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      It is not, primarily, the celebration of our achievements, though there is much to which we could point with gratitude, much that fills our hearts with courage and hope.

      It is a time to make prominent the labors of our forefathers rather than the results of their labors, and for obvious reasons.

      It is with the efforts by which Christians serve their day and generation that we have to deal, while the results of these efforts are largely in the hands of God. The efforts are as clearly in evidence as the pages of an open book, and therefore their value can be assessed. But the results are so intertwined with all human relationships and are so far-reaching into both the past and the future as to baffle the powers of analysis. Many a rich harvest still remains to be garnered in the next century from the seed-sowing of the past. We can see only a part of what has been accomplished, and we can see nothing of that which is yet to be accomplished by the efforts already made. But the service itself is a lesson in Christian consecration and devotion which may well thrill our hearts and quicken our footsteps.

      This attitude of mind will explain the selection of a topical text from Paul's epistle to the Philippians, in the second chapter and seventeenth verse--"the sacrifice and service of your faith."

      It was written to the Christians at Philippi, to which place Paul had been summoned by the Macedonian [1] missionary vision, and where he began his work by preaching the gospel of the Son of God to the seller of purple. While he writes he is a prisoner in Rome, and some twelve years have elapsed since he first preached at Philippi, but he declares that he has rejoiced in the fellowship of the Philippian Christians "in the gospel from the first day until now."

      That impressive combination of the words "suffering" and "joy," so characteristic of the apostle's writings, is the dominant note of this epistle, and reaches a climax when he compares their doctrinal devotion to a sacrificial offering on the altar and rejoices in the thought that his own life may be the libation to be poured upon their sacrifice.

      This brief tribute of the text--a tribute of the apostle to the Philippian Christians--contains three words which, more than any others in the language, record our hundred years of history. They are the words "service," "sacrifice," and "faith." No body of Christian people have ever rendered more sincere and faithful service than the Churches of God in North America, and of no Christian people of the same period was more sacrifice required in the service of the Master. It was a century of sacrificial service, and it was all for the sake of the faith--"the faith which was once for all delivered unto the saints." So I can think of no more appropriate sermon-text for the present occasion than the words, "the sacrifice and service of your faith."

      This sermon was outlined on the summit of Reservoir Park. This is a natural resort in which the city of Harrisburg prides herself, not only because of its beauty but also because the view which it presents is unsurpassed by any other in the State. I went there to get an appropriate setting for this subject, geographically, historically, doctrinally and inspirationally. [2]

      From that position, a position higher than the dome of the capitol, I could see, in various directions, the many points of interest to the Churches of God.

      First of all, the city of Harrisburg, with its population of over eighty-two thousand people; with its industrial establishments, large and small, to the number of over three hundred, one of them our own Publishing House; with its seven railroad lines running in as many different directions and an equal number of electric lines for ingress and egress; with its magnificent capitol building, one of the finest in the country; with its well-paved streets, extending more miles, in proportion to its population, than those of any other city in the United States; with its splendid park system of over eleven hundred acres; with its well-equipped schools of the lower and the higher grades; with its fine business establishments; and with its nearly one hundred churches, six of which are churches of God.

      Lifting my eyes above and beyond the capital city I could see a vast area, rich in agricultural and mechanical industry and advanced in civilization, in which we have over fifty churches of God, with an aggregate membership of more than six thousand; and my heart rejoiced in the work of God.

      Then I thought of an approaching event--an event which, in the providence of God, we are now privileged to enjoy. And I was thrilled with the anticipation of the fellowship of a brotherhood, not merely from an area which the eye of flesh could cover, but from a vast scope of our country extending beyond the mountains to the west and the southwest, and far beyond the seas.

      From the location to which I had gone that morning I also found the historical setting for our subject. My imagination carried me back for a hundred years and [3] crudely but impressively pictured that scene of the long ago. How different from that of today! The same sun was shining above and the same Susquehanna was flowing below, but everything else was changed. I had to think, not of a city of more than eighty thousand souls, a prominent railroad center and industrial community, with great educational and religious institutions; but of a little country town of less than four thousand people, without a railroad in sight or in prospect, with a few business places of primitive pattern, and four churches. And many thousands of the well-tilled and fruitful acres now to be seen from that vantage point were then the virgin forest. It was that little town and primitive country to which reference is made in the familiar statement that "our work had its beginning in and around Harrisburg about the year 1825."

