The Saint of the Wilderness - Jess Carr

[rockytopva]

The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 18
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Page 422-425- The Attempt at Revival and last campaign for camp meeting

There was always a good amount of showmanship about RS Sheffey. In the following quote, George Clark Rankin. The Story of My Life Or More Than a Half Century As I Have Lived It and Seen It Lived Written by Myself at My Own Suggestion and That of Many Others Who Have Known and Loved Me (which must be opened in IE), we find the following quote…

The rarest character I ever met in my life I met at that campmeeting in the person of Rev. Robert Sheffy, known as "Bob" Sheffy. He was recognized all over Southwest Virginia as the most eccentric preacher of that country. He was a local preacher; crude, illiterate, queer and the oddest specimen known among preachers. But he was saintly in his life, devout in his experience and a man of unbounded faith. He wandered hither and thither over that section attending meetings, holding revivals and living among the people. He was great in prayer, and Cripple Creek campground was not complete without "Bob" Sheffy. They wanted him there to pray and work in the altar.

He was wonderful with penitents. And he was great in following up the sermon with his exhortations and appeals. He would sometimes spend nearly the whole night in the straw with mourners; and now and then if the meeting lagged he would go out on the mountain and spend the entire night in prayer, and the next morning he would come rushing into the service with his face all aglow shouting at the top of his voice. And then the meeting always broke loose with a floodtide.

He could say the oddest things, hold the most unique interviews with God, break forth in the most unexpected spasms of praise, use the homeliest illustrations, do the funniest things and go through with the most grotesque performances of any man born of woman.

It was just "Bob" Sheffy, and nobody thought anything of what he did and said, except to let him have his own way and do exactly as he pleased. In anybody else it would not have been tolerated for a moment. In fact, he acted more like a crazy man than otherwise, but he was wonderful in a meeting. He would stir the people, crowd the mourner's bench with crying penitents and have genuine conversions by the score. I doubt if any man in all that conference has as many souls to his credit in the Lamb's Book of Life as old "Bob" Sheffy.

In this story Robert is going to don a tall black stovepipe hat and pitchfork and go about go about leering at the population. Again… There is a great deal of showmanship about the man… Anything he can do to get somebody saved.
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Activity around the town started early, but it was eight A.M. before he could enter the dry-goods store to purchase a black silk stovepipe hat. He found one that fitted his head well and marched from the premises. As the citizens began to stir, and more and more wagons to roll, he paraded alternately up and down both sides of the street to the extent of the town limits. Occasionally he would go out into the center of the slate-impacted street and walk more slowly and deliberately from that location. Before long he was meeting many of the same people coming and going as they went about their business. On occasion, some of the wagons that passed him turned around and doubled back.

By midmorning the perpetual walking tired him until his already drooping shoulders hung even lower and his pace slowed even more. Still he kept going.

It helped some to stop periodically at the store windows and look in for a moment, or pause at the saloons and rest in the doorway. Before long, many he passed and repassed attempted to speak to him, but he forced the evil grin he wore upon his face even harder, refused their overtures, and walked on. Sometimes his arm would tire and he would allow the walking staff he had borrowed from Reverend Bandy’s barn to fall horizontal. Just as quickly he would attempt to right it again to walking position, jousting as few people as possible. His improvised staff might be the only three-pronged hayfork his host possessed, and his care of it must not be one of negligence.

His body in the long coat (it reached to his ankles) sweated terribly, though the June day was overcast. On a vacant lot on the opposite side of the street he spotted a large poplar tree. The tree grew skyward in two forked sections and. one of the halves bent sharply eastward a few feet from the ground. Then it straightened again until by force of nature an inverted cane like seating place had been created with a natural back rest. He climbed into the niche with the aid of his fork and settled bock to rest.

His heaving lungs slowed after a while but he continued to sit and eat a biscuit. Across the street people gathered to watch him in little groups or individually, casting furtive glances as their steps quickened and they hastened away. Surely he must look like a vulture, he thought, but it was such a peaceful place to rest. In moments he was glad he hadn’t moved, for torrential rains descended from the black skies and he sat warm and dry, protected by his snug alcove and the spreading limbs and leaf cover about him.

As the rain lifted he was aware of the numerous eyes that peered at him from windows on the opposite side of the street. As he came down from his perch his fellow observers likewise fled their positions. He took up his walk again, facing into a new group of town visitors. He was unaware of friendly forces behind him until midafternoon was approaching. From the corners of his eyes he could see an inebriated man following him ever closer until the latter’s hand was upon his shoulder.

“Yes? What is it, my brother?” Robert said.
“I’ve been watching out atcha – we all been watchin’ out atcha comin’s and goin’s _”
“I feel blessed that you have turned from your distractions to see what is going on about you,” Robert said.
“Come over here a minute.” The other motioned, and led the way behind a livery barn.

Robert drew nearer as requested, but the man backed away a short distance. “Are you who I’m a-thinkin’ you are?”

“Who do you think I am?” Robert said.

“I’m thinkin I know you – now there ain’t nothin’ you could have agin me – nothin’ like that.”

“I’m sure we haven’t met, but I’d like to see more of you,” Robert tried to say at closer range: The back-pedaling steps of the other did not aid the attempt.

“Listen … I want to tell you somethin’ . . . I know I been in church a time or –two in the last little while but I was just play actin’ … I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I want you to know I’ve been on your side all the time. Honest I been. Now you come on down to th’ s’loon with me and’ my buddies’II tell _”

“I have much walking to do and you must excuse me,” –Robert said.

