HIS ENTRY INTO THE MINISTRY
Ordination. First Charge at Lexington. Call to Grace Baptist Church,
Philadelphia.
For this work he had been trained in the world's bitter school of
experience. He had learned lessons there of infinitely more value in
helping humanity than any the theological seminary could teach him. He
knew what it was to be poor, to be utterly cast down and discouraged,
to be sick and suffering, to sit in the blackness of despair for the
loss of loved ones. From almost every human experience he could reach
the hand of sympathy and say, "I know. I have suffered." Such help
touches the heart of humanity as none other can. And when at the same
time, it points the way to the Great Comforter and says again, "I
know, I found peace," it is more powerful than the most eloquent
sermon. Nothing goes so convincingly to a man's heart as loving,
sympathetic guidance from one who has been through the same bitter
trial.
He was ordained in the year 1879, the council of churches, called for
his ordination, met in Lexington, President Alvah Hovey of Newton
Seminary presiding. Among the members of the council was his life-long
friend, George W. Chipman, of Boston, the same good deacon who had
taken him a runaway boy into the Sunday School of Tremont Temple.
The only objection to the ordination was made by one of the pastors
present, who said, "Good lawyers are too scarce to be spoiled by
making ministers of them."
The ordination over, the large law offices in Boston were closed. He
gave his undivided time and attention to his work in Lexington. The
lawyer, speaker and writer ceased to exist, but the pastor was found
wherever the poor needed help, the sick and suffering needed cheer,
the mourning needed comfort, wherever he could by word or act preach
the gospel of the Christ he served.
His whole thought was concentrated in the purpose to do good. No one
who knew him intimately could doubt his entire renunciation of worldly
ambitions, the sacrifice was so great, yet so unhesitatingly made.
Buried from the world in one way, he yet lived in it in a better way.
Large numbers of his former legal, political and social associates
called his action fanaticism. Wendell Phillips, meeting Colonel
Conwell and several friends on the way to church, one Sunday morning,
remarked that "Olympus has gone to Delphi, and Jove has descended to
be an interpreter of oracles."
His salary at the start was six hundred dollars a year, little more
than ten dollars a week. But it was enough to live on in a little New
England village and what more did he need? The contrast between it
and the ten thousand dollars a year he had made from his law practice
alone, never troubled him.
[Illustration: THE BAPTIST TEMPLE]
The church was crowded from the first and the membership grew rapidly.
His influence quickly spread to other than church circles. The town
itself soon felt the effect of his progressive, energetic spirit. It
awoke to new life. Other suburban villages were striding forward into
cities and leaving this old Battlefield of the Revolution sleeping
under its majestic elms. Mr. Conwell sounded the trumpet. Progress,
enterprise, life followed his eloquent encouragement. Strangers
were welcomed to the town. Its unusual beauty became a topic of
conversation. The railroad managers heard of its attractiveness and
opened its gates with better accommodations for travelers.
The governor of the state (Hon. John D. Long) visited the place on Mr.
Conwell's invitation, and large business enterprises were started and
strongly supported by the townspeople. From the date of Mr. Conwell's
settlement as pastor, the town took on a new lease of life. He showed
them what could be done and encouraged them to do it.
One of the town officers writing of that time, says: "Lexington can
never forget the benefit Mr. Conwell conferred during his stay in the
community."
Then all unknown to Mr. Conwell, a man came up to Lexington one Sunday
in 1882, from Philadelphia, and heard him preach in the little stone
church under the stately New England elms. It was Deacon Alexander
Reed of the Grace Baptist Church of Philadelphia, and as a result of
his visit, Mr. Conwell received a call from this church to be its
pastor. It was like the call from Macedonia to "come over and help
us." For the church was heavily in debt, and one of the arguments
Deacon Reed used in urging Mr. Conwell to accept was that he "could
save the church." He could have used no better argument. It was the
call to touch Mr. Conwell's heart. A small church, and struggling
against poverty; a people eager to work, but needing a leader. No
message could have more surely touched that heart eager to help
others, to bring brightness, joy and higher aspirations into troubled
lives. It was a wrench to leave Lexington, the church and the people
who had grown so dear to him. But the harvest called. There was need
of reapers and he must go.