W. Ed. Snyder

The New Goshen Pastorate—An Old Grudge Healed—Dry Bones Revived—Memorable Year at “Dogtown”—“Death in the Pot”—The Hittites Captured—The “Jerks”—Other Remarkable Demonstrations—A Rooster in the Missionary Collection—First Debate—Unpleasant Sequel to a Horse Trade.

Following the Vermilion pastorate, two years were spent on the New Goshen Circuit in Vigo County, Indiana. This circuit had ranked among the best in the conference, but unfortunately had become weakened and despoiled through internal dissension. A chronic grudge between two of the most prominent members had leavened the whole lump with its unsavory effects. It was one of those situations that afford a pastor a splendid opportunity of losing his ecclesiastical scalp, the very thing that happened to a number of former pastors who undertook to heal the sore. It was not Newgent’s policy to take a hand in neighborhood broils, or to break to the woods in the face of such contingencies, but rather to “stand still and see the salvation of the Lord.”

His presiding elder told him that his first duty on going to the circuit would be to get the difficulty adjusted. It was suggested that as he was a stranger to both parties, he would be the proper one to do it. He replied that God had not called him to fix up old grudges between church members, but to save sinners.

“But unless you get this done,” he was told, “you had as well not go, for you can never accomplish anything until the difficulty is removed. He said he would not bother the old grudge directly, and that if there were sinners who wanted salvation, he was sure God could save them in spite of old, grouchy church members. He proceeded at once to plan a revival campaign. It is part of his philosophy that if a pastor’s first revival effort is a success it begets confidence on the part of the people and paves the way for other victories. It is, therefore, the part of wisdom to choose the easiest place to begin with. Accordingly, he began a meeting in the latter part of September at the Rose Hill class, where he thought there were the fewest hindrances. But the people were still busy with their farm work, and with the old trouble still visible around the edges, producing a melancholy Indian summer effect, he had very little encouragement. Two weeks passed and only four persons could be mustered for day services. He preached to this quartet of faithful souls, held prayer and class meetings with them, and encouraged them in every possible way.

“Tell the people to come,” he said to his little band one day, as if seized with a sudden revelation, “for we are going to have the biggest revival they have ever seen. If you can’t tell it on your own faith, tell them the preacher said so.” They perhaps half-way believed what he said. At least they did as they were urged, and the crowd was slightly increased the next day. And with that service the revival really did begin. The prophecy was fulfilled. It was by far the greatest revival the community had ever known, abundantly demonstrating the preacher’s philosophy that when folks want salvation, a few backslidden church members, even with their bristles up, cannot prevent them from getting it.

New Goshen Class was the head and heart of the circuit, likewise the seat of the trouble that had been its thorn in the flesh. Newgent proceeded to carry out his policy of capturing the outposts before storming this stronghold of opposition. The plan worked admirably. Three meetings were held, each of which resulted in a sweeping revival. He was now ready for the Herculean task, the final charge, New Goshen itself!

Here it was seen how God moves in mysterious ways, using the weak things to confound the mighty. Some two miles from town lived a family, all of whom were utterly irreligious. The father was a drunkard and a notably rough character. The oldest daughter was an invalid, but on learning of the meeting, she was taken with a keen desire to attend. So she went to visit with a family who lived just across the street from the church, so that it would be convenient for her. In the first service she attended, she went to the altar, and was not there long until she fell into a trance. This was repeated the second and third evenings. One of her brothers was present the third evening, and when he saw his sister so strangely affected, conviction seized upon him so intensely that he likewise fell over in an unconscious condition. When he “came through” he was a new creature in Christ. One after another of this wicked family was taken captive by the power of God until all were graciously saved.

By this time the church began to rub its eyes and take notice. The dry bones were surely beginning to shake and show signs of life. One evening as the power of God was moving upon the people, the two brethren who were responsible for the old trouble on the circuit, were seen edging toward each other, and when they got together, they threw their arms around each other’s necks and wept like children. The mother of one of the men was present and when she saw what was taking place, she sent up a shout that really did wake the dead—the spiritually dead of the congregation. Walls of opposition suddenly gave way. The fire from heaven fell as it fell on Sodom and Gomorrah, not to destroy, but to wipe out old scores and to make men and women alive to God. The fortified city was taken. The victory was complete.

During this pastorate of two years, over four hundred persons were added to the church.

One of his most successful and memorable pastorates was that on the Charlestown Circuit, in Illinois. The circuit had a very unsavory reputation at the time. It was commonly known by the undignified and uncomplimentary name of “Dogtown.” Newgent had asked to be sent to the worst charge the conference had, and the reputation of Dogtown made this a matter easily determined. His predecessor had been egged and otherwise badly handled.