But in spite of what he had said, his elderly legs would carry him no further. For what time remained before the end of day, he found a ladder at the rear of a mercantile house and climbed to the roof, walking across the flat surface until a safe perch on a guard-railed parapet afforded a good view of one side of the street. There he sat and looked upon the town. A part of the town looked back, paused briefly, and hurried on.

At supper he gave his colleague the explanation only that he had been doing “some missionary work.” He put finality in his voice and ate hungrily.

“Bless your effort, but I’ve done everything I could do long before you got here, Brother Bob – ran a notice in the paper, announced it from the pulpit several Sundays in a row, and did a lot of personal visitation …. Guess I should have done more, but I had hoped the people would understand in view of our loss –“

The congregation was unexpectedly swelled that night and Reverend Bandy was ecstatic as they labored together to the swell of the foot-pumped organ and the cry of repentant souls.

“At last it looks like a revival!” Bandy said at the close of the meeting. “I don’t understand it!”

The following night finalized the services. The crowd had been larger still, but the church and tent enclosure were far from full. Reverend Bandy proclaimed the occasion an unexpected and joyous success.

 

[rockytopva]

The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 18
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Page 425-429- The trip home
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Leaving Richlands, Robert took the alternate return route he had planned with Aurelius as far as Bland, going by way of Tazewell, Clearfork Valley, Rocky Gap, and Bastian. Zigzagging along the way, churches at Witten’s Mill, May’s Chapel and Mount Calvary were visited.

The people listened to his camp rebuilding proposal, but their questions caught him off guard. Had the plans been drawn yet? Had the cost been estimated? Had the conference officials been contacted for support, financial and otherwise? How many of the churches in the area to be served were in total support? How many people were represented in all?

He trembled with unpreparedness, and the pressure of new faces seemed unnecessarily demanding. It was never like this before. He had helped build churches and camp grounds too – for almost fifty years he had done it – and there was nothing complex about it. It was as simple as getting a few together with axes and saws.

But they stared at him doubtfully or unbelieving. Quickly he promised that he would get the information – maybe Brother Frazier or Brother Bailey would have it, or would know how to get it.

“Gideon, I don’t know where to find out even half of what they want! I just don’t even know where!”

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Robert Sheffey would continue to promote the rebuilding of Wabash Campgrounds all the way into 1901. I have been taking pictures! Here is all that is left of Wabash Campground 2012...

Wabash camp.. Now subdivided....

Horses now enjoying the campgrounds!

Where I would imagine the large worship shed... Keep in mind that over 5,000 people would worship here...

On the knoll of the hill the land is flat and the trees are young. I would imagine this was the place of the worship shed.

I tried doing a composite photo removing the houses in view. There was a beautiful view from the worship area!

In front of the worship shed is a mountain in which I was told Sheffey would go for prayer.

 

[rockytopva]

The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 18
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Page 425-429- The Continued trip home
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Bland was a blessed sight to see, for he was tired, so dead-tired, and his legs and back pained him with a terrible soreness. The truss sandpapered his belly until blood oozed through his trousers.

“I shouldn’t have done all that walking I did, Gideon, but we’ll stop when we get to Mechanicsburg and see if Dr. Harman can help us.”

James Washington Harman was a man after Robert’s own heart. He had been a farmer, teacher, merchant, and such a close adherent to the teachings of John Wesley that he lacked little in the way of qualification for preaching. Dr. Harman was also a Confederate war veteran who had served under his brother’s command, but the ramrod posture of the soldier had deserted him in the same manner that Robert had lost his own: the good doctor was bent with age and in his seventy-seventh year of life.

The doctor practiced little now, but Robert had no reluctance to stop, preferring medical treatment from old friends if it was possible to patronize them. He was admitted to the doctor’s room – a sort of sun room appendix to the house – facing the village spring. Only one other man waited there.

“I hope you’re not in pain, my brother,” Robert said.

“No, it’s not me. My boy mashed his hand in the tailgate of the wagon. He’ll be all right when he gets it wrapped up and salved down.”

Robert asked the name of the speaker and was told it was Crockett.

“I know many Crocketts, but most of them come from Crockett’s Cove in Wythe County. Do you live here in Bland County?” Robert asked.

“No, as a matter of fact we come from Crockett’s Cove. We’re just passing through this section returning home.”

“There’s a special place in my heart for Crockett’s Cove. Across the wagon road from the Crockett Cemetery is a grave on the south side of the hill,” Robert began.

“Yes, I know where it is, of course. It’s a surface grave – almost on top of the ground, I mean. It’s walled up with rock and cemented – the grave of a Colonel Robert Sayers, I believe.”

“That’s right. The grave of the man I was named after. He was an officer in the Revolutionary War and a dear friend of my mother and father. I never knew him, of course. I learned in later life that he died when I was short of six years old. I have been told that my father was one of the executors of his estate.”

“The grave never really meant much, but now it takes on a little more personal feeling. It’s more of a curiosity to most people than anything else, the place it sits, and all alone too – and the way it faces …. You’ve given me the Robert Sayers part of your name – what’s the rest?”

Robert told him and the other acknowledged his recognition of it. “Brother Sheffey – I guess I can call you Brother Sheffey – everybody else does – I have wanted to ask you something for a long time if and when I ever caught up with you, and I guess I’m about the only one in Crockett’s Cove who hasn’t seen you.”

Robert encouraged the asking.

“It is said that you are fond of honey and that’ you visited the home of William Tiller in Mercer County on occasion and found no honey there. I believe the story went that you were told by the man of the house that his bees had not swarmed and that he had no fresh honey for you. It is said that you kneeled down on a mat of some kind and prayed for the bees to swarm and that they did. It is important that you tell me weather this information is true or not.”

