She says:  “I have never had a pastor.  It is the one good thing lacking in my life.  I have grown up among ministers, and have had many friends among them—­some of them have cared for me.  But there has never been one among them all who stood in an attitude of spiritual authority and helpfulness to my life.  We church-going and Christian men and women of the educated class are almost wholly let alone; apparently no one takes thought for our souls.  We are not in the least infallible; we come face to face with fierce temptations; we have heart-breaking sorrows; we are burdened with anxiety and perplexity.  But we are left to grope as blind sheep; there is no one to point out the path to us, however dimly; no one to say, at any crucial moment of our lives, Walk here!

“Once, however,” she continues, “one of my friends, a minister, knelt down by me and prayed.  It was a simple and ordinary occasion—­others were present.  But every word of that prayer was meant for the uplifting of my heart.  In that hour, I was as if overshadowed by the Holy Ghost; new aims and purposes were born within me.  My friend loves me—­that does not matter—­it is his spiritual intensity I care for.  And this is his reward for his fidelity and tenderness:  In the hour when I come to die, when one does not ask for father or mother, or husband or wife, or brother or sister, or friend or child, but only for the strong comfort of the man of God—­in that hour, I say, if I be at all able to make my wishes known, I shall send for that man to come to me.  He, and no other, shall present my soul to God.”

Reading the above words, more than one minister will cry out, his eyes blazing:  “I say the same to you!  Who is there that tries to shield the minister from sorrow and from pain?  Who is there to comfort and help him?  You think we can just go on, and preach, preach, preach, standing utterly alone, and with no one on earth to keep our own hearts close to God!  I tell you, it is a lonely and weary work at times, this being a minister!”

Yes, there must be a people, as well as a pastor.  The relation is reciprocal.  Wherever there is a strong man, leaning down in fire and tenderness to help the lives about him, there must be a loyal and loving congregation, with here and there in it some one who more fully appreciates and understands.  Nothing beats down and discourages a man more than to feel that he is preaching to cold air and not to human folks, and to get back, when he offers sympathy, a stare.

A congregation is a mysterious and subtle social force.  Its effect on a minister he can neither analyze nor explain.  But he knows that its power is mesmeric and cannot be escaped.  He goes into its presence from an hour of exalted and uplifted prayer, serene, happy, strong, and prepared to speak words of power and life.  Gazing at his people—­he can never tell why—­the words freeze on his lips.  An icy hand seems laid upon his heart, and he makes a cold and formal presentation of his glowing theme, and wonders who or what has done it all.  Something satanic and repelling has laid hold of his tongue and brain.