THE MANNER OF THE MAN
Boundless Love for Men. Utter Humility. His Simplicity and
Informality. Keen Sense of Humor. His Unconventional Methods of Work.
Power as a Leader. His Tremendous Faith.
What of the personality of the man back of all this ceaseless work,
these stupendous undertakings? Much of it can be read in the work
itself. But not all. One must know Dr. Conwell personally to realize
that deep, abiding love of humanity which is the wellspring of his
life and which shows itself in constant and innumerable acts of
thoughtfulness and kindness for the happiness of others. He cannot see
a drunkard on the street without his heart going out in a desire to
help him to a better life. He cannot see a child in tears, but that
he must know the trouble and mend it. From boyhood, it was one of the
strongest traits of his character, and when it clasped hands with a
man's love of Christ, it became the ruling passion of his life. The
woes of humanity touch him deeply. He freely gives himself, his time,
his money to lighten them. But he knows that to do his best, is but
comparatively little. To him it is a pitiful thing that so much of the
world's, misery cannot be relieved because of the lack of money; that
people must starve, must suffer pain and disease, must go without the
education that makes life brighter and happier, simply for the want of
this one thing of so little worth compared with the great things of
life it has the power to withhold or grant.
One must also be intimately associated with Dr. Conwell to realize the
deep humility that rules his heart, that makes him firmly believe any
man who will trust in God and go ahead in faith can accomplish all
that he himself has done, and more.
"You do not know what a struggle my life is," he said once to a
friend. "Only God and my own heart know how far short I come of what I
ought to be, and how often I mar the use He would make of me even when
I would serve Him."
And again, at the Golden Jubilee services, in honor of his fiftieth
birthday, he said publicly what he many times says in private:
"I look back on the errors of by-gone years; my blunders; my pride;
my self-sufficiency; my willfulness--if God would take me up in my
unworthiness and imperfection and lift me to such a place of happiness
and love as this--I say, He can do it for any man.
"When I see the blunders I unintentionally make in history, in
mathematics, in names, in rhetoric, in exegesis, and yet see that God
uses even blunders to save men--I sink back into the humblest place
before Him and say, 'If God can use such preaching as that, blunders
and mistakes like these; if He can take them and use them for His
glory, He can use anybody and anything.' I let out the secret of my
life when I tell you this: If I have succeeded at all, it has been
with the conscious sense that as God has used even me, so can He use
others. God saved me and He can save them. My very faults show me,
they teach me, that any person can be helped and saved."
Speaking of his sermons, which are taken down by a stenographer and
typewritten for publication in the "Temple Review," he said, with
the utmost dejection, "Positively they make me sick. To think that I
should stand up and undertake to preach when I can do no better than
that"
He has ever that sense of defeat from which all great minds suffer
whose high ideals ever elude them.
In manner and speech, he is simple and unaffected, and approachable at
all times. When not away from the city lecturing, he spends a certain
part of the day in his study at the church, where any one can see
him on any matter which he may wish to bring to his attention. The
ante-room is thronged at the hour when it is known that he will be
there. People waylay him in the church corridors, and on the streets,
so well known is his kindly heart, his attentive ear, his generous
hand.
Not only do these visitors invade the church, but they come to his
home. Early in the morning they are there. They await him when he
returns late at night. As an instance of their number, one Saturday
afternoon late in June he had one hour free which he hoped to take for
rest and the preparation of the next morning's sermon. During that one
hour he had six callers, each staying until the next arrived. One of
these was a young man whom Dr. Conwell had never seen, a boy no more
than seventeen or eighteen. He had a few weeks before made a runaway
marriage with a girl still younger than himself. Her parents had
indignantly taken the bride home, and the young husband came to Dr.
Conwell to ask him to seek out these parents and persuade them to let
the child wife return to her husband.
He has a knack of putting everybody at ease in his presence, which
perhaps accounts for the freedom with which people, even utter
strangers, come to him and pour into his ear their life secrets. This
earnest desire to help people, to make them happier and better,
shines from his life with such force that one feels it immediately on
entering his presence and opens one's heart to him. He helps, advises,
and, because he is so preeminently a man of faith and believes so
firmly that all he has done has been accomplished by faith and
perseverance, he inspires others with like confidence in themselves.