Robert looked his questioner in the eye to determine’ the sincerity of the question. “There are any number of answers l could give you, but I cannot answer your question until I know or could better feel the image of your life. If I said ‘true,’ you would brand me a sorcerer and if I said ‘false,’ I should be denying the majesty of God who is the Creator and Master of all things. You are not yet ready for the answer. I somehow feel that you are not.”

A young lad, smiling now, emerged from a doorway. A disguised older figure hobbled behind him.

“He’ll do now,” Dr. Hannan said gruffly.

The boy’s father paid the charge, took his son by the hand, and cast Robert a disappointed glance.

“We’ll meet again, Brother Sheffey. I won’t forget the question, so he prepared.”

“It will be a Lord’s blessing if we do. I need no further preparation, but it would pain me if I thought your mind was troubled because of me. Why don’t we just say for the meantime that God is good and still Master of our universe.”

The other conceded a smile, a nod, and an unhurried farewell.

“Well, Robert, what was that all about?” James Harman said.

‘’We were just talking of a story your patient’s father had heard. I know about it and it’s an old tale that the hearers make so complex when it is so childishly simple.”

Robert removed his truss and bared his belly. James Harman bathed the raw tissue with ointment and placed a double layer of soft cloth between skin and truss.

“Wear your truss a little tighter from here on home, Robert. You should have gone to Richmond or Bristol and had your malady taken care of long ago. You could still do it, you know.”

“At our ages, what does it matter?” Robert countered.

James Harman stiffened his spine at hearing the remark, then let himself relax.

“You can’t easily keep that spine as military stiff as you used to do, can you?” Robert said in a fraternal tone of voice.

“You would make an old man admit it? Let me remember my military ancestors with all the glory I can.”

The remark needed no interpretation, for Robert was aware of the long line of Harman military men who had distinguished themselves in four wars. Dr. Hannan fingered his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and suggested that they sit on the outside porch. Robert agreed, saying it would be a good vantage point if patients came.

“I don’t have many patients, Robert. In a way I haven’t been able, I’ve been up and down so much. I’m’ too old and the people get impatient with me sometimes. There are doctors scattered all around now – it’s good that there are.”

But James Harman’s life belied his words, for James Harman had lifted the practice of medicine above price, and I service to humanity above duty. This mutual love and concern for the poor was the thing that had really welded the two men together across the years.

“Brother James, what would you have been if all the I patients had been paying customers?”

“A drunken sheep shearer whose trembling hands could do naught else, most probably,” the doctor said with a chuckle "What would you have been if all your pew warmers had dropped even a penny in the plate?”

“That’s not much of a question. Most of them didn’t have one.” Then Robert realized the answer was applicable to the question he himself had posed. “Of course, I’ve had my share of support from the landed gentry. Many have helped me much and given me clothes and money when I had nowhere to turn.”

“But they sure don’t come up with the poor – in numbers, I mean.”

“I didn’t coin the expression, but whoever said that our sweet Lord must have ‘loved the poor, for He made so many of them,’ surely had the wisdom of the sages placed in his head.”

“Well, Robert, I don’t possess the gift of the Magi. But you know how much I like to read and study. Everything that you believe in began among the illiterates of the world. Somehow that gentle Man of Galilee was able to instill in those of whom we speak the idea that when their lives seemed lost and hopeless, it was then their souls’ full worth became apparent.”

Robert stood before his chair, knowing that the sun sank lower and Aurelius Vest’s house still lay miles away. He almost forgot to ask the amount of his bill, and when he did so, Dr. Harman refused payment.

“Then I can’t ask you my final question,” Robert said. Nevertheless, it was pried gradually from him.

“I want to rebuild the Wabash camp-ground buildings. Would it be upon your heart to give five or ten dollars?”

“I would joyously give you a hundred, Brother Robert, but I have heard this issue discussed throughout the region. And, more specifically, in our own local churches, some of which you have visited. If we were lucky enough to get the basketfuls of money it would take we would find that only old men and old women would show up for the labor. And when it was done, not many years would pass until nobody showed up for worship except those in black bonnets and white beards like our own. The younger generation does not want, and say they do not I need, the camp meeting that brought the hearts of our mothers and fathers, and those of our own, to the Lord.”

“But the time was when we just all got together and cut some trees down and everybody labored with love. . . and the people came and were so happy. . .”

“No matter how much it pains you, Robert, that day will never come again. Go home, Robert! Go home! Sit on the porch and turn your horse out to clover. Our threescore and ten have passed. We have done our due … we have the right to look for a greener land!”

 

[rockytopva]

The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 18
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Page 429-432- Return trip and recovery
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From Mechanicsburg, he pointed Gideon east along the creek and promised the animal that by dark he would be turned into Aurelius Vest’s clover.

The feather tick of his bed felt good that night, but when morning came he could not leave it. His knees refused to bend and his back rebelled at obeying the directives of his mind. He tried mightily to rise from the bed which held him prisoner, but his body cried to· him of a need for further rest.

Although his recuperation was slow it was soon complete. There was sheer joy in the sunshine of summer and the smell of new-mown hay. On top of it all was the necessity of celebrating his seventy-eighth birthday. Eddie had sent him a special letter and a fruit basket for the occasion. His visitors included a son and daughter of his first, marriage, plus a host of neighbors and friends. The number was sufficient for a real revival, had not the good Dr. Blackburn chased them all away before the night had hardly begun.

