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without regard to either penalty or favor, following his convictions no matter where they may lead, acting with the spirit of supreme command as a general at the head of an army, he walks softly, timidly, almost apologetically, fearful lest he be rebuked for assuming any leadership whatever. The preacher ought not to be dogmatic, nor obstinate, nor bent on having his own way, for there are other interests to be considered, and other men have rights, but he ought to be divinely independent and maintain that independence. Saint Paul did so, hence his success.

Paul had an all-conquering faith. At the first glance it might seem as though faith would be a necessity in one so favored, and rise as naturally out of his life as a tree from its roots or the harvest from the earth. But faith is not a by-product. It is not the result of antecedents. Nor is it made up in prescription form-so much hope, so much trust, so much courage. It is a distinct quality; and, though it may embrace other qualities, yet, like the steel framework in a building, it unites and compacts the whole structure. It is easily possible for a man to have courage yet lack faith. Thomas was ready to accompany Jesus to Jerusalem and die if need be, but no one has ever claimed that Thomas was the apostle of faith. Peter with a single sword was ready to attack the guard who came on the errand of arrest, but recklessness is not faith as we soon find in the case of that same apostle. It is easy to say that, given such a marvelous conversion as Saint Paul was favored with, anything but the highest faith would seem almost impossible. What, then, of the men who saw Jesus transfigured, who communed with him after his resurrection, who saw him ascend to heaven in a cloud of glory? But where do we see in Saint Paul's life an hour of discouragement, a time of depression, the slightest foreboding regarding the future? Nothing moved him from his course. Nothing daunted him for a moment. Festus, Agrippa, Nero, howling mobs, unjust judges, scornful Greeks, haughty Romans, determined Jews, false brethren, ungrateful churches, idolatrous cities, hunger, cold, weariness, floggings, all seemed to have no more effect upon his faith than ocean spray upon iron cliffs. Think of a man who could

glory in these things, who could actually rejoice in the privilege of showing in this way his loyalty to Christ! Is it any wonder that he conquered, and that through him the gospel not only had free course, but was glorified? Such a man must succeed. A faith like his is overmastering. Men can but yield under such a tremendous force. It is irresistible. It is all-powerful everywhere. Circumstances, no matter how unfavoring, cannot stay its course. Like the tide, raised by divine energy from the sky, it sweeps on regardless of breakwaters or barriers.

We find, therefore, in every part of Paul's ministry immediate results. Not always, however, what the preacher of this day would regard as success; for at times the most bitter opposition was aroused, men were enraged beyond measure, tumults and riots ensued, and frequently appeal to the civil authorities was necessary. Yet was this not, after all, the highest success? And is not the same ministry needed now? The arm of the Lord is not shortened, his ear is not heavy, the gospel is yet the power of God, the Word remains quick and powerful, the Spirit has not withdrawn his convicting grace, the divine energies under which Saint Paul preached are still within reach. Why, then, are there such meager results? How we bewail the downtown problem, our inability to reach alien populations, the removal of churches from sacred and historic locations, the sparsity of congregations, the inroads of worldliness, the desecration of God's day, the neglect of God's house, and the terrible indifference on the part of multitudes regarding spiritual things! Never was the preacher's faith put to a greater test than now, and never was a more absolute, allconquering faith so sorely needed; and without such faith all else is of little value. But if the preacher, through faith in God and his gospel, was able to conquer in Ephesus, Corinth, Philippi, why not in Boston, Chicago, New York? If faith is back of the word, as powder is back of the bullet, the result would seem inevitable.

J. Mishy Johnston

ART. V.-THE PASSION PLAY IN SICILY

Ir was in Passion week of the year 1904 that my friend (a professor from Chicago), his wife and myself started from Naples for a trip to Sicily-two of us for pleasure and one for duty. At 7:30 P. M. we boarded the beautiful new steamer of the Campagnia Navigazione Italiana, Galileo Galilei, for a night voyage to Palermo. We arrived there at six o'clock the next morning and were met by our Italian pastor, who in his usual way greeted me with a holy kiss on both cheeks. This may be called an un-American method of greeting, but in the environment of Italy it was suggestive of the experiences of Paul the apostle. We spent the forenoon of Thursday in seeing the sights and then, at one o'clock in the afternoon, we started for Messina. After resting there for the night we took the train for Roccalumera, an hour's ride from Messina. There our circuit preacher met us and took us to a carriage that was waiting. We left the beautiful seashore and started for a trip inland, fifteen miles. The route was on the edge of the river and a continual ascent until we had reached an altitude of three thousand feet above the sea. The river bed was almost dry, and being fully a quarter of a mile wide, and in some places even wider, it seemed to casual observers a useless waste of space in an island so limited as Sicily; but if they could see it after a storm and hear the rush of the mountain torrent they would soon change their opinion. When we were about half way on our journey I noticed a wooden shed in the middle of the river bed, and right below us, fully two hundred feet, we saw some men busy planting trees in its stony ground. The proceeding was so singular that I asked our minister what they were doing. He confessed his ignorance, but inquired of a passer-by. Imagine our pleasure when we were told that, tomorrow being Good Friday, “Il Martirio di Cristo" would be performed in the bed of the river. The trees that were being planted were to make up the garden of Gethsemane, while the wooden shed a quarter of a mile away was to be the judgment hall. We found that the play would begin at nine in the morning and close at four in the afternoon.