      And this reminded me of a certain Sunday morning a hundred years ago. I could see a shepherd of souls, with a little flock about him, standing in front of a house of worship in the heart of this little town, in the chilly air of the early springtime. The scene would not have attracted any special attention at that hour of the morning if they had been going into the house of God, but it excited curiosity because they were going away from it. It was a house of worship which had been built through the instrumentality of this pastor. Behind its sacred desk he had preached the unsearchable riches of Christ. Within its walls those who stood around him had worshiped the Most High. This Sunday morning he and they had come to worship as aforetime, but the door was locked against them. I see them as they turn away, the young pastor, tall, slender and erect, his brow stamped with the sincerity of devotion and his heart aching but unafraid, as he leads his followers from the steps of the Salem Reformed Church to the river side for worship. It was a pilgrim [4] march of but a few minutes, but it was so significant that all the years of the century have not silenced the echoes of their footsteps. They were following the Christ of Galilee, who turned from the lifeless formality of the synagogue to seek and to save men by the seaside.

      The five-minute march of that Sunday morning from the closed sanctuary to the open spaces of the river bank was the beginning of a movement which grew rapidly and extended in many directions but principally along the line of western emigration. This migration had reached a high tide at that time and by 1830 had pushed the frontier beyond the Mississippi. The sturdy pioneers of those days were the advance guard of our national civilization. Hardships were their daily lot. Dangers were always in their pathway. But they were seeking a broader if not a better land and they were willing to pay the price. They felled the trees for a clearing and built their log house close to the sparkling spring of the hillside. In the stillness of the night the wild beasts of the forest shrieked their resentment at this intrusion. Other pioneers hastily fashioned their sod house on the prairie. They toiled in the heat of the day and watched for the danger of the approaching storms. These pioneers scattered their seed with hope, and, whether in the cleared forest or on the vast plain, the earth, made rich by the accumulated fertility of the ages, gave them their daily bread with a generous hand.

      But they needed something more. Many of them were Christians and had been church members in the East. They had not heard a gospel sermon for months or years. They were hungering and thirsting after righteousness. Their cry for help came back home, and their appeal was not in vain. At the time that our work had its beginning the great plan of supporting frontier missions was assuming systematic form. Several of the large denominations were [6] making a good beginning, and the American Home Missionary Society, an interdenominational organization, was established in 1826.

      This record of emigration to the West, with all that it involved and has developed, in things both civil and religious, makes one of the most fascinating stories not only of American history but of the history of the world. And among all the characters which its pages present, the one that holds first place in the affections of our hearts is the circuit rider of the first half of the nineteenth century. I like to picture him on the frontier as he approaches the lonely cabin of an old-time friend whose family has not seen a preacher or heard a sermon for years. They have heard that he is coming and they are eagerly watching. And as he draws up the reins of his faithful horse and dismounts in front of their humble home and they come out to greet the prophet of God, their faces beam as with the light of heaven. And this scene was multiplied by hundreds.

      No persons stand higher in heaven's estimation and none should stand higher in earth's esteem than the pioneer preachers who carried the gospel message westward seventy-five to a hundred years ago. Like the apostles of old they "hazarded their lives for the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." They crossed the mountains and the rivers to reach the distant settlers. They uncomplainingly bore the hardships of the day and courageously faced the dangers of the night. They were opposed and persecuted and slandered, but they rejoiced "that they were counted worthy to suffer shame for his name." They were men

      They served the Master with great courage, and yet [6] "with all humility of mind, and with many tears, and temptations." They knew not what would befall them from day to day, but they trusted in God, and did not count even their lives dear unto themselves, so that they might finish their course with joy, and the ministry which they had "received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the gospel of the grace of God."

      The poet has well expressed the thought in these charming words:

      What is it that makes this story of special interest to us? It is the fact that our brethren were among those emigrants and circuit riders. Most of our early churches west of this State were established by members from Pennsylvania and Maryland. These people went west seeking new homes. Their German thrift and capacity for hard work brought them success. They were true to their faith, and diligent to make it known. Like the disciples of old, wherever they went they taught the word.

