Where Are You Going?
I shall never forget my last Sunday in Runswick Bay. It was at the end of September, and was one of those gloriously brilliant days which we get in the early autumn, when the sky is cloudless, when the air is fresh and clear, and when the autumnal tints on trees, hedges, ferns and brambles make the landscape gorgeous and extremely beautiful and fascinating.
The high cliff above the bay was a perfect study in color that morning; I have never seen more splendid coloring, every varied shade of red and gold and green was to be found there.
“Tom will be off to Scarborough,” I said to myself as I dressed. “What a grand day he has got!”
But I did not wish myself with him; no, I was both glad and thankful to look forward to a quiet and peaceful Sunday.
There were not many visitors still at Runswick, most of them had left the week before; but the fishermen came in great numbers to the service, and the green was covered with them when little Jack and big Jack appeared, hand-in-hand as usual. Duncan was in the choir, but Polly thought the wind rather cold for little John, so had remained with him at home. A good many women and children were present, however, and the bank was covered with mothers and babies, sitting at a little distance, lest the noise of the children should disturb the preacher or the listeners.
What was it that made me think of Tom just as the service began? Was it a shepherd’s plaid cloth cap, of the kind Tom wears, which I saw on the head of some visitor who was sitting almost out of sight on the seaward side of the bank? Such small things bring people and things before us sometimes, and my thoughts wandered to Scarborough for a few minutes, and I wondered what Tom was doing at that moment. I thought to myself how he would smile, if he saw me sitting under the old boat and listening attentively to an open air preacher.
But my thoughts did not wander long, for when the service began every word of it seemed to be for me.
Where are you going? I had worked the subject out in my mind before I came to the service, and had quite decided what line of thought Mr. Christie would take. I thought he would picture the two roads, the one leading to life, the other to destruction; and then I imagined that he would speak of the blessedness of being on the narrow road, and would dwell very vividly on the awful consequences of continuing to walk on the road leading to hell. But I found that my idea of what his sermon would be was quite a mistaken one.
“Where are you going? My question today,” he said, “is addressed only to some of you; would to God it were addressed to you all! I speak today to those who have crossed the line, who have run into the loving Savior’s arms, who have become servants of Christ.
“My friends, my dear friends, where are you going? What does the Master say? He calls to everyone of His servants, and He says, ‘If any man serve me, let him follow me; and where I am, there shall also my servant be.’ (John 12:26)
“Servant of Christ, where are you going? The Master answers you, ‘Where I am.’
“And where is that? A little group of men are standing on the Mount of Olives; above them is the deep blue sky, and they are gazing earnestly upward, for their Master is rising far above them, and even as they watch a cloud receives Him out of their sight. Yet still He ascends higher and yet higher, and as He rises countless angels attend Him. He is joined by company after company of the heavenly host, who have come out to meet their King. At length heaven’s gates are reached, and the cry goes forth, ‘Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in.’ (Psalm 24:9) Amid heaven’s most joyful music the Master passes within to the Heavenly Jerusalem, the glad, glorious Home. Every care, every sin, every sorrow is left outside; within all is sunshine, all is joy. And as heaven’s gates are closing, we hear the Master’s voice. He leaves us a word of hope, ‘Where I am, there shall also my servant be.’
“Oh, fishermen, oh, friends, think of that! If you are His servants, those gates will open for you. Your life may be hard now: some of you have large families, and heavy work, and long, cold, comfortless nights tossing on the stormy sea. But never mind, home is coming, heaven is coming, for ‘Where I am, there shall also my servant be.’
“But that is not all. There is something more wonderful still. For where is the Master now? He is not only inside the gates of the city, He is not only walking through the golden streets; but He is in the midst of the glory of God, He has sat down on the right hand of the throne of God. Will you and I, dear friends, ever dare to go near that throne? Will not the glory be too dazzling? Will not the place be holy ground, too holy for us to approach? Will He allow us to draw near to His footstool, and even there, close to His glory, to lie low before Him?
“Listen, O servant of Christ, again the Master says, ‘Where I am, there shall also my servant be.’
