Simpson College - Zenith Yearbook (Indianola, IA)

Page 10 text:

The people show their affection. I would rather have that than what Carnegie has. The affection of the people is the greatest reward.” After prayer, during which he responded with earnest Amens, we clasped hands for the last Good Bye. With countenance all radiant, with that rare old smile, pointing with his left hand while his right held mine, he said, ‘‘Heaven seems a great reality, just a crossing over.” Asked if he had a message for his brethren he said: ‘‘You may tell them that Christ never seemed so real, nor brotherly love so precious as now.” Three weeks later his spirit, gentle, pure, and strong, took its flight to the realms of endless day. On the occasion of his funeral in the large church at Boone, where he was completing his fifth year as pastor, the great building was filled. Over thirty members of the conference were on the platform, the business houses were closed, and the schools dismissed. The United States Secretary of the Treasury, Leslie M. Shaw, and his wife, who had been under the pastorate of Brother Harris for five years at Denison, and had known him for fifteen years, came from Washington to attend the funeral. The words of Secretary Shaw fitly described the influence of the dead Pastor’s character and work when he said in concluding,— ‘‘I have known more profound scholars, I have heard greater preachers as the world counts greatness of preaching; but in the pulpit, as well as out of it, and out of it as well as in it, for 365 days of the year, and for five years at a stretch, Rev. J. B. Harris was the best preacher it was my privilege to hear consecutively or to observe intimately.”

Page 9 text:

shone from his eyes and radiated like cheering warmth from his entire personal- ity, won for him the confidence and affection of those he met to a remarkable degree. Back of this genially pleasing friendliness was a spotless character, blossoming into actions guided by a judgment and tact as nearly flawless, in regard to practical affairs, as men can hope to possess. These characteristics created a tie of affection between him and his congregations that was the most marked result of his pastoral work. His conversations were brightened with a humor that never wounded, but whose fine edge he turned upon himself, at times, with even a keener relish than he did upon his friends. No person who heard it will ever forget the most amusing description he gave, one night at the Creston Conference of 1 898, of the lugubrious impression which his diminutive and almost cadaverous form first made upon his early parishoners at Lewis. That exquisite bit of drollery he began with a merry twinkle in his eyes, and a quizzical smile upon his face, and the most delicate accent upon the italicised words in the opening remark. “Years ago w'hen I used to be ihin and lean. His religious character ripened into a most triumphant experience in the closing days of his life. 1 hree weeks before he died the present writer traveled to his bedside to see him once more and bid farewell to the comrade of twenty 5 ears. His greeting was with the same rare smile of old that beautifully illum- inated his now greatly emaciated countenance, and showed not a hint of the swiftly approaching doom. The handclasp was warm and firm, perhaps lingering a little longer than in other days. Soon his mind turned to his approaching departure which, he said, seemed to him like any other journey for which he might prepare. To the question “Now, Brother Harris, you are confronting the reality where you look at things in the light of actual truth, how does the old book seem to you?” He replied: “It does not fail me. Of course there are the various ‘ites,’ but it is my reliance in all the essentials. To think that God is, that he loves you, that Christ is your Saviour, is inexpressibly precious. That is as firm as a rock. Death gives me no concern. I hardly think of it except as just a crossing over. 1 confess to a feeling of impatience. If some one would tell me it would be next week I could be satisfied. I love life and want to li e, and think of my family, though they will be provided for, but I am impatient to go for it is sure to come. I am in a transition place something like purgatory. I am not per- mitted to take part in earth’s affairs, and am not allowed to join in the heavenly joys.” “And how does the work of the ministry seem to you now?” “It never seemed so good. I would rather preach than do anything. Sometimes in moments of discouragement I have felt that my work was not appreciated, but now it comes to me. I get messages from every direction.

Page 11 text:

Goldthwaite in the Boone Daily News. HE triumphs of Joseph Benson Harris—and he had many—were as dross to him compared with the helping of some benighted spirit to the light. None were so low that they did not receive his earnest solicitude, none so ill-clad or sodden as to forfeit his winning smile and hearty handshake. This attribute was truly divine, for it renounced self utterly in the overmastering desire to do good. He always fought sin, but never the sinner. Large hearted and solicitous, his constant motto seemed to be, “Neither do I condemn thee: go and sin no more.’’ Good fellowship he possessed to a remarkable degree. His religion was deep and abiding, but brought with it no austerity. He could laugh and joke—and he was the prince of toast-masters—without detracting from the dignity of the cloth. His fund of humor was inexhaustible, but it was always of the wholesome kind. There was no prudishness in his character, but even in his promotion of social merriment there lurked the call to righteousness. It was his example which spoke louder than his words. If to fight a good fight and keep the faith profit nothing, then the whole plan of the universe is haphazard, and there is no consolation, but if this life goes on in example, influencing many other lives to like attainments, the moral career of Joseph Benson Harris has been glorious, and death is swallowed up in victory.