      In later years we recognized the whole world as our field and sent our messengers to far-off, benighted India. They have girdled the globe in the name of Jesus. At the same time we recognized, with others, the need for mission work here in the East among the multitudes of foreigners who have crossed the waters and located in our industrial centers. God has guided and blest us in this, so that our work is not only established here, but its gracious influence has gone back to the homeland in Europe.

      And this is the movement that started that Sunday morning a hundred years ago when that little band of pilgrims marched from the closed church to the river bank. What we have today in churches, institutions and enterprises are the fruits of this movement. They are the results of service. And the service, from the first to the last of the hundred years was characterized by sacrifice. This is the chief lesson which we need to learn today--that it has been a century of sacrificial service. That we may learn this lesson aright, let us go back in our historical [8] imagination to the beginning and hastily glance at the course of events.

      We rejoice today that John Winebrenner severed his connection with the German Reformed Church. We believe that it was for the good of men and the glory of God. But let us not suppose that this step was taken without sacrifice. It meant the sacrifice of his religious affiliations in the Church in which he had been born and raised, the Church that he had been taught to reverence and love, the Church that had given him his ordination and his first opportunity to preach. It meant not only the loss of the fellowship of these brethren, but even the loss of their good will and the incurring of their enmity. It meant the sacrifice of home ties as well as Church ties. It was an exemplification of that rare and painful Christian experience of forsaking father and mother for Jesus' sake. To read of the work of Winebrenner and his colleagues in the early years of our history, and of their denunciation of creeds and catechisms, one might suppose that they had always hated these things. But it was not so. It was on the catechism, as second only to the Bible itself and often as a substitute for it, that Winebrenner was brought up at his mother's knee. Think you that it meant nothing to him to discard these things of sacred memory?

      A few years ago I went to Maryland and visited the Winebrenner neighborhood. I walked through the rooms of the old stone house in which he spent his youth. I thought of the religious instruction which was his under the parental strictness and restraint of the olden days. I went to the graveyard where rest the bodies of his parents. Hard by is the site of the church-house, now removed, where, under the German Reformed discipline, he was catechised, confirmed, and, as it was thought, firmly [9] established in the faith of his fathers. And I said to myself, "This is the sacred heritage which Winebrenner had to sacrifice when he turned his face to the morning light of a new day of faith and hope in Christ."

      And this was not the end of his sacrifice, but only its beginning. It accompanied him as an outstanding characteristic of his journeys as a messenger of Christ to the lost, sometimes far from home, many times involving exposure, hardship and privation. It was present in the administration of the affairs of the movement which he had been instrumental in starting and often cost him his peace of mind. True, there were many times of rejoicing in his ministry, his leadership, and even in his sacrificing. There were bright days of sunshine when the birds sang and the flowers bloomed. But there were also dark nights of the heavy heart, so depressing that only the everlasting arms could uphold.

      And what was true of Winebrenner in the way of sacrificial service was also true of his colleagues. The mention of their names and a hint of their work read like a new chapter of the heroes of faith. Hear it:

      By faith Winebrenner, when he was called of God to shake off the dust under his feet for a testimony against those who would not hear the truth and to go out and preach "that men should repent," obeyed; "and he went out, not knowing whither he went. By faith he sojourned in the land of promise, as in a strange country," preaching in private dwellings, in school-houses, in the open air--wherever the people were willing to hear the gospel message of salvation from sin. By faith he subdued prejudice, conquered opposition and won victories in the conversion of thousands of souls.

      By faith the Hickernells, when they heard the Macedonian call from beyond the then formidable Alleghenies, [10] obeyed. Through hardships the like of which we shall never know they traveled over the towering mountains of their native State and across the malarial-infected States beyond. Their expenses were often provided by the labor of their own hands. They had faith in their God and faith in their mission. By faith they preached, and prayed, and triumphed.

      By faith Harn, when he heard the call of God to still more distant points, obeyed. No task was too hard, no burden too heavy, no risk too great if only he could do the will of his Master. No danger could daunt him. The challenge of his countenance and the war-cry of his voice invited conflicts, but he felt that he was fighting the battles of the Lord. His courage always conquered. But back of it was the faith that He that is for us is more than all they that can be against us.

      And this is but the beginning of a long list of our pioneers who were ministerial heroes of the faith. It is a list in which scores of names are entitled to a place, like the names of Ober and Marple, who heard and heeded a still more difficult call, even to the most distant part of our country; and the men who carried on the work in the East, like the sweet-voiced McFadden, who by faith carried the gospel to men in both song and sermon.