They go away encouraged, hopeful, strengthened for the work that lies
ahead of them, or for the trouble they must surmount It is little
wonder the people throng to him for help.
His simple, informal view of life is shown in other things. During a
summer vacation in the Berkshires he was scheduled to lecture in one
of the home towns. His old friends and neighbors dearly love to hear
him, and nearly always secure a lecture from him while he is supposed
to be resting. Entirely forgetting the lecture, he planned a fishing
trip that day. Just as the fishing party was ready to start, some one
remembered the lecture. There would not be time to go fishing,
return, dress and go to the lecture town. But Dr. Conwell is a great
fisherman, and he disliked most thoroughly to give up that fishing
trip. He thought about it a few minutes, and then in his informal,
unconventional fashion, decided he would both fish and lecture. He
packed his lecturing apparel in a suit case, tied a tub for the
accommodation of the fish on the back of the wagon and started. All
day he fished, happy and contented. When lecturing time drew near,
rattling and splashing, with a tubful of fish, round-eyed and
astonished at the violent upheavals of their usual calm abiding place,
he drove up to the lecture hall, changed his clothes, and at the
appointed time appeared on the platform and delivered one of the best
lectures that section ever heard.
Some people call his methods sensational. They are not sensational
in the sense of merely making a noise for the purpose of attracting
attention. They are unconventional. Dr. Conwell pays no attention to
forms if the life has gone out of them, to traditions, if their spirit
is dead, their days of usefulness past. He lives in the present He
sees present needs and adopts methods to fit them. No doubt, many said
it was sensational to tear down that old church at Lexington himself.
But there was no money and the church must come down. The only way to
get it down and a new one built, was to go to work. And he went to
work in straightforward, practical fashion. It takes courage and
strength of mind thus to tear down conventions and forms. But he does
not hesitate if he sees they are blocking the road of progress. This
disregard of customs, this practical common-sense way of attacking
evil or supplying needs is seen in all his church work. And because it
is original and unusual, it brings upon him often, a storm of adverse
criticism. But he never halts for that. He is willing to suffer
misrepresentation, even calumny, if the cause for which he is working,
progresses. He cares nothing for himself. He thinks only of the Master
and the work He has committed to his hands.
Though the great masses in their ignorance and poverty appeal to him
powerfully and incite him to tremendous undertakings for their relief,
he does not, because his hands are so full of great things, turn
aside from opportunities to help the individual. Indeed, it is this
readiness to answer a personal call for help that has endeared him
so to thousands and thousands. No matter what may he the labor or
inconvenience to himself, he responds instantly when the appeal comes.
Two men, now members of the church, often tell the incident that led
to their conversion. One evening they fell to discussing Dr. Conwell
with some young friends who were members of the church. The young men
stoutly maintained that "Conwell was like all the rest--in it for the
almighty dollar." The church members as stoutly asserted that he was
actuated by motives far above such sordid consideration. But the
men would not yield their point and the subject was dropped. A few
evenings later, coming out of a saloon at midnight into a blinding
snowstorm, they heard a man say, "My dear child, why did you not tell
me before that you were in need. You know I would not let you suffer."
"That's Conwell," said one of the young fellows.
"Nothing of the kind," replied the other. "What's the matter with you?
Catch him out a night like this."
"But I tell you that was Conwell's voice," said the first man. "I know
it. Let's follow him and see what he's doing."
Through the thickly falling snow, they could see the tall figure of
Dr. Conwell with a large basket on one arm and leading a little child
by the hand. Keeping a sufficient distance behind, they followed him
to a poor home in a little street, saw him enter, saw the light flash
up and knew that he was living out in deed the doctrine he preached.
Silent, they turned away. What his spoken word in The Temple could not
do his ministry at midnight had accomplished, and they became loyal
and devoted members of the church.
In conversation with a street car conductor at one time, he found the
man eager to hear of Christ and His love, but unable to give heed on
the car because he might be reported for inattention to his duties and
lose his place. Dr. Conwell asked him where he took dinner, and at the
noon hour was there and, plainly and simply, as the man ate his lunch,
told what Christ's love in his heart and life would mean.