As complete as his recovery from severe fatigue had been, Aurelius insisted with utmost gentleness that his riding range be limited to a radius of thirty-five miles from home. Lord forgive him, for he pouted a little at the confinement but accepted it obediently. Aurelius was so good to him, and he felt himself now completely in the younger man’s care.

For two years he lived with the traveling prohibitions, scanning almost every house and hamlet his diminished territory now encompassed. At every opportunity he would crisscross the unscattered ashes of the Wabash camp ground and keep in touch with those who still helped on behalf of the rebuilding plans. But these loyal few had also lessened as they were transferred to other charges, or fell victim to death or infirmity. He alone seemed to believe that one day victorious voices would rise again under the great oaks and poplars, and that candlelight would flicker in the breeze of eventide as the low hum of song or prayer drifted out into the delicious aroma of night.

 

[rockytopva]

The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 18
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Still busy in 1900 (From the ‘Brother Sheffey’ book), from this story I see trips to Cripple Creek, in Wythe County, as late as 1900. I would say that he would meet with his children and grandchildren there, as well as worship with old acquaintances. It is too bad that more is not told here. Lebanon VA, referred to in this story is a full 100 miles away from his Giles County home. This is very indicative of a very busy life at this time.
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Mrs. Nannie Jackson Wassom, of Wytheville, gives us the following interesting letter regarding Brother Sheffey. Brief paragraphs have been omitted but the major part of the letter is offered giving a brief picture of Sheffey: “I am the oldest daughter of Rev. R. F. Jackson, who was a member of Holston conference for many years. Before my father finally decided to preach he had a very serious illness-was ill for several months at the home of my grandfather, James Early, who lived on Cripple Creek, near Ivanhoe. Va.”

“I’ve heard my grandmother tell of how Robert Sheffey visited father during his illness, praying for him and assuring the family his prayers would be answered and he would be restored to health.”

“People in that section were firm believers in Mr. Sheffey’s prayers and it is told that the liquor people had an especial fear of him, for when he prayed for stills to be destroyed they were."

“My first and only acquaintance with him was about 1900. Father was on the Bane circuit in Giles County, near the Old Wabash Camp Ground. One Sunday morning at Lebanon church the service had begun and I was playing the organ possibly for the opening song when a rather small, peculiar looking grey-haired (his hair was long and he often combed it when talking) man, carrying a small sheep-skin, walked down the aisle and seated himself in the amen comer. Something told me this was Robert Sayers Sheffey of whom I had heard so much. Father called on him to pray and as I remember his prayer it was earnest but rather disconnected and very lengthy. When he apparently was ready to conclude, he convulsed the young members of the congregation by saying, ‘And now one more word. Dear Lord. Bless that pretty little girl that sings and plays the organ.”

“For several days he was in the neighborhood and spent part of the time in our home. On the bureau in his room he had carried from the table and placed there - honey, cakes, sweets of various kinds. At dinner one day when mother started to cut a damson pie topped with whipped cream he said, ‘Now, sister be sure to use a clean knife to cut that pie.’ He had a habit of writing his name and making little drawings around on the walls and buildings. He rode a bay horse and would often dismount to pray by the roadside.”

“My impression of him was that though very eccentric. He was a godly man. A man who really believed in prayer and convinced others of its power and he made a vital and lasting contribution to the religious history of that section.”

 

[rockytopva]

The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 18
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Page 429-432- 1902 - 81 years old before his upcoming birthday July 4, 1902
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The early spring of 1902 Robert needed no protective probations other than those self-imposed. For years he had mounted his horse from a fence or stile or some other aid that prevented a strain upon his weak abdomen, now he could not with ease, mount his animal in any way except by being lifted into the saddle by friends or family. When he rode off in this condition they all seemed to stand and watch in terror. He had decided they should not be subjected to apprehension on his account; he loved them too much.

Now, instead of riding, he would take his sheepskin out to the meadow knoll and sit under a shade tree, watching Aurelius work. Sometimes Aurelius’s little children would sneak up to him and playfully pull his long white beard (a trick he himself had taught them), giggling at their own ingenuity. He would call, “Boo!” to them and they would feign the greatest of fright and come back for more. But there was not enough of any activity to fill the great space of the day. When dusk came he sat upon the porch with Aurelius and talked for a time, time that seemed all too short, until moonlight descended and the crickets and katydids called out the lullaby for sleep.

Even in the softness of his bed. His mind would come alive with great flashes of light, and if he thought Aurelius was not asleep, he would call to him for an audience. “Aurelius,” he would say to the yawning, nightshirted man, “a great thought has come to me! Do you know that Jesus Himself was completely dependent upon prayer for his source of strength? Well, He was, but what I’m leading up to is this: we need to pray over and over again about the same things, to test our sincerity. The necessity of our request is ofttimes tested by repeated prayers. Haven’t you ever prayed and prayed for something, Aurelius, and the more you prayed, the more fully you learned that that for which you prayed was not the thing you needed at all?”

Aurelius would give a patient answer, and sometimes he sat by the bed a little longer, occasionally until Robert didn’t remember seeing him leave. Wintertime was bad. It seemed that no matter how close Robert sat to the fire, his outer skin would get hot, but the coldness, which was bone-deep, could not be reached by warmth of any kind. His joints grew cold and stiff, and the medicine for rheumatism that Aurelius applied didn’t help at all.

”It won’t hurt so bad when summertime comes, Brother Sheffey.” Julia Vest would say, and try to massage the hurt away.

Aurelius would relieve his wife of the task when his time would allow, and sometimes Robert whispered the things he felt in his innermost soul; “Save back some good walnut boards for me, Aurelius, the day is drawing near.”