“What, on the throne of God! Yes, even there He bids you come; for what does He say? ‘To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with my Father in his throne.’ (Revelation 3:21) Oh, what a wonderful promise! We could never have thought of it; we could never have believed it; we could never even have dreamt of such a thing, if the Master had not told us Himself.”
And then he concluded by asking us to remember our glorious future. “Sometimes,” he said, “you get downhearted, full of sorrow and fear, and you say, ‘I shall never hold on to the end.’ Oh, dear friends, it is worth an effort, for at the end lies home, at the end stands the throne of God, with a place waiting for you upon it. ‘Where I am, there shall also my servant be.’
“What if you have to bear something for the Master’s sake? What if you have to give up friends or comforts for Him? What if you have to take up your cross and follow Him? It is only for a few days, only for a little while, and home is coming. ‘Where I am, there shall also my servant be.’ Is it not worth while?”
Then, as he ended, he spoke a few words to all who were there, and he begged those who were not servants of Christ, to consider what they were losing. “All this might be yours,” he said, “the wide-open gates, the Heavenly City, the seat on the glorious Throne. But you are turning your backs on it all, and you are choosing instead—what? A few of earth’s fleeting pleasures, a little of this world’s passing enjoyment. Oh, dear friends, think before it is too late, what your eternal loss will be!”
He said much more, but I cannot remember it now. I only know that I came away feeling that I had been very near the golden gates of which he spoke, and had heard the Master’s voice saying to me, “Where I am, there shall also my servant be.”
The tide was coming in as we left the service, and I was standing on the shore watching the waves rolling in over the rocks, when I felt an arm slipped in mine, and when I looked round, to my great surprise, I found that it was Tom.
“Why, Tom!” I said, “back already? How early you have come home!”
“Back, Jack?” he said, laughing. “Why, I’ve never been away.”
“Do you mean you haven’t been to Scarborough?”
“No, of course not; you didn’t think I would go without you, old boy. We’ll go tomorrow, of course. I thought we settled that last night.”
“Why, I’ve been thinking of you in Scarborough all day!” I said.
“Then your thoughts have gone in a wrong direction for once, Jack,” he replied, “for I’ve been here all the time.”
“I’ll walk with you up the hill,” I said; “it isn’t quite dinnertime.”
I was very pleased to see him, and to find that he did not appear to be vexed with me. We chatted for some time, and then he said casually, “He does not speak badly, that lay preacher of yours, Jack.”
I stood still in astonishment. “Who?” I said, “Mr. Christie? Why, you surely were not at the service, Tom! Oh, I know,” I cried, before he could answer, “you were behind the bank; I saw a black and white cap, and I thought how much it was like yours.”
“It could not be much more like, seeing that it was the very same,” said Tom.
“I’m so glad you heard him,” I ventured to say.
He made no answer, so I thought it was better to say no more. But when we reached the top of the hill, and he was just leaving me, he said, “Jack, I’m afraid I was a bit crusty last night. You must not think any more of it, old fellow. We’ll have a jolly day at Scarborough tomorrow. And, Jack,” he went on, “I was very much annoyed at the time, I own I was; but I’m not sure after all that you’re not right.”
He said no more, but hurried away, and it was many years before he referred to the subject again. But the day came when he did mention it, and when he told me, with tears in his eyes, that he looked upon that Sunday at Runswick as the first link in the chain of God’s loving Providence, by means of which He had led him to Himself. He told me then that he had never forgotten my firm refusal to go with him, and he had never forgotten the sermon to which he had listened hidden from sight by the bank.
Our day at Scarborough exceeded all our anticipations. The weather was glorious, and Tom was in excellent spirits, and we thoroughly enjoyed everything.
I could not help feeling sorry when Thursday came, which was to be my last day at Runswick Bay. It had been such a happy and so eventful a time. I seemed to have passed through so much, and to have learned so much unknown to me before, that I felt very reluctant to bring my holiday to a close. As for Duncan and Polly, they were quite melancholy as the time for my departure drew near.
“We shall feel lost without you, sir,” said Duncan. “We shan’t know what to do.” And there were tears in Polly’s eyes as she said mournfully, when she set the herrings on the table for my supper, “Them’s the last herrings I shall fry you, sir, and I feel as if there was going to be a death in the house.”