      "And what shall I more say? for the time would fail me to tell of" Flake, and of Logue, and of Keller, and of Maxwell, and of Raysor, and of Megrew, and of Dobson and of Domer, and of Loucks, and of Keplinger, and of Shoemaker, and of Sandoe, and of Wilson. "These all died in faith." They were men "who through faith . . . . . wrought righteousness"; they stopped the mouths of gainsayers; they unfurled the banner of truth and set up the standard of the cross; they were men "of whom the world was not worthy." [11]

      And to this list might well be added the name of every faithful servant of the more recent past, both in this country and across the seas.

      Let us go back again to the scene of that Sunday morning of a century ago and seek for an explanation. What was its meaning? Why did that pastor and his followers take a stand which involved such a sacrifice? Why did they assume an attitude in which, from a material viewpoint, they had everything to lose and nothing to gain? What caused the cleavage? Was it a financial difficulty in the church? or a social disturbance? or a personal dislike?

      It was none of these. It was a doctrinal difference, and involved the doctrine most vital to a church's life. It had nothing essentially to do with our distinctive doctrines which the years of the century have made so familiar. Winebrenner subsequently became a believer in these doctrines and their ablest expounder and defender. But on the Sunday morning in question, when that all-important step was taken, he had not, so far as we know, given them any serious consideration. The doctrine which set in motion such potent and far-reaching influences was the doctrine to which some of the books of the New Testament are largely devoted. It was the doctrine most needed by church members depending on works without faith; on the letter without the Spirit; on the form of godliness without its power. It was the doctrine that amazed a master in Israel who came to the great Teacher in the stillness of the night. John Winebrenner, the young German Reformed pastor was a man of works; he was not unmindful of the letter of the law; he was not averse to religious forms and ceremonies. But he had something more than this equipment of the head; his religion had taken hold of his heart. He tells us how it came to pass [12] while he was a theological student in Philadelphia. He says:

      "I was converted, or born again, in the Spring of 1817, when deep and pungent convictions laid hold of my guilty soul. Then, like Job, 'I abhorred myself'; like Ephraim, 'I bemoaned myself'; with the prodigal, I said, 'I will arise and go to my Father', and with the publican, I cried, 'God be merciful to me, a sinner.' And after 'chattering like a swallow', and 'mourning as a dove' for three or four months my poor woe-fraught soul found redemption in Immanuel's blood, even the forgiveness of sins. It was on Easter Sabbath, in the city of Philadelphia, in the presence of a large congregation of worshipers, that Jesus, the 'Sun of Righteousness' arose and shone upon my soul 'with healing in his wings.' Truly that was the happiest day of my life! My darkness was turned into day, and my sorrow into joy. Jesus became the joy of my heart and the center of my affections. His people became lovely and precious in my sight. His word was my delight. In it I beheld new beauties and beatitudes. Sin, that dreadful monster, became more odious and hateful to my soul. Zion's welfare lay near my heart. My bowels yearned for the salvation of sinners. I was in travail for my friends and kindred. I felt constrained to join with 'the Spirit and the bride' and say to all, 'Come, O, come to Jesus.'"

      That the churches to whose pastorate Winebrenner was called a few years later needed this message of redeeming grace more than anything else is not disputed. Formality was their chief characteristic. Their worldliness was generally admitted. One of the prominent leaders of the German Reformed Church states the conditions in these words:

      "True serious piety was too often treated with open and marked scorn. In the bosom of the Church itself it was [13] stigmatized as miserable, driveling Methodism. Experimental religion in all its forms was eschewed as a new-fangled invention of cunning impostors brought in to turn the heads of the weak and to lead captive silly women. Prayer-meetings were held to be a spiritual abomination. Family worship was a species of saintly affectation barely tolerable in the case of ministers (though many of them gloried rather in having no altar in their houses), but absolutely disgraceful for common Christians. To show an awakened concern on the subject of religion, a disposition to call upon God in daily secret prayer was to incur certain reproach."

