A COUNTRY KIRK.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 20638, 9 February 1929, Page 22

A COUNTRY KIRK.

WriU.cn for the Otago Daily Times. By the Ecv. D. Gardner Miller. It may he hard to believe, but it is true, that the chief joy of a holiday to me is to attend church. After 11 months of preaching, lecturing, and speaking (averaging, during 1028, six times per mock), one would imagine that vacation time would find me eager to browse by the seaside on my four free Sundays and giving church attendance a wide berth. Not so. Each Sunday finds me wending my way to some little kirk where I can slip in quietly and listen to men who break the bread of life. I confess that most vacations in New Zealand have not been entirely free from preaching, but I generally manage to satisfy the longing of my heart by deliberately keeping away from possible “ requests,” and thus getting away “ on my own ” to a church where I am not known. To my great joy I have been able this year to spend more than one Sunday in a quiet country kirk, sitting at the feet of a man I honour. I had to walk four miles along a dusty road. The sun was hot (and I must confess city conventcnees have made even a four-mile tramp something of an ordeal),- and though a score or so of cars passed me—loaded with picnickers—no friendly lift was offered. Need I say, the kirk was Presbyterian! The call of the church of my youth is still in my, blood. A hundred or so had gathered, and, while the organist was playing the opening voluntary, I took stock of the congregation. I noticed many douce men and women who had that on their faces that betokened the peace of mind which the struggles and hardships of life could not smother. There were men and women there whose bowed shoulders spoke eloquently of honest toil. There were strapping youths and maidens with the clear, questioning eyes that somehow belong especially to the younger generation of to-day. I saw old age —beautiful old age and I thanked God in my heart loi those who had tested the promises and had not found God wanting. When the minister, with dignified presence, stood up to announce the opening' hymn (I felt disappointed, for I had icon longing to hear a service opened with an old-fashioned psalm) there was that quiet expectancy in the congregation t.iat means so much to a preacher. J-heic is no doubt about it, every church has its own atmosphere. I will go fmUer and say that every denomination itself ° WU aUuOE T llcro > peculiar to

I declare to high heaven that the J-iesliytenau atmosphere is. unique. It is not difficult to worship in a Presbyterian church. Much is expected froin the minister, and woe betide him if he introduces any new-fangled notions! As hc stood up to sing I was immediately transported back to the days of my youth for I caught a whiff of pepperwent from a white-haired old saint in fl opt of me. I recalled how my father trlnri, f h ° E° kC lilo "S the Pew {dunu the long prayer, which was a teirible test of endurance to youngsters) to myself and five others who occupied the family pew with him. We oved that poke. It had peppermints in it—wee sweeties with three X’s stamped on them, or maybe there were only two -vs;.! cant remember now—and to ciunch two sweeties at a time and then dcl.WfV 11 the I . breath quickly was a sensation of which we never t,lQ L . moment come that I was eagerly anticipating; the text was given out and I sat hack to listen. A great for W tf : 1,1 ! l ray 110 t for tlle "oriel, r !} WSC whom Tll °u bast given **?! for they are Thine.” It was a remindev that the unit, tlie one man. the lip woman, is of special interest to the Saiicmr. Bucked with a wealth of hardnou experience, the preacher sent his message home with quiet yet telling . ' bne thinker, a clear voice * "pabulary rich and varied with tbc gient simplicities of the English angtmge, the preacher was worthy of the denomination he serves and the people ho shepherds. He spoke to my heait. I needed the message, for I was jaded, and when ouc is jaded one is apt to lose the sense of spiritual intimacy which is the heart of the Gospel message. After the sermon I got my psalm, with a tune that even a hopeless singer like myself could sing. It will be 3 long time ere that service, with its quiet, jts dignity, and its bracing message will fade from my memory. But there was another service that was like the opening of a gate to me—a gate that led to green pastures and still waters. It was evening time, and a group of ns gathered in a house within sound of the incoming tide. We were new friends to each other, a friendship based on our common love to our Lord, and surely no better basis for friendship can be found than that.

Though we were in a house, it was truly a church. The New Testament Knows nothing of ornate ecclesiastical buildings. The church of the New Testament was composer! of house meetings, groups of the friends of Jesus. In such a church I sat that evening.. At the lliflUO a yOUUg lassie sat and played the hymns, accompanied by a young fellow (who one day will “wag his pow in the pnipit”) on a violin of exquisite tone. Our favourite hymns were played, and wc sang them with hearts that were touched with the sense of the awe of the presence of God. How personal our, favourite hymns are !—“ Jesu Lover of my Soul,” 0 Love that Wilt not let me Go,” “ Sun of my Soul." Notice how the personal pronoun repeats itself again and again ! I got my 'fill of psalms. How I relished the fortioth, “ I Waited for the Lord my God ”! But I think everyone in that little house-church touched the deeps of spiritual intimacy when a little gir' sang Jn her sweet treble, "Jesus Loves Me.” Unless we, each of us, can say that, we are only wandering on the outskirts of the religion of Jesus. The value of the single soul again! I know the value of the social gospel. I know that the Kingdom of God is a social movement, that it is a sociery become Christianised. But there cau be no social gospel until the single unit becomes aflame with the love of Jesus. There cap he no Christianised society until the individuals that make society have sat at the feet of Jesus aud received from His hands forgiveness. The joy, the daring, the sheer impetuosity that mark the New Testament arise ftom the supreme value Jesus put ppon the single soul. You—yes, you—count. Back in the city, taking up the ever-changing challenge flung out to the preacher of the Gospel, I am refreshed in my spirit aud heartened ip my task when I remember the message that found me in my vacation.