ltry evening in Holy Week, when a long-winded clergyman was
preaching, it appeared to me that the rector dozed. I wondered what he
could honestly say to the man. After the service when we were in the
sacristy, he put his arm around the preacher's shoulders, and said, "Old
man, you set me to thinking!" His tact was never failing, though often
its diplomatic flavor could be more than faintly sensed!

Accompanying his humility of spirit there was in his nature and his
opinions an air of authority wholly unecclesiastical, purely personal,
but immensely impressive. It came in part from his particular type of
intellect. He had an assimilative mind, which enabled him, for example,
to acquire rapidly the gist of a book, and to state succinctly and
clearly a point which he was desirous of making. His was an intuitive
knowledge rather than a scientific. It was not the kind of knowledge of
which the dogmatists speak and in which they alone can believe. Mr.
Nelson's knowledge was the sort which sees into the life of things and
of men. His intellectual powers were richly developed by his parish work
and heavy responsibilities, and by his reflection upon all kinds of
experiences and his understanding insight into other people's problems.
A forty years' ministry combined with such a type of mind gave him, for
one thing, a rather fine grasp of medical science. He knew its
principles, and was able to simplify and help at times when technical
terms leave the layman baffled and vague. Because of this special kind
of mind and the sweep of his experience, his general effect on people
was sometimes overwhelming. To illustrate a minor angle, he was not
adept in leading discussions; he could not draw out a group because he
had pretty thoroughly covered the subject himself, and the impact of
his personality was a bit overpowering.

But above all, the authority one felt most in his personality was that
which came as a result of his being Christ-fashioned. He of all men
possessed the kind of nature which cannot live without God. There was
within him a spontaneity that was entirely himself, impossible of
duplication, totally socialized. He was not a mystic and maintained that
he was puzzled by their writings. He admitted that the prayer-life was
difficult for him, that he could not meditate or think about God for
long periods. His was not the ascetic or contemplative nature; he did
not live in reflective calm. In the whirlpool of human relations h