      John Winebrenner was anxious to bring his congregations to a saving knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ. He wanted his people to have the true hope that is built on the solid Rock instead of the false hope of their formal church membership. To this end he preached and prayed and labored, but largely in vain. With some he succeeded, and through his instrumentality they were brought from darkness to light. But with many others his efforts resulted in the opposition which is always aroused when a spiritual gospel is preached to proud-hearted church members whose profession of religion is merely a godless formalism. The locked door of the church-house that memorable Sunday morning was a symbol of the closed door of their minds and hearts. And as their pastor was forced to turn away from them, I think his heart-cry must have been, "Oh, my brethren, my brethren, how gladly would I have led you into the riches of regenerating grace, but ye would not!"

      And as the closed door of the sanctuary was a symbol of their minds closed with prejudice and their hearts closed with sin, so the open air of the river bank--God's great out-of-doors was a symbol of the freedom into [14] which Winebrenner and his followers entered. It was freedom from human creeds. It was freedom from empty formality, It was freedom from false hopes. It was the freedom of new creatures in Christ Jesus, made such by regenerating grace. No wonder that from that day to this our golden text has been, "Ye must be born again."

      Let us go back once more to the scene of that Sunday morning of a hundred years ago, this time for our inspiration. We are about to begin the work of a new century. These two beginnings--that of 1825 and that of 1925 teach some useful lessons by way of contrast. They teach us that the responsibilities of 1925 are immeasurably greater than those of 1825.

      We have a more ample equipment. Winebrenner and his little band of followers had absolutely nothing to begin with so far as equipment was concerned. Of course they had no schools and no literature. They had not a single house of worship. They had no organization and no thought of one. And this poverty of facilities continued with them for a good many years.

      What are our resources today, at the beginning of our second century? It is true that we do not have as much as they doubtless hoped for and as we could wish for. But the contrast pictures results enough to cause us to thank God and take courage. Our work in the organized form of seventeen Elderships has extended from Pennsylvania to the Pacific coast. And beyond the borders of these Elderships it has extended, in that elusive form which men cannot trace and tabulate, throughout all the land. A membership of some twenty-eight thousand controls and uses for the glory of God four hundred houses of worship, which represent an investment of over two millions of dollars, with an added investment of nearly four [15] hundred thousand dollars in parsonages. We have a well-regulated missionary work on the frontier. Our foreign missionary work in India, started twenty-nine years ago, represents an investment of many thousands more and is growing in influence and becoming better established every year. Our institution of learning, with its more than two hundred and sixty thousand dollars of endowment and its splendid buildings is one of our greatest assets. And right here in Harrisburg, where Winebrenner struggled for so many years against financial difficulties in trying to provide an adequate church literature, we now have a Publishing House and equipment worth a hundred thousand dollars, free of debt. and with an endowment of more than a hundred thousand dollars, making it possible to provide church and Sunday-school literature at it moderate price and other helpful literature which we have so long needed.

      We have greater opportunities. Great inventions applied to the means of communication and great wisdom exercised in diplomacy have made the century notable by opening the whole world for the gospel of Christ. The present opportunities for world-wide evangelism could hardly have been imagined a hundred years ago. "Opportunity and ability make responsibility." And with this vision of the opportunities before us, and with the realization of the resources at our command we may well be impressed with the increasing responsibilities which rest upon us.

      And there has never been a time when the world's need of evangelism was greater than it is now. We are living at a time when the Church sees her greatest opportunity in the world's deepest distress. For the Christ of heaven is the only hope for the chaos of earth. In the recent past empires have risen and fallen. Kingdoms have been wrecked and ruined. Old nations have cried and new ones have been born. But in the midst of it all, and high above [16] all, as the most enduring fact and factor of the ages stands the cross of Christ, "towering o'er the wrecks of time"; and

      The World War tried Christian civilization as in a furnace, but there was One there to walk in the midst of the fire with a form "like the Son of God." He was there to deliver, and He is still mighty to save. This is the great fact which the world needs, and it is the dirty of the Church to proclaim it.

      In the discharge of this duty our own country is far in advance of other Christian countries. Sixty-five percent of all foreign missionary money is raised in the United States. American Christianity, with its unselfish idealism, must continue to lead in this great task of bringing nations out of darkness into light. And in this leadership we, as a religious body, have a part. Our part may be relatively small, but it is of value to the world and of vast importance to us. Our Lord has given us the torch of truth, and thus far He has led us in the bright and happy way. Let us continue to "walk in the light, as he is in the light," and go forward in the power of a pure fellowship.

