I have never been able to forget a story I heard evangelist Paul Rader relate on one occasion. I may not now be able to recall all the details, but so nearly as I remember, it was as follows: Mr. Rader mentioned having known three ministers, all of whom came from a particular part of the South and were all characterized by a spirit of intense self-abnegation and kindly interest in the needs of others. To one of these Mr. Rader said, “I have known two other men from your part of the country and you have all commended yourselves to me by your unselfishness. How come that you are all so much alike?”
Modestly the preacher answered, “If we have any such marks as you speak of, we owe our unselfishness to a circuit-rider. When we were just boys he used to come to our section every two weeks.”
He then went on to describe him as a lean, cadaverous-looking man of the Abraham Lincoln type who, on the first Sunday he preached in the country schoolhouse, gave a sermon in the morning and another in the afternoon.
Between the services the ladies of the congregation served a picnic lunch in the open air. Great platters of fried chicken, ham, and other meats were laid out on gleaming white tablecloths; these were surrounded by stacks of biscuits, corn pone, hard-boiled eggs, cakes and other delicacies. When all was ready, the assembled group sat down on the greensward to enjoy the repast.
A number of lively boys were always at the front, hoping to get nearest to the platter of chicken. But on this particular occasion, so great was the crowd, the boys were told to wait until their elders were all served. Angrily they went off back of a nearby shed and indulged in the pastime of shooting dice, in revenge for the unkind way they felt they had been treated. They appointed one lad as a watcher, to keep tab on the way the viands were disappearing.
Ruefully, he told of piles of chicken disappearing: still, more came in from nearby wagons. Suddenly, in great excitement he exclaimed, “Say, look at that preacher! The old squirrel! He’s eaten all he could and now when he thinks no one sees him, he’s filling those big pockets in the tail of his long coat.” All looked angrily and saw it was indeed true.
Just then one of the women exclaimed, “Why, look at the preacher’s plate. You all are neglecting him. Hand over the fried chicken.” And she heaped his plate up with appetizing pieces; he nibbled a few minutes — then surreptitiously took two bandana handkerchiefs out of each breast pocket and, filling them with select pieces, stored them away.
Rising with the rest, the preacher backed off, as the boys thought, to hide his “loot” in his baggage. But after moving away from the crowd he turned, and hurried down to the back of the barn where the angry boys were waiting for the second call to lunch. “Boys,” he exclaimed, “I was afraid they were forgetting you, so I saved a lot of the white meat and the drumsticks for you.” Out came the four clean handkerchiefs and he passed the tender morsels around. The boys were captured. Amazed, they eagerly accepted the proffered dainties.
“This was characteristic of that preacher,” said Mr. Rader’s friend. “We felt we had found a real friend — a man who loved other people better than he loved himself. He could do anything with us. He led us all to Christ during the years of his ministry among us, sent several out as foreign missionaries, and we three into the ministry at home. It was the unselfish spirit he manifested that gripped our hearts and won our confidence; so that his sermons reached our consciences and brought us to know his Saviour as ours.”