“Cheer up, Polly,” I said, “who knows? Perhaps you may have to put up with me next time I get a holiday, and you may be sure I shall want plenty of herrings then.”
She brightened a little at this, and little John, who was quite well now, and who had become very friendly with me since his illness, climbed up on my knee, and stroked my face with his little thin hand, as if he were trying to coax me to come back to them again.
There was one thing which I had a great desire to do before leaving Runswick. I knew that Duncan was much troubled about the Mary Ann. She had been terribly knocked about in the storm, which was no wonder, seeing that she had drifted about, bottom upwards, and had been driven hither and thither on the waves. When Duncan had examined her the day after his arrival, he had found that she leaked in several places, and was altogether unseaworthy, and he had been obliged to hire a boat until such time as the Mary Ann could be properly repaired. Then he went over to Whitby, and brought an experienced man back with him, and he overhauled her thoroughly, and gave it as his opinion that it would be a waste of money to try to patch her up.
When Duncan came in that night I saw that the poor fellow was terribly downcast. “The Mary Ann’s days are numbered, sir; she’ll never be able to rough it again,” he said. “She’s been a good old boat to me and my father before me, and it will be like parting from an old friend to give her up. Yon man, he says she might be cobbled together a bit; but you would never make a good job of her. She’d do maybe well enough for fine weather, but you couldn’t trust to her in a storm.”
I saw Polly turn pale as he said this. “Duncan,” she said, going up to him, and laying her hand on his arm, “you’ll never go in her again; promise me that. Think of me and little John, Duncan.”
“Ay, my lass,” he said. “Ay, Polly, I do think of thee and little John. But the worst of it is there’s bread must be earned for thee and little John. I can’t let thee starve, wife.”
“What about the bankbook, Duncan?” I said.
He went to the old oak chest, and brought it out. I was much touched by his handing it to me, and bidding me see how it stood. He was perfectly open with me, and spoke to me as freely as if I had been an old and tried friend. I added up the amount and read it out to him.
“Well, sir,” he said, “it’s getting on; but it’s a good ten pound short yet. We shall have to hire Brown’s boat a bit and do as well as we can, though it isn’t a very paying business when one takes to hiring: it will be hard enough to make two ends meet, you see, sir, let alone saving up for the new boat. But I can’t see nothing else for it, sir; that is, if Polly won’t let me risk it in the Mary Ann.”
“Duncan,” she said solemnly, “if thee went to sea in the Mary Ann, and she went to the bottom, I could never say, ‘The will of the Lord be done,’ for I don’t believe it would be God’s will for thee to go in that rotten old thing.”
“Polly is right, Duncan,” I said. “You must never go in the Mary Ann again.”
“Well, sir,” he said, “I see what you mean, you and Polly, too, and the Lord will show us what’s to be done.”
Nothing more was said about the Mary Ann at that time, but I had already made my own plan about the new boat. My aunt had just left me her little property, and a very nice little property it was. I felt myself a rich man, for in addition to money invested in various ways, about £200 of ready money had been placed to my account at the bank.
What could be more delightful, I thought, than to spend the first ten pounds of this in helping Duncan to complete the purchase of the new boat? The only difficulty would be to get Duncan to accept the money, for he had all the honest independence of a Yorkshireman, and I knew would hesitate about receiving help from anyone. But, at the same time, I knew that in this instance his need was great, and his kindly feeling towards myself was so strong, that I was not without hope that I might be able to manage what I had contemplated without giving the dear fellow offence. I thought, at one time, that I would take Mr. Christie into my confidence, and would consult with him, but on second thoughts I decided that it would be wiser not to do so, and felt that I should be more likely to succeed if no one else was in the secret. So I folded my banknote in paper, put it into an envelope, and wrote outside, “With little John’s love to his daddy, to help him to buy another Little John.” This I determined to slip into the child’s hand when I said goodbye.
That evening I had supper with the Christies. They were kindness itself, and told me what a great pleasure it had been to them to meet me. “Not only because you are your mother’s son, Jack, but for your own sake as well as hers,” said Mr. Christie with a smile.
