ts of the pledge
as obeyed here in Raymond are enough to make any pastor tremble, and
at the same time long with yearning that they might occur in his own
parish. Certainly never have I seen a church so signally blessed by
the Spirit as this one. But--am I myself ready to take this pledge?
I ask the question honestly, and I dread to face an honest answer. I
know well enough that I should have to change very much in my life
if I undertook to follow His steps so closely. I have called myself
a Christian for many years. For the past ten years I have enjoyed a
life that has had comparatively little suffering in it. I am,
honestly I say it, living at a long distance from municipal problems
and the life of the poor, the degraded and the abandoned. What would
the obedience to this pledge demand of me? I hesitate to answer. My
church is wealthy, full of well-to-do, satisfied people. The
standard of their discipleship is, I am aware, not of a nature to
respond to the call of suffering or personal loss. I say: 'I am
aware.' I may be mistaken. I may have erred in not stirring their
deeper life. Caxton, my friend, I have spoken my inmost thought to
you. Shall I go back to my people next Sunday and stand up before
them in my large city church and say: 'Let us follow Jesus closer;
let us walk in His steps where it will cost us something more than
it is costing us now; let us pledge not to do anything without first
asking: 'What would Jesus do?' If I should go before them with that
message, it would be a strange and startling one to them. But why?
Are we not ready to follow Him all the way? What is it to be a
follower of Jesus? What does it mean to imitate Him? What does it
mean to walk in His steps?"

The Rev. Calvin Bruce, D. D., of the Nazareth Avenue Church,
Chicago, let his pen fall on the table. He had come to the parting
of the ways, and his question, he felt sure, was the question of
many and many a man in the ministry and in the church. He went to
his window and opened it. He was oppressed with the weight of his
convictions and he felt almost suffocated with the air in the room.
He wanted to see the stars and feel the breath of the world.

The night was very still. The clock in the First Church was just
striking midnight. As it finished a clear, strong voice down in the
direction of the Rectangle came floating up to him as if borne on
radiant pinions.

It was a voice of one of Gray's old converts, a night watchman at
the