- "Hallelujah! I’m tired"

The rapid expansion of The Christian and Missionary Alliance laid upon Mr. Simpson an ever growing weight of toil and responsibility. Like David, he had around him his “mighty men” to whom he delegated much of the actual labor, but for all that the demands of the work required that he be constantly on the move. No one could quite take his place. He was not only the elected head of the corporation, he was also the spiritual father of the movement, and as such he carried every detail of the work on his own heart.
He was a prolific writer, producing more than seventy books, thousands of printed sermons, scores of songs, and literally uncounted thousands of magazine articles and editorials. He traveled constantly, appearing for at least a few days at most of the large conventions throughout the United States and Canada, often stopping a night or two enroute to fellowship with some other church or society, then racing back to his own pulpit or to his office to dig out from under a mountain of accumulated business before leaving again for some other part of the country.
He was the recognized head of The Missionary Training Institute, as well as of all other schools that sprang up within the Society during the years. He taught at the Institute, managed his secular business as best he could, presided at the Board meetings and keynoted almost every conference and Council as long as he was able.
Among other duties that devolved upon him was that of steering his Society through the dangerous places she encountered as the years went on. These were usually doctrinal, though they sometimes affected policy. No more distasteful job could have been found for one of his temperament. He hated controversy and shrank from polemics, but he recognized the necessity for fighting when the Lord was leading the battle.
Though admittedly a mystic and a dreamer Mr. Simpson had a salty common sense which served him as a constant guide and mentor. His glimpses of the glory did not inflame his judgment nor unfit him for cool thinking. Consequently the waves of extreme teaching and questionable practices which swept across the United States about the turn of the century did not upset him in the least nor serve to deflect him from the path of sound doctrine and sane practice.
His prophetic fervency and his prominence made him a natural magnet, not only for those of sober mind who honestly sought to follow the way of truth, but for a host of others as well who were anything but sober minded. Crackpots and fanatics made his life miserable. His very terminology was against him at times, serving to encourage those of extreme views who sought to capitalize on his popularity. Just as the Seventh Day Adventists tried to claim Moody because he observed Saturday as a day for rest in preparation for his heavy day on Sunday, so various extremists hailed Simpson and embarrassed him with their attention.
The Pentecostal movement which sprang up in the early part of the Twentieth Century gave him no end of trouble. Doctrinally they were very close to Simpson’s own position, so close that they could quote him to support their teachings, conveniently forgetting that the one tenet which distinguished them from all other groups was the very one which he consistently rejected. They held that the baptism of the Spirit must always, without exception, be accompanied by the physical manifestation of supernatural tongues. This belief became with them such an overpowering thing that it absorbed their interests and determined the whole character of their meetings. Not to win men to Christ, but to lead believers into “their baptism,” became the ruling passion of their lives. To achieve this end they would do anything, even going so far as to practice bodily manipulation upon seekers, hoping in this way to produce “tongues.” This led to some sad and shameful demonstrations in some of their gatherings. From such crass manifestations the cultured heart of Simpson revolted.
Into the Gospel Tabernacle at the time of the “tongues” excitement would come troops of these overheated souls, confidently believing that, as Aquila and Priscilla had brought the mighty orator Apollos into clearer light, they were to be privileged to do the same thing for the great Dr. Simpson. But they never succeeded in ruffling the holy calm of the man. Under his keen eyes they felt themselves rather taken aback, and what had been planned as a concerted barrage usually fizzled off into a few sporadic amens, strangely meek and quiet for these people, and the service went on with a world of deep power, but with unimpeachable decorum. After a number of such attempts they finally gave up the struggle, though to his dying day they would come up every now and again with a report that at last Simpson had received his “baptism.”
The simple fact is that Mr. Simpson was miles out ahead of these people in his spiritual experience. He did not need anything they had. He had found a blessed secret far above anything these perfervid seekers after wonders could ever think or conceive. There were many good people in the Pentecostal movement, and many admirable qualities about its adherents. Mr. Simpson did not want to pass judgment upon them till he had sufficient evidence, so he appointed Dr. Henry Wilson to visit Alliance, Ohio, a hot-bed of the new phenomenon, to study the meetings and report back. After a careful study Dr. Wilson made the following report, and it stands today as the crystallized utterance of the Society: “I am not able to approve the movement, though I am willing to concede that there is probably something of God in it somewhere.”
When he felt the time was ripe, Simpson published a manifesto setting forth his position and renouncing the doctrine that all must speak in tongues. His utterance was kindly, but firm. From here on no one could doubt his stand. The result was that a number of prominent men withdrew from the Society and joined the new movement. In a few cities whole Alliance congregations went over to Pentecostalism, taking their church property with them. The grand total of churches going out in the general exodus was large, and the blow was hard for a young movement to bear. But the Society never forgot its early call. After a few uncomfortable years in which she was battered and bruised considerably by this controversy she shook off her aches and pains and launched forward stronger than ever in her initial task of world-evangelization.
Another question Mr. Simpson had to settle very early in the development of his Tabernacle and his missionary Society was whether divine healing was to be permitted to become an end in itself, or whether it was to be presented as a privilege which any child of God might enjoy, but which was not by any means central in the wide sweep of the gospel plan. Should healing or salvation take first place in the message of the Alliance?