I wanted to say something in return, but the words would not come—at least not then. But, just before I left, I went with Mr. Christie into his study, and he said, “Jack, I thought perhaps we might have a little prayer together before we part.”
And then the words came—“Mr. Christie,” I said, “I can never, never thank God enough that I came here.”
“Let us thank Him together, Jack,” he said.
Then we knelt down, he by the table, and I with my arms resting on the old organ, and he thanked God for His mercy in bringing me across the line, and he committed me to His care and keeping to bring me safely along the road which leads home.
The next morning I was up early, for our train started at eight, and we had two miles to walk. I had told Polly I should want nothing but a cup of tea before I set off, but when I came down I found a most tempting breakfast prepared for me—ham and eggs, and toast in abundance, and fresh lettuces from Duncan’s small garden.
“Well, Polly,” I said, “you are spoiling me to the last.”
“We can never make enough of you, sir,” said Polly, and there were tears in her eyes as she said it.
I ran up to pack my bag and collect my things, and I determined to start in good time, so that I might allow myself a few minutes to say goodbye to the Christies.
“I must be off, Duncan,” I said.
He was standing outside with little John in his arms, and Polly, with her hat on, was standing beside him.
“We’re coming along with you, sir, to the station,” said Duncan. “You won’t think it a liberty will you, sir? But me and Polly and little John would like to see the last of you.”
“Come, that is good of you,” I said. “I shall have a grand escort up the hill!”
Polly took the child from his father, and Duncan carried my bag and easel, and would not even hear of my giving him a hand with them.
I ran into the Christies, but could find no one below. However, I heard a great running backwards and forwards overhead, and presently Mr. Christie called out of the bedroom window, “Wait one moment, Jack; we are all coming to see you off.”
So my escort increased as I proceeded, and Tom, as he came out of the hotel, said he thought the whole of Runswick must be going by the early train, when he saw us, one after another, come toiling up the hill. Little Jack rode up the whole way on my back, and his horse was very hot when the top was reached.
Though it is now so many years ago I can see that little party of friends standing together on the platform, as the train moved out of the station. I can feel again the warm grasp of Mr. Christie’s hand, and can hear his whispered, “God bless you, Jack!” I can see Mrs. Christie holding Marjorie by the hand, and waving her handkerchief to me, and can hear little Jack crying out, “Come back soon, do, big Mr. Jack.” I can see Duncan bareheaded, with little John in his arms, the child waving the envelope which I had put in his hand as I stepped into the carriage, and which was still unopened. I can see Polly wiping her eyes with her apron, and then holding it up and waving it till I was lost to sight. I can see them all as they appeared to me that day, kind hearts and true, not one of them ranking among the number whom the world counts great, and yet all of them well known to Him who calleth His own sheep by name and leadeth them out.
I must just mention here that I had a very touching letter from Duncan at the end of that week. The spelling was most wonderful, and the grammar was quite of his own making; but it was full, from end to end, of the most simple-hearted affection, and of the deepest gratitude.
“Me, and my missus, and little John, can never be thankful enough, sir,” he said, “and when the other Little John is afloat, as please God she soon will be, we hopes as how you will come and have a sail in her.”
So ended my visit to Runswick; and when I consider all that happened during those few weeks, I think it is small wonder that the little bay is still fresh in my memory, and that Ella’s yellow ragwort made me dream of it so distinctly. For surely that month was the most important month in my life, for was it not the beginning of a new life, which, thank God, has continued ever since?
I can say today, even as I said then, “One is my Master, even Christ,” and I can look forward, humbly but hopefully, to the time when the golden gates will open to me, and when the Master’s promise will be fulfilled to me, “Where I am, there shall also my servant be.” (John 12:26)
O Jesus Christ, my Master,
I come to Thee today;
I ask Thee to direct me
In all I do or say:
I want to keep my promise
To be Thy servant true,
I come to Thee for orders;
Dear Lord, what shall I do?
I want a heart not heeding
What others think or say;
I want a humble spirit,
To listen and obey.
To serve Thee without ceasing,
’Tis but a little while—
My strength, the Master’s promise,
My joy, the Master’s smile.
—A.C.W.