but the plight of the church is not less grave to those who, feeling
that Christianity has still its greatest work to do, are anxious for
its rejuvenation. As to whether the church should go to Smith, or Smith
should seek the church, there can be no debate. Smith will not seek the
church; it must be on the church’s initiative that he is restored to
it. The Layman’s Forward Movement testifies to the awakened interest
of the churches in Smith. As I pen these pages I pick up a New York
newspaper and find on the pages devoted to sports an advertisement
signed by the Men and Religion Forward Movement, calling attention to
the eight hundred and eighty churches, Protestant and Catholic, and the
one hundred and seven synagogues in the metropolis,--the beginning,
I believe, of a campaign of advertising on sporting pages. I repeat,
that I wish to belittle no honest effort in any quarter or under any
auspices to interest men in the spiritual life; but I cannot forbear
mentioning that Smith has already smiled disagreeably at this effort to
catch his attention. Still, if Smith, looking for the baseball score,
is reminded that the church is interested in his welfare, I am not one
to sit in the scorner’s seat.
V
A panacea for the ills of the church is something no one expects
to find; and those who are satisfied with the church as it stands,
and believe it to be unmenaced by danger,--who see the Will of God
manifested even in Smith’s disaffection, will not be interested in
my opinion that, of all the suggestions that have been made for the
renewal of the church’s life, church union, upon the broadest lines,
directed to the increase of the church’s efficiency in spiritual and
social service, is the one most likely to bring Smith back to the fold.
Moreover, I believe that Smith’s aid should be invoked in the business
of unification, for the reason that on patriotic grounds, if no other,
he is vitally concerned in the welding of Christianity and democracy
more firmly together. Church union has long been the despair and the
hope of many sincere, able, and devoted men, who have at heart the best
interests of Christendom, and it is impossible that any great number
of Protestants except the most bigoted reactionaries can distrust the
results of union.
The present crisis--for it is not less than that--calls for more
immediate action by all concerned than seems imminent. We have heard
for many years that “in God’s own time” union would be effected; and
yet union is far from being realized. The difficulty of operating
through councils and conventions is manifest. These bodies move
necessarily and properly with great deliberation. Before the great
branches of Protestantism have reconciled their differences, and agreed
upon a _modus vivendi_, it is quite possible that another ten or twenty
years may pass; and in the present state of the churches, time is of
the essence of preservation and security.
While we await action by the proposed World Conference for the
consideration of questions touching “faith and order,” much can be
done toward crystallizing sentiment favorable to union. A letter
has been issued to its clergy by the Episcopal Church, urging such
profitable use of the interval of waiting; and I dare say the same
spirit prevails in other communions. A purely sentimental union will
not suffice, nor is the question primarily one for theologians or
denominational partisans, but for those who believe that there is
inherent in the method and secret of Jesus something very precious that
is now seriously jeopardized, and that the time is at hand for saving
it, and broadening and deepening the channel through which it reaches
mankind.
VI
In the end, unity, if it ever take practical form, must become a
local question. This is certainly true in so far as the urban field
is concerned, and I may say in parenthesis that, in my own state,
the country churches are already practicing a kind of unification,
in regions where the automobile and the interurban railway make it
possible for farm and village folk to run into town to church. Many
rural churches have been abandoned and boarded up, their congregations
in this way forming new religious and social units. I suggest that in
towns and cities where the weaknesses resulting from denominational
rivalry are most apparent, the problems of unification be taken up in
a purely local way. I propose the appointment of local commissions,
representative of all Protestant bodies, to study the question and
devise plans for increasing the efficiency of existing churches, and
to consider ways and means of bringing the church into vital touch
with the particular community under scrutiny. This should be done in a
spirit of absolute honesty, without envy, hatred, or malice. The test
of service should be applied relentlessly, and every religious society
should make an honest showing of its conditions and needs.
Upon the trial-balance thus struck there should be, wherever needed,
an entirely new redistribution of church property, based wholly upon
local and neighborhood needs. For example, the familiar, badly housed,
struggling mission in an industrial centre would be able at once to
anticipate the fruits of years of labor, through the elimination of
unnecessary churches in quarters already over-supplied. Not only
should body and soul be cared for in the vigorous institutional church,
the church of the future, but there is no reason why the programme
should not include theatrical entertainments, concerts, and dances.
Many signs encourage the belief that the drama has a great future in
America, and the reorganized, redistributed churches might well seize
upon it as a powerful auxiliary and ally. Scores of motion-picture
shows in every city testify to the growing demand for amusement, and
they conceal much mischief; and the public dance-house is a notorious
breeder of vice.