It was a serious question with the conference as to whether a pastor should be appointed to it, as it had proven itself so unworthy. Besides, it was a proposition that few men were willing to face, Newgent being the only aspirant for the situation. The salary the preceding year was $180, and there was not a church paper taken on the entire charge.

Dogtown, the place which gave the name and largely the reputation to the circuit, was a straggling village noted only for its general cussedness. Newgent declared that it had never been named after a good dog, but more likely after the lowest bred cur in the country. The name, however, was partially a corruption of Diona, by which name the town had been christened; but the appropriateness of the former name was so evident that it naturally stuck, and the original name was well nigh forgotten. Though the place was utterly fallen from righteousness—if it ever possessed any—and was inclined to evil and evil only, it had the one advantage of being well churched. It had two church-houses, each serving as the home for two denominations. Thus, four denominations were diligently casting their pearls into this swine-wallow only to have them trampled under foot. The Methodists and Baptists occupied one house, and the Cumberland Presbyterians and United Brethren the other. They suffered no inconvenience through lack of room, as the combined membership of the four churches numbered only fourteen, seven of whom belonged to the United Brethren.

It was one of those melancholy days, a Sunday afternoon in September, when the new circuit rider arrived to fill his first appointment at Dogtown. Of course the seven members of his flock were present to take his measure. The task was soon done. They were crestfallen when they saw as their spiritual advisor an unpretentious, boyish-looking fellow, somewhat below the standard size, and possessing little of the air and dignity and gravity of a ripe circuit rider, according to their staid notions. The faithful seven, like the proverbial birds of a feather, occupied a portion of the house to themselves; their long faces turned full upon the pastor, added to the melancholy of that autumn afternoon. Nor did the small sprinkling of stray sheep throughout the plain old building serve to any considerable extent as a counter-irritant.

Newgent was keeping a “stiff upper lip” as he introduced the services. The preliminary exercises were about finished, and he was about to begin the sermon; the congregation was droning out a familiar tune when a raw, strapping native came stalking in. He presented a unique appearance. He was barefooted, his trousers were rolled up to his knees, he wore no coat, and his checked shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. No sooner was he seated than another in exactly similar manner and costume followed. One after another followed until upwards in thirty came in, all dressed exactly alike, and so timing their movements as to give time for each to be seated before another followed, making the procession as long as possible—to the amusement of the pastor and the stray sheep, and the utter consternation of the faithful seven.

It struck the witty Irishman at once that they were not trying to install him as the Presbyterians do their pastors, but rather to forestall him after the manner of Dogtown; and he made up his mind not to be forestalled. He was certain they did not want any religion and he had no religion to throw away. He had his subject in mind, but he thought it best to select a more appropriate one. Accordingly, he announced as his text, “Oh, man of God, there is death in the pot.” He talked about twenty minutes, putting in the entire time telling his funniest stories, and pouring in one broadside after another of his Irish wit and humor. It was a diplomatic move. All seemed heartily to enjoy the “sermon,” except the seven members of his own congregation. The proceeding was most too irregular for their conventional tastes. The members of his uniformed guard were especially delighted. Every witticism was greeted with vociferous applause, by the stamping of their bare feet, clapping of hands, and unrestrained, boisterous laughter.

“I would not black my boots to hear a long, dry sermon,” said the preacher by way of conclusion. “You are a fine looking set of fellows. I have been sent by the conference to preach to you, and I am sure we will get along well together. Now, if you see me at any time looking hungry, or if it is near night, take me in. I am an Irishman and easily pleased. And if I see any of you near my home, I will treat you the same. But, gentlemen, I have the most beautiful little wife you ever set eyes on. Now, I expect to bring her with me the next time, and you must be sure to put your boots on and fix up a little.”

When he dismissed he went back among this raw element, shaking hands and talking freely with each one. Much of his time between that and the next appointment was spent studying “mischief”—loading up for the next discharge. His second talk was even more humorous than the first, having been prepared especially for the crowd and the occasion. In the meantime his fame had been spread broadcast, and an immense crowd was present to see and hear the “wild Irishman.” A number were congregated at the door for the purpose of greeting him upon his arrival at the church.

At the third appointment he had an overflow crowd. As he was walking down the aisle to the pulpit, a brother whom he recognized as one of the true and blue seven of the first service, plucked him aside and whispered:

“Parson, you’ve got ’em. You’re the smartest feller that ever struck this place. These fellers say you’ve got to have order if they have to fight for it.”