Such stories could be multiplied many times of this personal ministry
that seeks day and night, in season and out, to make mankind better,
to lift it up where it may grasp eternal truth.
Francis Willard says:
"To move among the people on the common street; to meet them in the
market-place on equal terms; to live among them not as saint or monk,
but as a brother man with brother men; to serve God not with form or
ritual, but in the free impulse of the soul; to bear the burden
of society and relieve its needs; to carry on its multitudinous
activities in the city, social, commercial, political, and
philanthropic--this is the religion of the Son of man." This is the
religion of Dr. Conwell.
As a leader and organizer he is almost without an equal in church
work. He sees a need. His practical mind goes to work to plan ways to
meet it. He organizes the work thoroughly and carefully; he rallies
his workers about him and then leads them dauntlessly forward to
success. He has weathered many a fierce gale of opposition, won out in
many a furious storm of criticism. The greater the obstacles, the more
brightly does his ability as a leader shine. He seems to call up from
some secret storehouse reserves of enthusiasm. He gets everybody
energetically and cheerfully at work, and the obstacles that seemed
insurmountable suddenly melt away. As some one has said, "He attempts
the impossible, yet finds practical ways to accomplish it"
The way he met an unexpected demand for money during the building of
the church illustrates this:
The trustees had, as they thought, made provision for the renewal of a
note of $2,000, due Dec. 27th. Late Friday, Dec. 24th, the news came
that the note could not be renewed, that it must be paid Monday.
They had no money, nothing could be done but appeal to the people on
Sunday.
But it was not a usual Sunday. The Church, just the night before, had
closed a big fair for the College. Many had served at the fair tables
almost until the Sabbath morning was ushered in. They were tired. All
had given money, many even beyond what they could afford. It was,
besides, the day after Christmas, and if ever a man's pocketbook is
empty, it is then. To make the outlook still drearier, the day opened
with a snowstorm that threatened at church time to turn into a
drizzling rain. Here was truly the impossible, for none of the people
at any time could give a large sum. Yet he faced the situation
dauntlessly, aroused his people, and by evening $2,200 had been
pledged for immediate payment, and of that $1,300 was received in cash
that Sunday.
In a sermon once he said:
"Last summer I rode by a locality where there had been a mill, now
partially destroyed by a cyclone. I looked at the great engine lying
upon its side. I looked at the wheels, at the boilers so out of place,
thrown carelessly together. I saw pieces of iron the uses of which I
did not understand. I saw iron bands, bearings, braces, and shafting
scattered about, and I found the great circular saw rusting, flat in
the grass. I went on my way wondering why any person should abandon so
many pieces of such excellent machinery, leaving good property to go
to waste. But again, not many weeks ago, I went by that same place and
saw a building there, temporary in its nature, but with smoke pouring
out of the stack and steam hissing and puffing from the exhaust pipe.
I heard the sound of the great saw singing its song of industry; I saw
the teamsters hauling away great loads of lumber. The only difference
between the apparently useless old lumber and scrap iron, piled
together in promiscuous confusion, machinery thrown into a heap
without the arrangement, and the new building with its powerful engine
working smoothly and swiftly for the comfort and wealth of men,
was that before the rebuilding, the wheels, the saw, the shafting,
boilers, piston-rod, and fly wheel had no definite relation to each
other. But some man picked out all these features of a complete mill
and put them into proper relation; he adjusted shaft, boiler, and
cogwheel, put water in the boiler and fire under it, let steam into
the cylinders, and moved piston-rod, wheels, and saw. There were no
new cogs, wheels, boilers, or saws; no new piece of machinery; there
has only been an intelligent spirit found to set them in their proper
places and relationship.
"One great difficulty with this world, whether of the entire globe or
the individual church, is that it is made up of all sorts of machinery
which is not adjusted; which is out of place; no fire under the
boiler; no steam to move the machinery. There is none of the necessary
relationship--there can he no affinity between cold and steam,
between power wasted and utility; and to overcome this difficulty is
one of the great problems of the earth to-day. The churches are very
much in this condition. There are cogwheels, pulleys, belting, and
engines in the church, but out of all useful relationship. There are
sincere, earnest Christians, men and women, but they are adjusted
to no power and no purpose; they have no definite relationship to
utility. They go or come, or lie still and rust, and a vast power for
good is unapplied. The text says "We are ambassadors for Christ"; that
means, in the clearest terms, the greatest object of the Christian
teacher and worker should be the bringing into right relations all the
forces of men, and gearing them to the power of Christ"
He undoubtedly understands bringing men together, and getting them
at work to secure almost marvelous results. A friend speaking of his
ability once said: "I admire Mr. Conwell for the power of which he is
possessed of reaching out and getting hold of men and grappling them
to himself with hooks of steel.
