THOMAS OWEN
Thomas Owen went to his room, but not to bed.Taking a Bible from the table, he consulted reference after reference.
"The promise is clear," he said aloud presently, as he shut the book;"clear and often repeated.There is no escape from it, and no possibility of a double meaning.If it is not true, then it would seem that nothing is true, and that every Christian in the world is tricked and deluded.But if it /is/ true, why do we never hear of miracles?
The answer is easy: Because we have not faith enough to work them.The Apostles worked miracles; for they had seen, therefore their faith was perfect.Since their day nobody's faith has been quite perfect; at least I think not.The physical part of our nature prevents it.Or perhaps the miracles still happen, but they are spiritual miracles."Then he sat down by the open window, and gazing at the dreamy beauty of the summer night, he thought, for his soul was troubled.Once before it had been troubled thus; that was nine years ago, for now he was but little over thirty.Then a call had come to him, a voice had seemed to speak to his ears bidding him to lay down great possessions to follow whither Heaven should lead him.Thomas Owen had obeyed the voice; though, owing to circumstances which need not be detailed, to do so he was obliged to renounce his succession to a very large estate, and to content himself with a younger son's portion of thirty thousand pounds and the reversion to the living which he had now held for some five years.
Then and there, with singular unanimity and despatch, his relations came to the conclusion that he was mad.To this hour, indeed, those who stand in his place and enjoy the wealth and position that were his by right, speak of him as "poor Thomas," and mark their disapprobation of his peculiar conduct by refusing with an unvarying steadiness to subscribe even a single shilling to a missionary society.How "poor Thomas" speaks of them in the place where he is we may wonder, but as yet we cannot know--probably with the gentle love and charity that marked his every action upon earth.But this is by the way.
He had entered the Church, but what had he done in its shadow? This was the question which Owen asked himself as he sat that night by the open window, arraigning his past before the judgment-seat of conscience.For three years he had worked hard somewhere in the slums;then this living had fallen to him.He had taken it, and from that day forward his record was very much of a blank.The parish was small and well ordered; there was little to do in it, and the Salvation Army had seized upon and reclaimed two of the three confirmed drunkards it could boast.
His guest's saying echoed in his brain like the catch of a tune--"that /you/ might lead that life and attain that death." Supposing that he were bidden so to do now, this very night, would he indeed "think differently"? He had become a priest to serve his Maker.How would it be were that Maker to command that he should serve Him in this extreme and heroic fashion? Would he flinch from the steel, or would he meet it as the martyrs met it of old?