“That’s what I’ve been fishing for,” said Newgent. He began a revival at this time. Ere long the great, rough fellows who laughed so heartily at his jokes were crowding to the mourner’s bench, shedding tears of penitence, crying for mercy, and piercing the air with shouts of victory as one after another emerged into the light and liberty of God’s children. A marvelous work was wrought in that sin-polluted community. As the lives of these hardy backwoodsmen were transformed by the power of Christ, they became as potent for righteousness as they had been for evil. Just how many were converted could not be definitely ascertained. One hundred sixty-one members were added to the United Brethren Church, besides those that joined the other churches of the town.

There was an appointment some few miles from Dogtown named Liberty. It was practically dead as a church, there being but five names on the roll, and they represented very little in spiritual assets. He began a revival campaign here immediately following the meeting in town, which proved even more far-reaching in its results. He has always regarded it as the most remarkable revival in his entire ministry. The power of God in the conviction of sinners was irresistible. Strong men and women were stricken unconscious in almost every service. As many as fifty persons could be counted lying in an unconscious condition at one time.

A peculiar feature of this revival was the presence of that strange, nervous phenomenon among the people, known as the “jerks.” This strange manifestation prevailed in many of the early revivals where unusual power was displayed. It was especially prevalent in what is known as the great Cumberland revival which swept over the eastern part of Kentucky and Tennessee. Whatever the explanation of this phenomenon, it usually accompanied a deep emotional state, saints and sinners alike being subject to it. The mystery of it and the fact that it often became quite violent, especially on persons who resisted the influence of the meetings, gave it much weight in these early revivals. Peter Cartwright, in his well-known autobiography, describes the physical effects of the jerks as follows:

“No matter whether they were saints or sinners, they would be taken under a warm song or sermon, and seized with a convulsive jerking all over, which they could not by any possibility avoid, and the more they resisted, the more they jerked. If they would not strive against it and would pray in good earnest, the jerking would usually abate. I have seen more than five hundred persons jerking at one time in any large congregation. Most usually persons taken with the jerks, to obtain relief, would rise up and dance. Some would run but could not get away. Some would resist; on such the jerks were usually very severe.”

The meeting was accompanied by a variety of spiritual demonstrations, remarkable both in their character and extent. It was entirely beyond human control. It continued four months, day and night. Most of the time there was no preaching, for there was no opportunity for a sermon, and none was needed. The people would gather, singing and shouting as they came, and the singing, shouting, and praying would continue spontaneously. Penitents would go to the altar without an invitation, often as soon as they arrived.

The entire community was charged with a peculiar spiritual atmosphere, the limit of which seemed distinctly drawn. It was termed the “dead line.” On reaching this line the individual, whether a Christian or not, would at once be seized with intense religious emotion. On passing out of this region the change was as distinctly felt as on entering it.

So great was the interest in the surrounding country that six schools were closed. One teacher sent to the church for help. Some brethren went to see what was the matter, and found the entire school practically prostrate with conviction. School was turned into prayer meeting. A number, including the teacher, were converted, and school was indefinitely suspended.

The pulpit and platform were smashed into kindling wood at one of the services. People performed physical feats utterly impossible under ordinary circumstances, such as walking across the house on the backs of the pews with their faces turned straight upward. Late one night after the service had closed, a family in the neighborhood heard singing in the direction of the church. Not knowing what it meant, they investigated. But on approaching the church they noticed that the singing was overhead as if produced by an invisible choir in the upper air.

Whatever question may enter the mind as to the nature of these phenomena, there is no question as to the genuineness of the work of grace wrought in that section of country. It was swept as completely by the revival as a prairie is swept by fire. And the effects were abiding, even the more extraordinary forms of spiritual fervor continuing indefinitely.

This was a season of strenuous physical activity on the part of Rev. Mr. Newgent. This meeting lasted four months, and for three months in addition he was in revival meetings continuously.

From being the worst circuit in the conference, Dogtown suddenly became the best. It reported the largest salary. And that year it led the entire denomination in the number of church papers taken. Prizes were offered by the publisher for the largest club in any conference, and also a sweepstakes prize for the largest club in the Church. Newgent won both the conference and the sweepstakes prize, which was the more remarkable when we recall that there was not a paper taken on the charge when he was appointed to it.