Let us consider that millions of dollars are invested in American
churches, which are, in the main, open only once or twice a week, and
that fear of defiling the temple is hardly justification for the small
amount of actual service performed by the greater number of churches of
the old type. By introducing amusements, the institutional church--the
“department church,” if you like--would not only meet a need, but it
would thus eliminate many elements of competition. The people living
about a strong institutional church would find it, in a new sense, “a
church home.” The doors should stand open seven days in the week to
“all such as have erred and are deceived”; and men and women should be
waiting at the portals “to comfort and help the weak-hearted; and to
raise up those who fall.”
If in a dozen American cities having from fifty thousand to two or
three hundred thousand inhabitants, this practical local approach
toward union should be begun in the way indicated, the data adduced
would at least be of importance to the convocations that must
ultimately pass upon the question. Just such facts and figures as could
be collected by local commissions would naturally be required, finally,
in any event; and much time would be saved by anticipating the call for
such reports.
I am familiar with the argument that many sorts of social service are
better performed by non-sectarian societies, and we have all witnessed
the splendid increase of secular effort in lines feebly attacked and
relinquished, as though with a grateful sigh, by the churches. When the
Salvation Army’s trumpet and drum first sounded in the market-place,
we were told that that valiant organization could do a work impossible
for the churches; when the Settlement House began to appear in American
cities, that, too, was undertaking something better left to the
sociologist. Those prosperous organizations of Christian young men and
women, whose investment in property in our American cities is now very
great, are, also, we are assured, performing a service which the church
could not properly have undertaken. Charity long ago moved out of the
churches, and established headquarters in an office with typewriter and
telephone.
If it is true that the service here indicated is better performed by
secular organizations, why is it that the power of the church has
steadily waned ever since these losses began? Certainly there is little
in the present state of American Protestantism to afford comfort to
those who believe that a one-day-a-week church, whose apparatus is
limited to a pulpit in the auditorium, and a map of the Holy Land in
the Sunday-school room, is presenting a veritable, living Christ to the
hearts and imaginations of men.
And on the bright side of the picture it should be said that nothing in
the whole field of Christian endeavor is more encouraging or inspiring
than an examination of the immense social service performed under the
auspices of various religious organizations in New York City. This
has been particularly marked in the Episcopal Church. The late Bishop
Potter, and his successor in the metropolitan diocese, early gave great
impetus to social work, and those who contend that the church’s sole
business is to preach the Word of God will find a new revelation of
the significance of that Word by a study of the labors of half a dozen
parishes that exemplify every hour of every day the possibilities of
efficient Christian democracy.
The church has lost ground that perhaps never can be recovered. Those
who have established secular settlements for the poor, or those who
have created homes for homeless young men and women, can hardly be
asked to “pool” and divide their property with the churches. But,
verily, even with all the many agencies now at work to ameliorate
distress and uplift the fallen, the fields continue white already to
the harvest, and the laborers are few. With the church revitalized,
and imbued with the spirit of utility and efficiency so potent in our
time, it may plant its wavering banner securely on new heights. It may
show that all these organizations that have sapped its strength, and
diminished the force of its testimony before men, have derived their
inspiration from Him who came out of Nazareth to lighten all the world.
VII
The reorganization of the churches along the line I have indicated
would work hardship on many ministers. It would not only mean that many
clergymen would find themselves seriously disturbed in positions long
held under the old order, but that preparation for the ministry would
necessarily be conducted along new lines. The training that now fits a
student to be the pastor of a one-day-a-week church would be worthless
in a unified and socialized church.
“There are diversities of gifts”; but “it is the same God which worketh
all in all.” In the departmental church, with its chapel or temple
fitly adorned, the preaching of Christ’s message would not be done
by a weary minister worn by the thousand vexatious demands upon a
minister’s time, but by one specially endowed with the preaching gift.
In this way the prosperous congregation would not enjoy a monopoly of
good preaching. Men gifted in pastoral work would specialize in that,
and the relationship between the church and the home, which has lost
its old fineness and sweetness, would be restored. Men trained in
that field would direct the undertakings frankly devised to provide
recreation and amusement. Already the school-house in our cities is
being put to social use; in the branch libraries given by Mr. Carnegie
to my city, assembly-rooms and kitchens are provided to encourage
social gatherings; and here is another opportunity still open to the
church if it hearken to the call of the hour.