      But our lessons are not all learned by contrast. These beginnings of 1825 and 1925 have some things in common. And as they are listed let us hope that they may accord with the three outstanding words of our text--sacrifice, service and faith.

      Do we have the same faith--the faith for which our fathers contended--"the faith once for all delivered unto the saints"? Yes, thank God, it has been carried along from generation to generation unimpaired. During the same century, and particularly during the latter part of it, some of the denominations, or at least many of their [17] ministers and laymen have so changed their attitude toward the Bible as to ignore or repudiate certain doctrines which a hundred years ago were regarded as the very pillars of the temple of divine truth. And several denominations, whose work started not far from the time of our beginning, at first taught and practiced the three ordinances which we have always taught and practiced. But before many years had passed they found it convenient to discard what is sometimes called "the lost ordinance." But through all these years no doctrine, either fundamental or distinctive, has been ignored or repudiated by the Churches of God, and none has ever suffered for want of defenders. What our fathers taught and practiced then we teach and practice now, and always have. And this very evening--the evening of our Centennial Sunday, we shall close the work of our first century by a faithful observance of sacred ordinances as they were originally delivered to the church. Well may we be grateful that the Bible has suffered no mutilation at our hands. Well may we rejoice that we have been able to keep and to impart that which was committed unto us--that we have been able to both treasure and transmit the truth.

      In this we have maintained our identity. We claim to be the same people whose work started a hundred years ago. But what do we have now that is the same as it was then? The ministers of that time are all gone. So are the church members. And so are the church-houses. There is only one thing that is the same, and that is the "faith"--the faith for which they contended and for which we contend. This is our identification.

      And as we step across the dividing line between the centuries it should be with the determination to emphasize our identity. Our hope is not in numerical strength, nor in financial strength, nor in the prestige which these [18] produce. Our hope is in what we have, not in what we lack. But we can rejoice in the realization that what we have--the truth--is of infinitely more value than what we lack. And there has never been a time when loyalty to the truth was more needed than now. It has become a popular pastime to ridicule the faith of the fathers. Attacks on the Bible which were formerly made only by infidels out in the world are now made by ordained ministers in the sacred desk. The Lord's Bible is able to stand it all, but many of His followers are not. Their faith is being shaken. Their minds are being filled with doubt and their hearts with distress. This is particularly true of the young people. They are confused. And from their perplexed hearts comes the cry, "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief." It is a cry which voices the heaviest responsibility of the church at the present time. Let us hear it and heed it. Let us stand for the truth in all its fulness and purity. Let us believe that this is the duty of the hour. Let us lift our eyes heavenward and say, with the faith of the psalmist, "Thou hast given a banner to them that fear thee, that it may be displayed because of the truth."

      And how does the word "service" sound to our ears today? Can we justify the claim that we are servants of the Lord and His church in the sense that our fathers were?

      Manifestly our service is not rendered under the same conditions. The almost impassable roads have been supplanted by the great highways that are the pride of our country. The days of the circuit rider and his saddle-bags are but a cherished memory to the few and a fascinating page of history to the many. Instead of the canal and the portage road we have the almost perfect railway systems, the trolley cars, the automobiles, and a hard-pressing [19] rival of them all in the aeroplane. The physical hardships of the pioneers are not a necessary part of our service for the Master, and the minister who would try to duplicate them would be looked upon as an eccentric seeking notoriety in the unique.

      Neither is our service rendered by the same methods. Church doctrines are divine, and, like the One from whom they come, are the same yesterday, today and forever. But church methods are human, and must be changed to meet the changing conditions of the passing years. The restoration of primitive Christianity does not involve the adoption of primitive methods. The only service which is of real value is that which serves "the present age." No forward movement can be successful without the best methods which the experience of the past has produced for the tasks of the present. To this fact we must give earnest heed if we would hold our young people, with their alert minds, their ambitious hearts and their forward look. And we must hold them, if our hopes are to be realized. It is not enough to save the faith of the fathers for the sake of the children. We must also save the children of the fathers for the sake of the faith.