"I admire him not only for the power he has of binding men not only
to himself, but of binding men to Christ, and of binding them to one
another; for the power he has of generating enthusiasm. His people
are bound not only to the church, to the pastor, to God, but to one
another."
He never fails to appreciate the spirit with which a church member
works, even if results are not always as anticipated, or even if the
project itself is not always practical. He will cheerfully put his
hand down into his pocket and pay the bill for some impractical
scheme, rather than dampen the ardor of an enthusiastic worker. He
knows that experience will come with practice, but that a willing,
zealous worker is above price.
Those who know him most intimately find in him, despite his strong,
practical common sense, despite his years of hard work in the world,
despite the many times he has been deceived and imposed upon, a
certain boyish simplicity and guilelessness of heart, a touch of the
poetic, idealistic temperament that sees gold where there is only
brass; that hopes and believes, where reason for hope and belief
there is none. It is a winning trait that endears friends to him
most closely, that makes them cheerfully overlook such imprudent
benefactions as may result from it, though he himself holds it with
a strong rein, and only reveals that side of his nature to those who
know him best.
He studies constantly how he may help others, never how he may rest
himself. At his old home at South Worthington, Mass., he has built and
equipped an academy for the education of the boys and girls of the
neighborhood. He wants no boy or girl of his home locality to have
the bitter fight for an education that he was forced to experience.
It is a commodious building with class-rooms and a large public hall
which is used for entertainments, for prayer meetings, harvest homes
and all the gatherings of the nearby farming community.
Many other enterprises besides those directly connected with the
church grow out of Dr. Conwell's desire to be of service to mankind.
But like the organizations of the church, the need for them was
strongly felt before they took form.
While officiating at the funeral of a fireman who had lost his life by
the falling walls of a burning building and who had left three small
children uncared for, Dr. Conwell was impressed with the need of a
home for the orphans of men who risked their lives for the city's
good. Pondering the subject, he was called that same day to the
bedside of a shut-in, who, while he was there, asked him if there was
any way by which she could be of service to helpless children left
without paternal care or support. She said the subject had been on her
mind and such a work was dear to her heart. She was a gifted writer
and wielded considerable influence and could, by her pen, do much good
for such a work, not only by her writings but by personal letters
asking for contributions to establish and support an orphanage. The
coincidence impressed the matter still more strongly on Dr. Conwell's
mind. But that was not the end of it. Still that same day, a lady came
to him and asked his assistance in securing for her a position as
matron of an orphanage; and a woman physician came to his study
and offered her services free, to care for orphan children in an
institution for them.
Such direct leading was not to be withstood. Dr. Conwell called on a
former chief of police and asked his opinion as to an orphanage for
the children of fireman and policeman. The policeman welcomed the
project heartily, said he had long been thinking of that very problem,
and that if it were started by a responsible person, several thousand
dollars would be given by the policeman for its support. Still
wondering if he should take such leadings as indications of a definite
need, Dr. Conwell went to his study, called in some of his church
advisers and talked the matter over. Nothing at that meeting was
definitely settled, because some work interrupted it and those present
dispersed for other duties. But as they disbanded and Dr. Conwell
opened his mail, a check fell out for $75 from Rev. Chas. M. Sheldon,
which he said in the letter accompanying it, he desired to give toward
a movement for helping needy children.
Dr. Conwell no longer hesitated, and the Philadelphia Orphans' Home
Society, of which he is president, was organized, and has done a good
work in caring for helpless little ones, giving its whole effort to
securing permanent homes for the children and their adoption into
lonely families.