The next morning found us there about ten o'clock. There was a great company present, fully two thousand of the peasant people. We three were the only Americans; indeed, I suppose that we were the first Americans that had ever visited that inland hamlet. It was a picturesque sight, purely Oriental in its setting. All the colors of the rainbow were seen in the clothing of the natives, and all of a purely Sicilian type: the homespun clothing, the gaily caparisoned corsets that encased the aesthetic-colored waists, the heavy boots of both sexes and quite frequently no shoes at all, the pure white head coverings as well as vari-colored ones, sometimes stiffly starched and presenting a pleasing appearance, or in the form of a light shawl thrown over the head, of the prettiest combinations of color; no bonnets, no twentieth century fashions, or even nineteenth, but a little of the middle ages introduced for our entertainment—a sight never to be forgotten. And surely the whole thing was medieval in its character. It was the modern theater in embryo, a kindergarten system of teaching the gospel story according to ecclesiastical methods, methods so crude that we do not wonder that the people lost all interest in the story itself and forgot to reverence even the central figure. The procession from the Garden of Gethsemane had just started for the judgment hall when we arrived. All the characters of the play were dressed in the garb of Christ's day. Peter was trying to hide his identity in the crowd-he no longer followed the Master— but his first century clothing made him more conspicuous than ever among the Sicilian beholders. The central figure of the play was taken by a weaver of a neighboring village. He did his part very well. I watched him closely as he walked between the Roman soldiers from the garden to the judgment hall. He had a decidedly Jewish cast of countenance and seemed to understand the important part he was taking. His interpretation was that of a man who felt his case was hopeless; that self-defense was of no use, everybody was against him; let the worst come; he was ready for it. The impression produced upon my mind will not soon fade. Not only in the garden scene but in the judgment hall and on the way to Calvary he maintained the same attitude to a marvelous degree. After he had been clad in white, and the crown of thorns

had been placed upon his head, he stood before the governor in the attitude of one who "as a lamb brought before the shearers is dumb, so he opened not his mouth." It was a pathetic sight to see him as the Roman soldiers bowed mockingly before him and cried 'Bein ti sia, Re de' Giudei!" (Hail, king of the Jews!) And as they smote him on the cheek he received the insult without a flinch. When Pilate led the white-robed man to the front and cried to the gazing multitude, "Ecco il vostro re!" (Behold your king!) it was simply thrilling to note the hopeless passivity of the prisoner, as with hands tied before him and with head drooping he faced the heartless crowd, and I felt my blood running cold as the mob cried out: "Crocifiggilo! crocifiggilo!" (Crucify him! crucify him!) And from every side I heard this cruel shout and observed the indifferent laughing of the multitude. It must have been fearfully similar to the real scene, and I felt a revulsion from the whole thing and almost wished that I had not been present. This passion play is purely a relic of a religious festival. There was no semblance of the religious spirit in this performance.

There was one scene enacted in Pilate's house that was not drawn from the gospel narrative and yet was very impressive. Joseph of Arimathæa and Nicodemus were represented as having a private interview with Pilate. They made strong appeals for the white-robed prisoner (who, however, was not present during the interview), and it was interesting to note the effect of their arguments on the vacillating judge. Then came Annas and Caiaphas also for a private interivew, and by this time the procurator was almost beside himself. Finally he sat down to sign the death warrant, but before he could do so a little page boy brought a letter and handed it to him. He broke the seal and read the message from his wife: "Have thou nothing to do with this just man, for I have suffered many things in a dream this day because of him." It was pitiful to watch the miserable representative of Roman justice with the conflicting thoughts passing through his mind—a very fine piece of acting. It takes an Italian to throw life into a drama. But Pilate must arrive at some decision, and he has already practically told the people that they shall have their own way. So, in a very dramatic manner, he calls for water and

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