The Elder’s Dream

In one of Scotland’s northern towns, a family was seated around the breakfast table waiting for their father, wondering why he had not come because he was later than usual. At length he appeared; his step was heavy and his brow cloudy. Having asked the blessing, evidently wrapped in thought, he sat with his head resting on his hand. This unhappy looking man was one of the elders in the neighboring chapel. He possessed much energy and zeal and, it was hoped, real grace; but, alas, he was too much governed by a bad temper and too often forgot the words of a wise man, “...and he that ruleth his spirit (is better) than he that taketh a city.” As a result of this, the meetings for the chapel business were the frequent scenes of anger and noisy strife. The minister, being a true disciple of the Prince of Peace, deeply lamented his elder’s unchristian spirit. On the previous day, a meeting had been held which was even more contentious than usual.

The good minister’s heart sank within him while he sat amidst the strife of tongues, and he was most thankful that evening to retire to a friend’s house some miles from the town; for the peace and quiet of the country is soothing to a wounded spirit.

It was on the following morning that the elder came down to breakfast in such a melancholy mood. His wife, after looking at him anxiously for some minutes, said, “Are you ill, my dear?”

“No,” was the simple reply.

“Then what has happened to make you look so sad?”

He slowly raised himself up, and looking earnestly at her, said, “I have had a most unusual dream.”

The look of anxiety vanished from his wife’s face as she said with a smile, “Why? You always laugh at my dreams.”

“Yes, but mine was so remarkable. I dreamt that I was at the bottom of a steep hill, and when I looked up, I saw the gate of heaven at the top; it was bright and glorious, and many saints and angels stood there. Just as I reached the top of the hill, who should come out to meet me but our old minister, and he held out his hand crying, ‘Come away, John; come away, come away; there’s no strife here.’ Now I cannot help thinking of the grief my contentious spirit has caused the old man.”

Husband and wife sat for some time in mournful silence which was broken by the entrance of a servant with a letter.

Husband and wife sat for some time in mournful silence which was broken by the entrance of a servant with a letter. The elder hastily read it while an expression of deep grief spread over his face; then, dropping it from his hand, he covered his face as if to hide from those around him, the bitter anguish of his soul. His wife took up the letter which was from the minister’s host; its contents were as follows:

“My dear Sir: We had the great pleasure yesterday of receiving our dear minister, little thinking it would be the last time we should welcome him to what he called his peaceful retreat. When we sat talking together in the evening, he spoke with much grief of the chapel meeting. ‘Indeed,’ he added, ‘I am so tired of all this strife and turmoil that I wish my dear Lord would take me home.’ Since he did not come down to breakfast in the morning, I ran up and knocked on his door. Receiving no answer, I went downstairs again, thinking a longer rest than usual would do him good. After returning to his door once or twice, I went in. He was in bed, apparently asleep. I spoke to him but received no answer. Yet it was very long before we believed it to be the sleep of death, for a happy smile rested on his face, and his snowy locks rested on the pillow; but he slept in Jesus, for his dear Lord had taken him.”

The elder never recovered from the shock. He sorrowed for his minister but still more for his sin. He gradually sank and in three weeks was laid by the side of the aged minister.

— Adapted from The Sower

How many go forth at morning
Who never come home at night!
And hearts have broken
For harsh words spoken
That sorrow can ne’er set right.

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