Although most of the money from his lectures goes to Temple College,
he uses a portion of it to support poor students elsewhere. He has
paid for the education of 1,550 college students besides contributing
partly to the education of hundreds of others. In fact, all the money
he makes, outside of what is required for immediate needs of his
family, is given away. He cares so little for money for himself, his
wants are so few and simple, that he seldom pays any attention as to
whether he has enough with him for personal use. He found once when
starting to lecture in New Jersey that after he had bought his ticket
he hadn't a cent left. Thinking, however, he would be paid when the
lecture was over, he went on. But the lecture committee told him they
would send a check. Having no money to pay a hotel bill, he took the
train back. Reaching Philadelphia after midnight he boarded a trolley
and told the conductor who he was and his predicament, offering to
send the man the money for his fare next day. But the conductor was
not to be fooled, said he didn't know Dr. Conwell from Adam, and
put him off. And Dr. Conwell walked twenty long blocks to his home,
chuckling all the way at the humor of the situation.
He has a keen sense of humor, as his audiences know. Though the
spiritual side of his nature is so intense, his love of fun and
appreciation of the humorous relieves him from being solemn or
sanctimonious. He is sunny, cheerful, ever ready at a chance meeting
with a smile or a joke. Children, who as a rule look upon a minister
as a man enshrouded in solemn dignity, are delightfully surprised to
find in him a jolly, fun-loving comrade, a fact which has much to do
with the number of young people who throng Grace church and enter its
membership.
The closeness of his walk with God is shown in his unbounded faith,
in the implicit reliance he has in the power of prayer. Though to the
world he attacks the problems confronting him with shrewd, practical
business sense, behind and underneath this, and greater than it all,
is the earnestness with which he first seeks to know the will of God
and the sincerity with which he consecrates himself to the work.
Christ is to him a very near personal friend, in very truth an Elder
Brother to whom he constantly goes for guidance and help, Whose will
he wants to do solely, in the current of Whose purpose he wants to
move. "Men who intend to serve the Lord should consecrate themselves
in heart-searching and prayer," he has said many and many a time. And
of prayer itself he says:
"There is planted in every human heart this knowledge, namely, that
there is a power beyond our reach, a mysterious potency shaping the
forces of life, which if we would win we must have in our favor. There
come to us all, events over which we have no control by physical or
mental power. Is there any hope of guiding those mysterious forces?
Yes, friends, there is a way of securing them in our favor or
preventing them from going against us. How? It is by prayer. When a
man has done all he can do, still there is a mighty, mysterious agency
over which he needs influence to secure success. The only way he can
reach that is by prayer."
He has good reason to believe in the power of prayer, for the answers
he has received in some cases have seemed almost miraculous.
When The Temple was being built, Dr. Conwell proposed that the new
pipe organ be put in to be ready for the opening service. But the
church felt it would be unwise to assume such an extra burden of debt
and voted against it. Dr. Conwell felt persuaded that the organ ought
to go in, and spent one whole night in The Temple in prayer for
guidance. As the result, he decided that the organ should be built.
The contract was given, the first payment made, but when in a few
months a note of $1,500 came due, there was not a cent in the treasury
to meet it. He knew it would be a most disastrous blow to the church
interests, with such a vast building project started, to have that
note go to protest. Yet he couldn't ask the membership to raise the
money since it had voted against building the organ at that time.
Disheartened, full of gloomy foreboding, he came Sunday morning to the
church to preach. The money must be ready next morning, yet he knew
not which way to turn. He felt he had been acting in accordance with
God's will, for the decision had been made after a night of earnest
prayer. Yet here stood a wall of Jericho before him and no divine
direction came as to how to make it fall. As he entered his study, his
private secretary handed him a letter. He opened it, and out fell a
check for $1,500 from an unknown man in Massillon, Ohio, who had once
heard Dr. Conwell lecture and felt strangely impelled to send him
$1,500 to use in The Temple work. Dr. Conwell prayed and rejoiced in
an ecstasy of gratitude. Three times he broke down during the sermon.
His people wondered what was the matter, but said he had never
preached more powerfully.
He is a man of prayer and a man of work. Loving, great-hearted,
unselfish, cheery, practical, hard-working, he yet draws his greatest
inspiration from that silent inner communion with the Master he serves
with such single-hearted, unfaltering devotion.