But he accepted the kindness of time and felt the smile of another spring upon his uptilted face. Neighbors and friends had plotted during the winter, he discovered, and before the dogwood blossomed forth they came and got him a day at a time to entertain him and make his moments brighter. He would chuckle if he had the strength; it now required more effort to climb into the seat of a buggy than he had once used to scale the highest ridge on his old itinerary.

 

[rockytopva]

The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 18
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Page 432-434 – Robert encounters one of the toughs responsible for burning Wabash Campground
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Two who were both friend and neighbor made the suggestion that thrilled him with a new delight. Since Aurelius did not live by the main road, why not spend an occasional day of the warm spring sitting in a rocker by the side of the traveled thoroughfare?

Calvin Vest, a neighbor and relative of Aurelius, offered to take him first. “Brother Sheffey, it’ll give you a new lease I on life. You can watch the people go by and talk all day to anybody that’ll stop,” he said.

The second neighbor, Tom Whittaker, took turns with the transportation. On days that neither of the others could help him Aurelius himself would carry him to a favorite sitting place in the community by the main roadway.

Both friend and stranger, man and child, paid him friendly homage, but one day in mid-May a lanky young man with thick sandy hair approached him with a furtive countenance and evasive hazel eyes. For a stranger, Robert thought him a poor conversationalist, and, if a friend, completely devoid of brotherly warmth.

Robert asked his name twice before being told, realizing then that something was wrong.

“What is upon your heart, my young brother? I have lived too long not to see the shadow of shame upon the most deceptive face.”

“I want you to forgive me for something,” the man asked with great effort.

“I hold nothing against any man, for my sweet Lord has told me to be forgiving. My eyes have long ago faded and I do not recognize you. For what can I extend to you forgiveness?”

“You will hate me.”

“Hate you?”

‘’Yes! Hate me! Despise me! Curse me even, and I would deserve it. God forgive me and save my wretched soul!”

“What, my young brother – tell me what?”

“I am one of the guilty who burned down the camp-ground buildings. “

“Oh mercy, oh mercy!” Robert cried, and convulsive retchings shook his body. He could not help his tears, yet there was relief in them that he could not explain.

The young man moved to him and steadied his shaking shoulders. “Will you give me your blessing and your forgiveness?”

“You had it from the moment I came upon the smoldering ruins. Only then, I didn’t know who was to receive it.”

“The camp ground will never be rebuilt, will it?”

“No, son, the camp ground will never be rebuilt. I am told that a new age has eaten freely from the tree of knowledge and that no more spirits live which need enrichment. I am told the classroom will banish hate and hypocrisy; that loneliness and need will wither in a coming intellect which promises the rise to greater heights than anything ever dreamed of at The Tower of Babel.”

“Even with your forgiveness I will never be free of it …. “

“No, but you can pray that your agony be used to some purpose. I understood you all were toughs? You talk like an educated man.”

“I wasn’t then.”

“How many of you were there?”

“Three – and I set the shed by myself.”

“I have already forgiven you, but I want to give you a cross to take up and carry. I want you to be instrumental in saving the souls of your two companions no matter how long it takes. Do not promise me lightly.”

“With all my heart I promise.”

Robert blessed him and asked permission to pray. His rheumatic knees would not allow him to leave the chair, but he bowed his head and felt another head resting against his knees.

The young man got to his feet and started to leave. He turned a few steps away, “Brother Sheffey … I know you understand. For the sake of my mother and father … will you not reveal . . .”

“A peace that is made with God does not need the censure of man.”

 

[rockytopva]

The movie skips over a lot of gems.

1. It is the life of Robert Sayers Sheffey from a Baptist perspective
2. No shouting in the service or into the wee hours of the morning with penitents.
3. Did not cover the night the angels sang.
4. Put RS Sheffey as he was in the position of power. In which he was not.

Robert Sheffey and the Destruction of Wabash Campground - YouTube

The full movie...

Sheffey - YouTube

 

[rockytopva]

The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 18
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Excerpts from “Brother Sheffey” by Willard Sanders Barbery
Note – Robert’s 82nd birthday on July 2, 1902
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Again on his birthday, this time the eighty-second one, Eddie’s fruit basket arrived. He could not eat from it, because for weeks his stomach would intermittently take and reject whatever was offered. With the fruit basket came the following letter from Robert Sayers Sheffey. Edward Sheffey made frequent visits to see his father. A son by his first marriage, James Sheffey of Marion, also visited him during his last illness. The other members of his family did not get to visit him too often because of the lack of transportation facilities. It was not as easy to travel in those days as now. When they wrote him it was always with the tenderest of feelings and with every evidence of love and affection.

Edward Sheffey sought to make the last days of his father as comfortable as possible. He contributed to his support and saw that Mr. Vest was repaid for the trouble and time spent in caring for his father during his last illness. A number of letters in possession of the writer reveals the love and tender affection upon the part of the son for his father.

The following letter was written from Lynchburg by Eddie on July 2, 1902, two days before the anniversary of his eighty second birthday. It is copied in full:

“This is your birthday letter-July 4th-and so you are eighty-two years old today. God bless you on this your natal day. Truly God has been good to you and I know you are grateful to Him for all His loving kindness and tender mercy.”

“I am sending you by express today a box of lemons, cakes, candy, etc. The Seay family send the big round one with their love. Mrs. Gardner will attend to sending the package over to White Gate. I hope it will reach you on the fourth.”