In this unified and rehabilitated church of which I speak,--the
every-day-in-the-week church, open to all sorts and conditions of
men,--what would become of the creeds and the old theology? I answer
this first of all by saying that coalition in itself would be a supreme
demonstration of the enduring power and glory of Christianity. Those
who are jealous for the integrity of the ancient faith would manifestly
have less to defend, for the church would be speaking for herself in
terms understood of all men. The seven-day church, being built upon
efficiency and aiming at definite results, could afford to suffer men
to think as they liked on the virgin birth, the miracles, and the
resurrection of the body, if they faithfully practiced the precepts of
Jesus.
This busy, helpful, institutional church, welcoming under one roof men
of all degrees, to broaden, sweeten, and enlighten their lives, need
ask no more of those who accept its service than that they believe in
a God who ever lives and loves, and in Christ, who appeared on earth
in His name to preach justice, mercy, charity, and kindness. I should
not debate metaphysics through a barred wicket with men who needed the
spiritual or physical help of the church, any more than my neighbor,
Smith, that prince of good fellows, would ask a hungry tramp to saw a
cord of wood before he gave him his breakfast.
Questions of liturgy can hardly be a bar, nor can the validity of
Christian orders in one body or another weigh heavily with any who are
sincerely concerned for the life of the church and the widening of its
influence. “And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them
also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and they shall become
one flock, one shepherd.” I have watched ministers in practically every
Christian church take bread and break it, and bless the cup, and offer
it in the name of Jesus, and I have never been able to feel that the
sacrament was not as efficacious when received reverently from one as
from another.
If wisdom and goodness are God, then foolish, indeed, is he who would
“misdefine these till God knows them no more.” The unified seven-day
church would neglect none of “the weightier matters of the law, justice
and mercy and faith,” in the collecting of tithe of mint and anise and
cummin. It would not deny its benefits to those of us who are unblest
with deep spiritual perception, for it is by the grace of God that we
are what we are. “I will pray with the spirit, and I will pray with the
understanding also: I will sing with the spirit and I will sing with
the understanding also. Else if thou bless with the spirit, how shall
he that filleth the place of the unlearned say the Amen at thy giving
of thanks, seeing he knoweth not what thou sayest?”
“Hath man no second life?--_Pitch this one high!_
Sits there no judge in Heaven our sins to see?--
_More strictly, then, the inward judge obey!_
Was Christ a man like us? _Ah, let us try
If we, then, too, can be such men as he!_”
Somewhere there is a poem that relates the experience of a certain
humble priest, who climbed the steeple of his church to commune more
nearly with God. And, as he prayed, he heard the Voice answering, and
asked, “Where art thou, Lord?” and the Lord replied, “Down here, among
my people!”
The Tired Business Man
The Tired Business Man
I
SMITH flashed upon me unexpectedly in Berlin. It was nearly a year
ago, just before the summer invasion of tourists, and I was reading
the letters of a belated mail over my coffee, when I was aroused by an
unmistakable American voice demanding water. I turned and beheld, in
a sunny alcove at the end of the restaurant, my old friend Smith who
had dropped his newspaper for the purpose of arraigning a frightened
and obtuse waiter for his inability to grasp the idea that persons
in ordinary health, and reasonably sane, do, at times, use water as
a beverage. It was not merely the alarmed waiter and all his tribe
that Smith execrated: he swept Prussia and the German Empire into the
limbo of lost nations. Mrs. Smith begged him to be calm, offering
the plausible suggestion that the waiter couldn’t understand a word
of English. She appealed to a third member of the breakfast party, a
young lady, whose identity had puzzled me for a moment. It seemed
incredible that this could be the Smiths’ Fanny, whom I had dandled
on my knee in old times,--and yet a second glance convinced me that
the young person was no unlikely realization of the promise of the
Fanny who had ranged our old neighborhood at “home” and appalled us,
even at five, by her direct and pointed utterances. If the child may
be mother to the woman, this was that identical Fanny. I should have
known it from the cool fashion in which she dominated the situation,
addressing the relieved waiter in his own tongue, with the result that
he fled precipitately in search of water--and ice, if any, indeed, were
obtainable--for the refreshment of these eccentric Americans.
When I crossed to their table I found Smith still growling while he
tried to find his lost place in the New York stock market in his
London newspaper. My appearance was the occasion for a full recital
of his wrongs, in that amusing hyperbole which is so refreshing in
all the Smiths I know. He begged me to survey the table, that I might
enjoy his triumph in having been able to surmount local prejudice
and procure for himself what he called a breakfast of civilized food.
The continental breakfast was to him an odious thing: he announced
his intention of exposing it; he meant to publish its iniquity to the
world and drive it out of business. Mrs. Smith laughed nervously. She
appeared anxious and distraught and I was smitten with pity for her.
