come into your heart?”

“Yes! Oh, yes!”

“Glory to God! Now, you must ask God to fill you with His Holy Spirit—for you will need much strength for what lies before you.” He noted her startled look and added hastily, “Oh no—I know nothing about you, except that the Lord has told me that you have a difficult path to walk, and He wants to give you a double portion of His grace. Will you ask Him for this?”

Although she did not understand fully what he meant, Rebekah bowed her head and prayed, “Lord, fill me with your Holy Spirit.” She prayed this several times as the reverend put his hand on her head and prayed with her. In a few minutes, she felt a wave of joy rush through her, and she lifted her hands and began to praise God as she never had before! She was not conscious of the crowds around her—only that God had somehow touched her in a way that she had never thought possible. She leaped to her feet, her hands lifted and tears streaming down her face, and for a long time she just stood there, saying “Thank you, Jesus! Thank you, Lord!” over and over again.

Rev. Finney smiled at Mary, who was weeping freely for joy. “Sister—there’s a new name written in the Lamb’s Book of Life!”

****

By the last of February, the snow had melted, turning unpaved streets into rivers of mud and yards into quagmires. But the warmer weather cut down on the use of fuel, so Mary and Rebekah didn’t complain.