“I enclose a check for $5.00. Have Aurelius use it to buy anything you may wish and desire. Perhaps you might wish to give some of it to some of the dear children or peopIe there. Do so as you wish. Aurelius will cash it for you. Wish I could be with you on the 4th but cannot well make it. Pray for me.”

“I received two letters Aurelius wrote 27th and 30th of June. Thank him for me. Tell him to write me again on the 4th of July. You send me a message and let him put down what you say, please sir. Again God bless you on your birthday… Our love to all the people there... Your loving son, E. F. Sheffey.”

 

[rockytopva]

The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 18
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Page 434-435 – The testimony of the young baby born out of wedlock
Remember the story on the previous post? http://www.christianforums.com/t7630646-10/#post60553921
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Nothing Dr. Blackburn gave him changed the rebellious organ that had, once in the wilderness, lived on wild berries and nuts for days at a time.

“Brother Blackburn, can’t you recognize an old body with every part worn out when you see it?” Robert whispered.

“Now, if you’re going to diagnose yourself, how can I bill you the full fee?”

“You never took a dollar from me in your life – but you ought to have.”

As his condition worsened, the almost daily entourage of visitors was turned away. Only his doctor and the closest of friends sat with him, but there were times when he would need to ask even those to leave him when the pain became more than he could bear.

Throughout the remainder of July and until the middle of August his bed was not left except for his bodily functions, and he needed Aurelius even for that. It was agonizing just to sit on the side of the bed, and he sometimes cried out until he could see tears in the eyes of his beloved friend.

“The suffering – the suffering, Aurelius, is my final cleansing. Praise God for it. Praise God.”

Rarely a good day would come, and then he would call upon someone to read to him – verses from the Psalms, or religious poems, or a little of the correspondence that continued to arrive.

“You got another letter from that widow woman in Carroll County who’s been chasing you for five years,” Aurelius would tease him and read into the written lines things Robert suspected were not there. “I expect you’ve listened to enough letters for today, but here’s one more I think you will want to hear,” Aurelius said once.

Robert closed his eyes but assured Aurelius that he would not go to sleep until the letter had been read.

Aurelius went on:

“Dear Reverend Sheffey: I finally got your address from the Holston conference, where I learned you are still listed as a local preacher and a conference deacon. I am told that many years ago you sat at the foot of my unmarried mother’s bed in a remote hollow in Wythe County and prayed for me and my family. Tradition handed down further states that you took my little foot in your hand as you prayed and asked God to use me in spite of the circumstances of my birth. You asked, I believe, that God would make a preacher of me and stand [me] in many pulpits across the land until [I had brought] a thousand souls into the kingdom.’ It is my joy to inform you that I have served churches from Tennessee to Texas (where I now am, as you can see from the postmark) and that the sixth day of August marked the day I baptized my one thousandth convert. I am still a young man and I must tell you I plan to work another forty years. Dear friend, you badly underestimated God’s power!”

“I think I will sleep now, Aurelius.”

 

[rockytopva]

The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 18
------------------------------------------------
Page 435 – Robert Sheffey - Nearing the end!
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The sleep was of a five-day duration, he learned, when the coma ended Eddie stood by his side as cloudy vision returned. He held his son’s hand and squeezed it tight when the waves of pain made him conscious again that he was indeed alive.

“Did you hold back the good walnut boards for me, Aurelius?” he asked in the faintest whisper, “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Miter the corners well and polish the wood with oil until the grain shines with the testimony of God’s good years.”

To life he clung, and sent his son back home to Lynchburg. He remained conscious, but he lost track of the days and hours and needed to ask Aurelius for an accounting. The last he remembered, it was August twenty-fifth, but when he woke up again, it was August twenty-ninth and the day had just broken, for the morning sun shone through his window with such brilliance that the motes seemed as large as raindrops and danced all about the room. He was then aware of other shapes around him, but he did not try to move and see them for himself. He wondered if they could even see him, for his own hands looked as white as the satin with which Aurelius lined his caskets, and the starched white counterpane of his bed seemed to blend with the skin of his arms.

“Aurelius … Aurelius … who is present?”

“Brother Calvin Vest and Tom Whittaker. Julia is here with me, and the children are sitting at her feet. Dr. Blackburn will be back after dinner.”

Welcomed silence followed. Thoughts would hardly form in his head now. A thought would start to form and then end like a snapping icicle. After a while his brain did clear and. he seized the strength to push up a little on one elbow.
===============================

I have heard that John Wesley said, "When a man dies he should leave enough to bury him and a few pence for his friends." This is the way Robert Sayers Sheffey would go... Only problem with the Robert Sheffey story is that they won't have enough to bury him and no pence for his friends! He did leave behind his saddle bags and sheepskin. I would imagine that you could not give that gentlemen enough money for them!

The deathbed (and the life) of Robert Sheffey was very similar to that of John Wesley....

1. They did not save money from the fruits of their ministry.
2. They died after giving it all to Jesus.
3. As the ministry was their first priority, they made horrible husbands (John Wesley would divorce).
(Note... So was Billy Graham. It was said that at a revival some girl was tugging at his pant leg when he asked who the little girl was... The astonished answer was, why sir, that is your daughter! Ruth Graham was also to say that she would rather spend half her life with Billy then with any other man)

 

[rockytopva]

The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 18
------------------------------------------------
Page 439 The Vision of his heavenly star

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After a while his brain did clear and he seized the strength to push up a little on one elbow.

“Aurelius! Aurelius! … The prettiest things I have ever seen! How beautiful and bright my star is! I have got in a good way . . . the sweet angels. Praise the Lord. Praise the Lord. So happy. So happy. Tell Eddie to praise the Lord.”