But there was a twinkle in Miss Smith’s eye, a smile about her pretty
lips, that discounted heavily the paternal fury. She communicated, with
a glance, a sense of her own attitude toward her father’s indignation:
it did not matter a particle; it was merely funny, that was all, that
her father, who demanded and commanded all things on his own soil,
should here be helpless to obtain a drop of cold water with which to
slake his thirst when every one knew that he could have bought the
hotel itself with a scratch of the pen. When Smith asked me to account
for the prevalence of hydrophobia in Europe it was really for the joy
of hearing his daughter laugh. And it is well worth anyone’s while to
evoke laughter from Fanny. For Fanny is one of the prettiest girls
in the world, one of the cleverest, one of the most interesting and
amusing.
II
As we lingered at the table (water with ice having arrived and the
Stars and Stripes flying triumphantly over the pitcher), I was brought
up to date as to the recent history of the Smiths. As an old neighbor
from home they welcomed me to their confidence. The wife and daughter
had been abroad a year with Munich as their chief base. Smith’s
advent had been unexpected and disturbing. Rest and change having
been prescribed, he had jumped upon a steamer and the day before our
encounter had joined his wife and daughter in Berlin. They were waiting
now for a conference with a German neurologist to whom Smith had been
consigned--in desperation, I fancied--by his American doctor. Mrs.
Smith’s distress was as evident as his own irritation; Miss Fanny
alone seemed wholly tranquil. She ignored the apparent gravity of the
situation and assured me that her father had at last decided upon
a long vacation. She declared that if her father persisted in his
intention of sailing for New York three weeks later, she and her mother
would accompany him.
While we talked a cablegram was brought to Smith; he read it and
frowned. Mrs. Smith met my eyes and shook her head; Fanny frugally
subtracted two thirds of the silver Smith was leaving on the tray as
a tip and slipped it into her purse. It was a handsome trinket, the
purse; Fanny’s appointments all testified to Smith’s prosperity and
generosity. I remembered these friends so well in old times, when they
lived next door to me in the Mid-Western town which Smith, ten years
before, had outgrown and abandoned. His income had in my observation
jumped from two to twenty thousand, and no one knew now to what
fabulous height it had climbed. He was one of the men to reckon with
in the larger affairs of “Big Business.” And here was the wife who
had shared his early struggles, and the child born of those contented
years, and here was Smith, with whom in the old days I had smoked my
after-breakfast cigar on the rear platform of a street car in our town,
that we then thought the “best town on earth,”--here were my old
neighbors in a plight that might well tax the renowned neurologist’s
best powers.
What had happened to Smith? I asked myself; and the question was also
in his wife’s wondering eyes. And as we dallied, Smith fingered his
newspaper fretfully while I answered his wife’s questions about our
common acquaintances at “home” as she still called our provincial
capital.
It was not my own perspicacity but Fanny’s which subsequently made
possible an absolute diagnosis of Smith’s case, somewhat before the
cautious German specialist had announced it. From data supplied by
Fanny I arrived at the conclusion that Smith is the “tired business
man,” and only one of a great number of American Smiths afflicted with
the same malady,--bruised, nerve-worn victims of our malignant gods of
success. The phrase, as I shall employ it here, connotes not merely the
type of iron-gray stock broker with whom we have been made familiar
by our American drama of business and politics, but his brother (also
prematurely gray and a trifle puffy under the eyes) found sedulously
burning incense before Mammon in every town of one hundred thousand
souls in America. I am not sure, on reflection, that he is not visible
in thriving towns of twenty-five thousand,--or wherever “collateral”
and “discount” are established in the local idiom and the cocktail is a
medium of commercial and social exchange. The phenomena presented by my
particular Smith are similar to those observed in those lesser Smiths
who are the restless and dissatisfied biggest frogs in smaller puddles.
Even the farmers are tired of contemplating their glowing harvests and
bursting barns and are moving to town to rest.
III
Is it possible that tired men really wield a considerable power and
influence in these American States so lately wrested from savagery?
Confirmation of this reaches us through many channels. In politics we
are assured that the tired business man is a serious obstructionist
in the path of his less prosperous and less weary brethren engaged
upon the pursuit of happiness and capable of enjoying it in successes
that would seem contemptibly meagre to Smith. Thousands of Smiths
who have not yet ripened for the German specialists are nevertheless
tired enough to add to the difficulty of securing so simple a thing as
reputable municipal government. It is because of Smith’s weariness and
apathy that we are obliged to confess that no decent man will accept
the office of mayor in our American cities.