I have managed to talk with a good many church
people since it was known that you were going; just common plugs in the
congregation, like me, you know." Dan smiled. "We all understand what
you have been driving at in your preaching, and we know pretty well what
the bosses think about it, and why they have let you out. No one takes
any stock in that foul gossip, not even Strong himself. Now what I came
to say is this: a lot of us want you to stay. Why can't we have another
church for our people right here in Corinth? There's enough of us to back
you, and we mean business."
Dan shook his head sadly.
"Thank you, John," he said simply. "It is useless for me to try to tell
you how much good this does me; but I can't accept. I have thought of the
possibility you mention, but I can't do it. You do not need another
church in Corinth. You have more than you need now."
Nor could any argument move him.
"Well," said the farmer, when at last he gave it up and rose to say
good-bye, "I suppose I'll keep right on being a church member, but I
reckon I'll have to find most of my religion in my work."
"And that," said Dan, as he gripped his friend's hand, "is the best place
I know of to look for it. If you cannot find God in your everyday work,
John, you'll not find Him on Sunday at the church."
That farewell sermon is still talked about in Corinth or rather--it
should be said--is still remembered, for it was one of those sermons of
which, while little could be said, much could never be forgotten.
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