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Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. – Galatians 6:7

I just can’t imagine the reward awaiting a man of such lifelong service to the Lord.

If E=mc2 then m (mass) = energy (E/c2) And there are three varieties…

1. Mentality – Our mind can produce a E/c2
2. Mass – Mass is basically cooled E/c2
3. Spirituality – Energy (motivation, love) / Light (faith, hope, charity, love)

Considering the size of the universe God the Father must be of immense size. I just cannot imagine the reward for those living such a life of Christian service!

www.youtube.com/watch?v=caG7Oq93bUQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aiy1Zp_AUXA

 

[rockytopva]

The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 18
------------------------------------------------
Page 439-440 The last words of Robert Sayers Sheffey

His passion for souls, or his first love, never abated.
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His burst of revelation caused a descending blackness, and when he woke again it was night.

“How long will the night be, Aurelius?”

“It isn’t night. Brother Sheffey – it is morning again.”

“Do my friends bear with me?”

“The same ones are here.”

Aurelius had said it was morning, but no sunbeams fell across his bed … Aurelius was surely wrong … it must be night, and it was getting chill. Both his feet were growing numb, and his eyelids could only be opened with his fingers.

“Dear Aurelius … I have not done all … I should have done for the . . . sweet L-Lord.”

“If you haven’t, Brother Sheffey, no man ever has,” Aurelius whispered.

“You must promise me . . . all of you . . . that you will continue . . . continue the work. Somebody… somebody must carry the . . . load. Make the people like . .. crawling babes that know not a stranger . . . and, grab hold of each other … tell all who love me to .. to do that. . .”

“We will all do it,” Aurelius said.

“Do you … Answer me, Aurelius .. I can’t hear .. you … well .. “

For a moment he thought he heard his friend and felt is hand, but the voice faded and faded and the touch must have been drawn away, for now there was nothing but a creeping coldness that had reached his neck. . . .

 

[rockytopva]

The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 18
------------------------------------------------
Page 439-440 The Funeral and Last Appearance of the Lady Nick

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Edward Fleming Sheffey finally arrived at his father’s bedside two hours after he had died. His summons, when the end was clearly inevitable, was made more difficult by the methods of communication and transportation of the day, but his sorrow at not having seen his father alive once more was borne with dignified grief.

Robert Sayers Sheffey had died at two P.M, and Eddie had arrived at four P.M., and by six P.M. funeral arrangements had been agreed upon.

In a matter of minutes horses already saddled and riders mounted and awaiting the word were dispatched in every direction. Some went to newspaper offices, telegraph stations, and telephone switchboards to speed the news of the death and the day and place of the burial; others took the remote roads and mountain trails, calling out at every hamlet and village. “Brother Sheffey is dead. Spread the word.” At the isolated houses in the ridges and hollows, the riders would hardly slow their galloping animals except to say, “Brother Sheffey is gone!” and give the details of the funeral.

These Paul Reveres of the wilderness kept up their rides and vigil throughout the night and all the next day. Many of them, who had enlisted dozens of other riders along the way, rode so far and wide that they had hardly enough time to retrace their steps and get back to Giles County in time for the rites.

The effect of the cooperative message carrying became apparent before daylight in the morning of September first. Seemingly endless trains of pedestrians, wagons, buggies, hacks, surreys, and horseback riders came from tributaries out of southern West Virginia to the north, and Roanoke and Lynchburg to the east; Tazewell, Washington, and sister counties to the west, and Carroll, Floyd, and territories of North Carolina to the south. Trains emptied passengers at the nearest point of disembarkation, and waiting hacks sped off in a cloud of dust to deliver passengers for the eleven A.M. services. Discharged passengers, late in arriving, found themselves unable to get within a mile of the Wesley’s Chapel church and walked through powdery dust for the privilege of standing at the outer fringe of a virtual sea of humanity. Shortly after daylight all available pews had been filled and young and old alike took a second nap as they waited for the hour to arrive. , Nursing mothers gave their infants a second feeding, which somehow seemed more filling than a previous one, given the confines of a dusty and jolting wagon.

Presently, the hour arrived and Reverend R. F. Jackson. Pastor of the Staffordsville Circuit conducted the services. He was assisted by Reverend Dr. G. A. Maiden, presiding elder or the Radford District, and Reverend Eugene Blake, pastor of the Pearisburg Circuit.

Reverend W. C. Crockett, pastor of the Bland Circuit, preached the funeral sermon from the Book of St. Matthew, drawing from the twenty-seventh verse of the nineteenth chapter, “Then answered Peter and said unto him, Behold, we have forsaken all, and followed thee; what shall we have therefore?”

Robert Sayers Sheffey was lowered into a grave beside his beloved Eliza. The Immense concourse of mourners who looked down upon the hillside cemetery were not yet ready to leave the rigid body of this man who, having touched their lives even in a remote way, had somehow enriched them all. This “Saint of the Wilderness,” as they had come to call him, was not dead – they would-not assent to a fact that gave them such great pain. .

As the shovels dug into stockpiled clay and dumped the contents with a dull thud upon “good walnut boards well mitered and rubbed shiny with oil so that God’s good years showed well,” a petite and well-dressed woman stepped out of the crowd toward the gaping hole in the earth: Her black patent-leather shoes, already dusty, dug more deeply into the clay about the grave, but she walked onward, unconcerned, until her eyes beheld the casket disappearing beneath the clay; From her purse a white flower was drawn, pressed to her lips, and relinquished to the yawning grave.