John Alexander Dowie, a Scottish preacher who had come to the United States from Australia, forced the hand of Simpson and indirectly did him a great favor in compelling him to clear up the whole matter of divine healing as it related to himself and his Tabernacle. Dowie could see nothing but healing. He felt it to be of such supreme importance as to deserve his almost undivided attention. He proposed to Simpson that the two of them join forces and stump the country in the interest of divine healing. Mr. Simpson demurred. “No, Brother Dowie,” said he, “I have four wheels on my chariot. I cannot agree to neglect the other three while I devote all my time to the one.”
Impulsive and violent as he always was Dowie promptly turned against Simpson and set out with the express intention of discrediting him in the eyes of the public. He arranged throughout some of the principal cities of the United States a series of lectures in which he would tear Simpson to shreds and then tramp on the shreds! Simpson refused to fight back. Pittsburgh was the place chosen for the opening of the shredding campaign. Crowds filled the huge auditorium to hear the famous John Alexander Dowie. That evening, an hour or so before time for the opening lecture, Dowie was eating a fish dinner when a tiny bone became lodged cross-wise in his throat. The crowds waited, time went on and the speaker did not appear. He never showed up. It must have been an eloquent piece of bone, for it completely changed the plans of Mr. Dowie. He canceled his series of lectures and crept back home to lick his wounds. When Simpson was informed of the turn things had taken, he said simply, “Oh, Dowie. Yes, I committed that man to God long ago.”
Mr. Simpson was often made to suffer untold embarrassment through the honest but ill-advised, conduct of some of his followers. His missionary appeals were often so powerful that people came forward and laid valuable gifts on the altar to be converted into cash for the work of missions. This was wholly a voluntary act, no constraint or coercion being practiced upon the donors at any time. It was a beautiful expression of love as long as it remained free and spontaneous. But the head-long saints could not let well enough alone. They would make this a law and bind it upon the consciences of the people. Many of them refused to wear on their persons anything more valuable than iron, and soon the inevitable button appeared bearing the words, “Gold for Iron,” and every good consecrated soul was sure to be wearing one for the eyes of all to see. The men bought iron watch cases and the women substituted iron for gold on their clothing.
At the large conventions baskets were filed to overflowing with watches, rings and other ornaments which were donated to the cause of missions. Many a man not himself particularly interested in the Lord’s work was known to blow up with a resounding echo when his wife came home from an Alliance Convention stripped of every valuable thing she possessed including the ring he had given her at the altar! The newspapers fastened on this with eager delight. It was right down their avenue, and they made the most of it. Hypnotism was just then becoming popular with the masses and this new pseudo-science served as a cue to the phenomenon. Mr. Simpson was a hypnotist practicing his art upon his audience to extract money from them for his own uses! Huge vats of printer’s ink boiled and bubbled up and down the country, and there “was a deal of throwing about of brains,” and then it all suddenly ceased. Reporters found something else to amuse them, and Simpson was forgotten.
Mr. Simpson was bothered by this outburst. The whole “gold for iron” fad had about it a slightly disquieting savor, and he wanted to keep his movement wholesome and free from taint. So he took steps to discourage the idea, and little by little the excitement died away. Iron slowly disappeared from the ranks of the faithful and the girls got their wedding rings back. But for a long time after that the faces of some of the leading Alliance men would turn a bright red when the subject was brought up.
These are some of the problems with which Mr. Simpson had to wrestle as his work grew in scope and power. And he was not built for this kind of thing. It irked him and wearied his spirit and made him old before his time.
In the midst of all his numerous activities, Mr. Simpson somehow managed to find time to make several trips abroad. When a young minister of the Presbyterian church he had visited England. In the year 1885 he again visited London. In 1893 he made his longest journey, leaving New York in January and returning to the United States seven months later, after having completely circumnavigated the globe. On this journey he touched most of the Alliance mission fields, including the Holy Land, India, China and Japan.
In 1910 he visited South America. This journey proved very wearing upon his strength. When returning through Panama he became ill with a tropical fever. He recovered after a while, and managed to spiritualize everything as usual. He claimed that his experience helped him to sympathize more fully with the sufferings and trials of the workers on the fields! His last trip abroad was made in 1911 when he was 68 years of age. He went to the British Isles to fulfill a series of speaking engagements arranged for him by Pastor F. E. Marsh, of Bristol, England.
How he managed to pack into one lifetime all these manifold activities is his secret and God’s. I do not pretend to know. And for all those years he never rested, had scarcely a day to himself. Vacations were unknown to him. Once he tried to take a few days away from his work but became so restless that he finally gave up the attempt and hurried back to his office to recover from the strain! He had to be doing something. Had he nursed himself along a bit more carefully he might have lasted a few years longer than he did. But who would have wanted it that way? Certainly not he. He must live his life after the pattern shown him in the mount. If he overworked it was for the love of God and men. If that is a fault it is not a common one.
The years after seventy were tired years for him. For the next four years he was as active as ever, but there came into his eyes and upon his frame more than a suggestion of deep fatigue. He had done five men’s work, and he was feeling the weariness of five men. Nature had been good to him, and God had been better, but there is a limit to all things human.
In one of the early issues of The Word, Work and World Mr. Simpson tells about a thirteen-year-old Sudanese Christian girl who was compelled to carry a heavy load on her head for three days straight with hardly any time for rest between treks. She became pitifully weary, but, being a Christian, she would not complain. She felt she must continue to praise the Lord no matter how tired she was. At last she could take it no longer. Down she sank in a discouraged heap, burst into tears and wailed, “Hallelujah, I’m tired.”
A. B. Simpson was tired. But he would not complain. His heart was still dancing before the ark though his body would not respond as gracefully as it had done in his younger yesterdays.