Near the close of his memorable meeting at Dogtown, he announced that he would take a missionary offering the following Sunday, and urged the people to come prepared. The missionary meeting was full of enthusiasm, as all his meetings were when a collection was involved. As he was exhorting the congregation to give freely to send the gospel to the heathen, the door opened and a boy bearing in his arms a large rooster came walking down the aisle. As an evidence that the old-time Dogtown spirit was not wholly dead, some mischievous fellows planned to have some fun at the preacher’s expense by putting a rooster in the missionary collection. The bird was not only large, but also quite game, and was almost too much for the lad who was to do the presentation act in behalf of the gang. As he proceeded toward the pulpit, his courage began to fail and he hesitated, possibly waiting to see what sort of effect he was producing. The preacher took in the situation at a glance.

“Come on,” he said to the half-frightened lad, “I’m the fellow who likes chicken.”

With this encouragement the boy went forward and placed his gift in the hands of the preacher, who received it smilingly and thanked him for his generous contribution to the missionary cause. He asked one of the brethren in the “amen corner” to care for his charge while he finished the service. He kept the rooster until fall and took it to the annual conference. In presenting his report, he related the incident and asked in a jocular vein what should be done with the rooster. A dignified, sober-minded brother moved that the rooster be sold and the proceeds be reported to the missionary fund, and that the undignified proceedings be closed. The motion carried.

“All right,” said the wiley Irishman, assuming the pose of an auctioneer, “how much am I offered for the rooster? How much do I hear? How much?” Some one ventured a bid. “Sold,” said the preacher-auctioneer amid a roar of laughter, and the conference proceeded to more serious matters.

It was on this charge that he had his first debate. His popularity and success in winning converts led to a challenge from a brother in the Christian (Disciples) church, who was then serving as pastor at Charlestown, Illinois. The question discussed was the divinity of Christ. Newgent took the positive position, affirming that “Christ is the very and eternal God apart from his human nature.” The debate was held at Salisbury, Illinois, creating a great deal of interest and attracting a large crowd. That the contest resulted in an easy victory for our subject was attested by the fact that he received an offer from the elders of his opponent’s church of fifteen hundred dollars a year to become their pastor, which, at that time, was considered an enormous sum.

“I would not preach your doctrine for fifteen hundred dollars a year,” he said, “to say nothing of losing my time and self-respect.”

“We are not asking you to preach the doctrine,” they said, “all we ask is that you become our pastor; you are at liberty to preach your own convictions.” But he was not on the market.

Another interesting experience during this pastorate came as the sequel to a horse trade. One of his neighbors, a brother in the Church, coveted his fine driving horse, and bantered him for a trade. “I have the very horse you need,” he urged, and offered what seemed to be a fair bargain. And after the usual ceremonies and preliminaries, the deal was pulled off.

The next day being Sunday, the pastor hitched up his new horse early, and taking his wife and babe, started for his appointment. The animal soon showed signs of treachery, arousing the suspicions of its owner, but they went on. They got on quite well until they came to a low swale in the road over which the water stood several inches deep. When they were about half-way across, the horse stopped and looked back to see if they were coming. But they had also stopped. Newgent, who had some knowledge of “horseology,” saw that they were in for it. It being a warm, summer day, an innumerable multitude of mosquitoes soon collected to express their sympathy and to divert the attention of the unfortunate family from their troubles.

“Here’s a chance to show that we can keep sweet,” said the preacher to his wife, “even under trying circumstances.”

The circumstances were indeed trying, for he spent a couple of hours trying to argue the horse out of his position, but the horse was not open to conviction. At the same time he was making a desperate effort to keep sweet, which, with the mosquitoes diligently plying their trade—as it was too good a business opportunity for them to let pass—and the hour for the morning service passing, was not as easy a task as it would have been under less trying circumstances.

“Well,” he finally said to his wife, sweetly, “we are going out of here.”

“When?” was her meek reply.

“Just as soon as possible.” And removing his boots and some other parts of wearing apparel that could be temporarily dispensed with, he got out of the buggy and carried the baby to a dry place. He then removed his wife to the shore, after which he proceeded to unhitch the horse from the buggy, or rather to unhitch the buggy from the horse, as the buggy was movable and the horse was not. A strategic plan was then inaugurated by making a natural appeal to the animal’s stubbornness. This was done by hitching the horse to the rear axle-tree of the buggy, which proved a decided success, at least to the extent of getting both the horse and buggy out of the water. Newgent then hitched up according to the conventional style, and with his family started homeward in deep meditation. He filled no appointment that day. He found it difficult to see the point in his neighbor’s argument that “this was the very horse he needed,” unless it was to stimulate the grace of patience, which is a much-needed quality in a preacher. Since then he has stoutly maintained that it is a bad thing for a preacher to swap horses—unless he is sure he can make a better trade.