      But these changes which the century has produced in the conditions and methods of service do not lessen its value, nor do they necessarily eliminate the element of hardship from the service we render. The scientific and industrial improvements of modern days have brought us comforts and conveniences not dreamt of by our forefathers. But they have also brought such a complication in human affairs and such an intensity of competition in human activities that even the minister of today is almost a stranger to the freedom, the quiet, and the simple life of a hundred years ago. Our fathers served their day and generation and they served it well. We are serving our [20] day and generation--the only generation that we can serve. They served with the best means at hand to produce the best results, and so do we. Their service made life strenuous, and so does ours. Long since they have each heard from the lips divine the words, "Well done, good and faithful servant." And we who are still toiling in the heat of the day are heartened by the hope that in the after-while we shall hear the same "Well done."

      And now the other word, "sacrifice," which brings us to our severest test. The "faith"? Yes, we have held it fast. "Service"? Yes, we are rendering it. "Sacrifice"? Can we claim it? Have we of today the spirit of sacrifice which has distinguished our hundred years of history? The question is too sacred for me to attempt an answer. I pass it on to you, to be answered alone with your God in the secret place of prayer.

      But the need is so great and the probability of our lack is so strong as to justify a fresh call to consecration. And this is the clarion call which I feel moved to sound forth on this momentous occasion.

      We are met in this historic city where our work had its beginning a hundred years ago. We are standing between the grave of one century and the cradle of another. Our eyes fill with the tears of a grateful memory and our hearts thrill with the joys of an eager hope. We have reached the sacred hour when we are about to cross the dividing line between the centuries. The place, the time and the circumstances all combine to call us closer to God and the service of His church, whatever sacrifice such service may involve.

      We are met under circumstances in which it is easy to imagine that the pioneers of other years are looking down upon us from the galleries of the skies. And the very thought moves us to say,[21]

      And I think that these heroes of the past would like to remind us that in our day, as in their day, duty calls in terms of sacrifice. For of each of these "high souls" it can be truthfully said that by his sacrifice "he being dead yet speaketh." That was the text used at Winebrenner's funeral, and no other could have been more appropriate. He saved his life by losing it--for Jesus' sake and the gospel's. He still lives and speaks. His first marble monument long since began to crumble. Twelve years ago the cheerful gifts of his grateful followers provided another, which you can see by going to the Harrisburg cemetery. But his real monument is in the hearts of the thousands who, here and beyond the skies, have been influenced by his holy life. And from him, and from all the other pioneers who have long since gone home to be with God, I hear the heavenly call to a sacrificial consecration.

      And this call to consecration is but the voice of God through the ages. Our Centennial Forward Movement, with its splendid success in material things, reminds us of a time when David stood before the people of God as they brought largely of their treasures for the work of the Most High. And as he looked at their magnificent gifts, and recognized the greater need, he cried, "Who then is willing to consecrate his service this day unto the Lord?" [22]

      And as we listen to Paul, whose imagery of the text put the Philippians as a sacrifice on the altar and his own life as the libation to be poured out upon it, we hear him say to us, "I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service."

      And across the centuries comes the voice of the Christ. He is speaking to His disciples in the long, long ago, but His message still lives. And from it we catch these significant phrases:

      "I lay down my life. . . . . No man taketh it from me, but lay it down of myself . . . . . Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. . . . . Whosoever will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel's, the same shall save it."

      And a great writer of the past, inspired by these phrases, passes them on to us in this poetic form:

      And as I listen to this, the greatest message of all the centuries, it draws me to the uplifted Son of God on Calvary's brow. And

      I realize that

      May the Holy Spirit help us this day to consecrate our service unto the Lord; to present our bodies a living sacrifice unto God; and to make the supreme sacrifice for "the church of God, which he hath purchased with his own blood." [24]

[CSS 1-24]

      The electronic edition of this pamphlet has transcribed from a copy of the printed version. Thanks to Dr. Gene Crutsinger, Director of Library Services, Winebrenner Theological Seminary, for providing the electrostatic copy.

      The electronic edition differs from the printed text in the following particulars: (1) Pagination has represented by placing the page number in square brackets following the last complete word on the printed page. (2) Extended quotations have been set off. (3) Orthography and punctuation have been emended as detailed in the apparatus below:

 Page       Printed Edition [ Electronic Edition
 -----      ------------------------------------
 p. 9:      brethren but even [ brethren, but even
 p. 17:     per cent. [ percent
 

      Addenda and corrigenda are earnestly solicited.

Ernie Stefanik
Derry, PA

Created 16 December 1996.
Updated 17 July 2003.