The Circuit-Preacher
by
THE Methodist circuit-preacher is in the way of seeing human nature in many rare and curious aspects. Under the itinerating system, the United States are divided into conferences, districts, and circuits. The conference usually embraces a State, the district a certain division of the State or conference, and the circuit a portion of the district. To every circuit is assigned a preacher, who is expected to provide himself with a horse, and his duty is to pass round his circuit regularly at appointed seasons through the year, and meet the members of the church at the various places of worship established on the circuit. Every year, he attends the annual conference of preachers, at which one of the bishops presides, and is liable to be assigned a new circuit, in the selection of which, as a general thing, he has no choice–the bishop making all the appointments; and so, term after term, he goes to a new place, among strangers. Before any strong attachments can be formed, the relation between him and his people is severed; and he begins, as it were, life anew, hundreds of miles away, it may be, from any former field of labour. To a married man, this system is one involving great self-denial and sacrifice, assuming often a painful character.
In those circuits that embrace wealthy and populous sections of the country, the Methodist minister is well taken care of; but there are many other sections, where the people are not only very poor, but indifferent to matters of religion, ignorant in the extreme, and not over-burdened with kind or generous feelings. On circuits of this character, the preacher meets sometimes with pretty rough treatment; and if, for his year’s service, he is able to get, being, we will suppose, a single man, fifty or sixty dollars in money, he may think himself pretty well off.
To one of these hard circuits, a preacher, whom we shall call the Rev. Mr. Odell, of the New Jersey conference, found himself assigned by the bishop who presided at the annual conference. The change was felt as pretty severe, he having been on a comfortable station for two years; but as he must take the evil with the good, he conscientiously repressed all natural regrets and murmurings, and, as in duty bound, started, at the close of the conference, for his new field of labour. A day or two before leaving, and after the appointments were announced, Mr. Odell said to the brother who had ridden that circuit during the previous year–“So, I am to follow in your footsteps?”
“It appears so,” was the brief reply.
“How did you like the circuit?”
“I am very well pleased to change.”
Not much encouragement in that answer.”
“We can’t all have good places. Some of us must take our turn in the highways and byways of the land.”
“True; I am not disposed to complain. I have taken up the cross, and mean to bear it to the end, if possible, without a murmur.”
“As we all should. Well, brother Odell, if you pass the year on the circuit without a murmur, your faith and firmness will be strong. I can assure you that it will be more than I did–a great deal more.”
“I have been among some pretty rough people in my time.”
“So have I; but”–and he checked himself; “however, I will not prejudice your mind; it would be wrong. They do as well, I suppose, as they know how, and the best can do no more.”
“Truly said. And the more rude, ignorant, and selfish they are, the more need they have of gospel instruction, and the more willing should we be to break the bread of life for them. If our Master had not even ‘where to lay his head,’ it ill becomes us to murmur because every natural good is not spread out before us.”
In this state of mind, Odell went to his new circuit. Having deposited his family, consisting of a wife and one child, in the little village of S–, with a kind brother, who offered them a home at a mere nominal board, he mounted his horse and started forth on a three weeks’ tour among the members of the church to whom he was to minister, during the next twelve months, in holy things. The first preaching-place was ten miles distant, and the little meeting-house stood on the roadside, nearly a mile from any dwelling, and in an exceedingly poor district of country.