Uncovered heads stayed bowed long after the grave had again swallowed the dirt taken from it. The terrible quietness which had prevailed after the service continued to hang hauntingly in the atmosphere long after sundown had come and people yet remained to run their fingers through the loose dirt of the grave one more time.

They vowed to return often and pay homage, and they did. And their number did not diminish each year, but rather increased. Winter, summer, spring, and fall they came, rich and poor alike, until the infant child who had been there on the burial day came back an old man, telling his own grandchildren the story of the Saint of the Wilderness. There he would point to the gravestone before which pilgrimages of two and two hundred would yearly stand, and read the final tribute carved in granite, which said in part:

Robert S. Sheffey
Born July 4, 1820
Died August 30, 1902

“The poor were sorry when he died.”
Servant of God, well done; rest in peace...

 

[rockytopva]

The doctrine Robert Sheffey adhered to was a Methodist doctrine. The spiritual difference came with the Sanctification in which it was said that "the brothers had gotten in a good way." After that they would attend camp meetings and revivals to keep that flame alive.

Spiritual E (Energy, love, motivation) / Spiritual c2 (faith, hope, charity, joy) ... The fire the Methodist brought into the world.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6q0FIAtaDPI

 

[HomelessChristian]

thanks for that video link

 

[rockytopva]

110 years since The Saint of the Wilderness passes away!

Robert S. Sheffey… Born July 4, 1820… Died August 30, 1902… “Fully Concentrated to God’s service he preached the Gospel without money and without price and has entered upon his reward…The poor were sorry when he died... Servant of God, well done; rest in peace."

 

[rockytopva]

Here are some camp meetings that Robert Sheffey undoubtedly attended...

Francis Asbury, the Apostle of American Methodism, once said, “I think well of large meetings, camp and quarterly meetings.” In which, starting in Kentucky, these Camp Meetings spread like wild fire in these mountains of Virginia.

Chinquapin Camp Ground - Southwest VA (Possibly in the Meadows of Dan, VA area)
Mechanicsburg Camp Ground – Bland County, VA
Poplar Hill Camp Ground - Poplar Hill, VA
Wabash Camp Ground – Giles County, VA (An August camp meeting)
Kimberling Camp Ground – Bland, VA - Where Eliza Sheffey’s mother was converted
Providence Camp Ground – Fries, VA
Sulphur Spring Camp Ground – Sulphur Springs, VA
Cripple Creek Camp Ground – Wytheville, VA (A September camp meeting)


Jess Carr must not have read William Sanders Barbery's account of Robert Sheffey in the book called "Brother Sheffey" as there are no accounts of the Cripple Creek camp meetings.


If I had to re-write "The Saint of the Wilderness" I would add happier stories that he would have had with his family. I would also place meeting the Sweckers at the Cripple Creek Camp Ground in Wythe County.

 

[rockytopva]

The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 15
------------------------------------------------
Here is another story I read on Robert Sheffey written in 1913...
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Full text of "Pioneer settlers of Grayson County, Virginia"

Rev. Robert Sawyers Sheffey was a son of Daniel
Sheffey by his first wife. Miss White, of Abingdon, Va.
He was a local Methodist preacher of the Holston Con-
ference, a man who had some eccentricities of character,
but whose unbounded faith in God, and good works
among his fellow-men made him widely known through-
out Southwest Virginia. He was a man who had power
with God in prayer, and the writer knows of many strik-
ing and direct answers to his prayers.

In Robert Sheffey's time there was much illicit distil-
ling of whiskey in the mountains of Southwest Virginia
and he was the enemy of the traffic. At one time he
prayed for a certain distillery to be removed, and a water
spout burst just above it, and left not a trace of the plant.

He prayed for specific things, and God honored his faith
by giving him what he asked for. The wicked trembled
when he prayed for justice to be meted out to wrong-
doers, and many were brought to repentance through
the influence of his prayers. Mr. Sheffey first married
Miss Swecker, of Wythe county; they have children
living in Wythe county. His second wife was a Miss
Stafford, of Giles county; they have one son, Edward
Sheffey, who lives in Lynchburg, Va. He is a man of
fine character, and honors the God of his father. He is
superintendent of a very fine Sunday School, and a man
of large influence.

 

[rockytopva]

From "The Mountain Laurel" we get this story on Robert Sheffey (Early Influence of Religion in the Blue Ridge, Part 3 - The Mountain Laurel). I attend a Pentecostal Holiness church that is basically Methodist that was seen in the Cripple Creek Methodist Camp back between 1750-1850. On attending youth camps as a counselor I have heard countless stories of churches that were built on the grounds of old stills. It was said that RS Sheffey prayed that those grounds that were used to make liquor would be turned into houses of God, in which they were.

On another occasion he was preaching in a revival at New Hope Church some several miles east of Snowville, Virginia. A mile from the church was a still house. Some persons who had used the still house's products came by the church and disturbed the meeting. The still house was located nearby a spring which flowed out from under a big oak tree. When Brother Sheffy was told about the situation, he said, "Let us pray about it." In his prayer he asked the Lord to let the tree fall across the still house and demolish it and patrons, let operators and owners be saved unto good deeds. Not to long afterward a summer storm occurred. Lightening struck the big oak tree and the force of the wind blew it over. It fell across the still house and destroyed it. Here is what happened to the owners and operators. William Meredith became a Methodist minister. John Shelburne's two sons became active laymen in the Christian Church. Through their leadership the Chestnut Ridge Christian Church was built and established. James Thompson had four sons who became fine citizens and community leaders. One of these was Barney Thompson. He became a Methodist minister, later a presiding elder and later still President of Martha Washington College at Abingdon, Virginia.