Plymouth Church—The New Building—Sabbath Service—Prayer-Meeting—Weekly
Lecture—Socials—Church Polity—The Pastor’s Policy.
As we have stated, Plymouth Church took possession of its new building
on the first Sabbath in January, 1850. Then, as on the Sabbaths of the
nearly forty succeeding years in which Mr. Beecher ministered here, the
crowd came and filled every available seat. Then began that sound, once
heard never forgotten, and heard nowhere else so continuously, of the
incoming multitude, the tread of hurrying feet like the sound of many
waters, as the crowds, held back for a time until pew-holders have been
in part accommodated, press in and take their places. Here, on this
first Sabbath, arose that song of thanksgiving whose fulness and power
were for so many years a marked feature of the religious service of this
great congregation. Here began that long succession of sermons which
opened to so many thousands, at first by the voice and then by the
printing-press; the nearness, the righteousness, and the boundless love
of God revealed in Jesus Christ. And here began on that day to ascend
those prayers which drew hearts into the very presence of the Most High
and left them gladdened, refreshed, and filled as with the fulness of
God. Blessed old Plymouth Church! Its every memory, its very walls are
dear unto multitudes.
It was plain even to bareness—unnecessarily so in the opinion of
many—both without and within, with not the slightest effort at show or
even ornament. None of those harmonies of color nor graces of form, such
as are now shown or attempted in almost every church edifice, were here
found. It was builded with the simple conscientious purpose of enabling
as many as possible to hear the Gospel, of affording every advantage to
such as wished to meet together in the prayer-meeting and sociable, and
of instructing the young in the Sunday-school. Herein lay the beauty of
the Plymouth Church building: its excellent adaptation to the great end
in view. More than any church of that day, and, with all the progress of
later times, excelled by but few, if any, at the present time, Plymouth
Church building afforded superior accommodations for Gospel hearing and
spiritual, educational, and social training. By placing the seats in a
partial curve, by the admirable arrangement of the commodious galleries,
and by pushing the pulpit well forward toward the centre of the circle,
the vast audience of nearly three thousand people were brought near
together and near to the speaker. While this enabled him to address them
with great ease, it also afforded an opportunity for the cultivation of
that feeling of homeness and fraternity that always characterized the
gatherings of this church with its pastor.
The pulpit was then, as now, a plain platform, with no railing in front,
and no other furniture than a set of chairs, a stand for notices, and an
open table for the Bible; as far removed as possible from those boxes
where the man must stand, cramped and stiff, while he delivers his
message. An offering of flowers was also found there, the beginning of a
custom which has been continued, we believe, without the failure of a
single Sabbath, from that day to this.
Behind the pulpit was the organ and seats for a choir of fifty or more
who should lead the great congregation in their songs of praise.
In the rear of the audience-room, opening back into another street, was
the lecture and prayer-meeting room, and above this were the parlors and
the Sunday-school rooms.
Such was the equipment that the pastor and Plymouth Church began to use
on that first Sabbath in 1850. It seemed to many more than ample. The
audience-room was more commodious than any in the land. Would the young
minister be able to fill it? Would he hold out? The “six months” that
one of Brooklyn’s most oracular of D.D.’s had given “that young man to
run out in” had long since passed, and he gave, as yet, no signs of
waning popularity; but perhaps he will, and a few possibly hoped, and
some, it may be, feared, that it would be so; but by far the larger part
of that great congregation praised God that day in joyful confidence
without any fears or misgivings. They had faith in their pastor as well
as in God; and he, conscious that he had builded sincerely, without sham
or pretence, had no question but that He who had begun this good work
would carry it prosperously forward to the end. All these appliances had
been demanded by the thousands in attendance. Their necessity was of
God, hence they could trust Him to vindicate His own plans. The young
pastor neither feared nor was anxious. He was the Lord’s; let Him do
with him as He pleased.
Of this feeling in connection with his preaching he himself says: “I had
at that time almost a species of indifference as to means and measures.
I cared little, and perhaps too little, whether I had or had not a
church building. I thought of one thing—the love of Christ to men. This,
to me, was a burning reality. Less clearly than now, perhaps, did I
discern the whole circuit and orb of the nature of Christ; but with a
burning intensity I realized the love of God in Jesus Christ. I believed
it to be the one transcendent influence in this world by which men
should be roused to a higher manhood and should be translated into
another and better kingdom. My purpose was to preach Christ to men for
the sake of bringing them to a higher life; and though I preferred the
polity and economy of the Congregational churches, yet I also felt that
God was in all the other churches, and that it was no part of my
ministry to build up sectarian walls; that it was no part of my ministry
to bombard and pull down sectarian structures; but that the work of my
ministry was to find the way to the hearts of men, and to labor with
them for their awakening and conversion and sanctification.
“I have said that I had no theory; but I had a very strong impression on
my mind that the first five years in the life of a church would
determine the history of that church and give to it its position and
genius; that if the earliest years of a church were controversial or
barren it would take scores of years to right it; but that if a church
were consecrated, active, and energetic during the first five years of
its life, it would probably go on through generations developing the
same features. My supreme anxiety, therefore, in gathering a church, was
to have all of its members united in a fervent, loving disposition; to
have them all in sympathy with men; and to have all of them desirous of
bringing to bear the glorious truths of the Gospel upon the hearts and
consciences of those about them.
“Consequently I went into this work with all my soul, preaching night
and day, visiting incessantly, and developing as fast and as far as
might be that social, contagious spirit which we call a revival of
religion.”
The services in the church were then, as ever since, in harmony with the
building—simple and without ostentation, differing from those of other
Congregational churches only in the spirit of unusual heartiness and the
impression of unusual power.
When the bell ceased tolling the organ began its work of preparing the
hearts of the great multitude for worship. Then followed the invocation
by the pastor, always devout, always joyful and trustful, uniformly
sincere, and always varied. No set phrase ever took possession and held
in its formal grasp the expression of his praise and expectant prayer:
“Thou that dost hold the sun, and pour forth therefrom the light and
glory of the day, from Thine own self let there come, streaming as the
daylight, those influences that shall awake in us all hope and all
gladness of love. For we sleep except when Thy beams are upon us. Only
when we are in God are we alive. Let us in, O our Father! and may all
that is within us rise up to worship Thee. Accept our service according
to what we would do and according to what Thou wouldst have us do. Bless
the word and the reading thereof. Bless our songs of praise and our
fellowship therein. Bless our communion one with another and with Thee.
Bless us in our meditation, in the services of the day, at home, and
everywhere. Make this a golden day to our souls, through Jesus Christ
our Redeemer. Amen.”
Then followed, in those early days—in later years he often omitted
it—the reading of the hymn, simply, with no straining after effect, but
so as to give the full meaning of the words to be sung, and in a measure
to interpret their spirit. The singing which followed, so full and
appreciative, was something to remember. It was the voices of the
multitude joining and blending in one great, full song of adoration and
thanksgiving.
The reading of the Scripture was usually without comment, but so vivid
to his thought were the great truths uttered, and so flexible was his
voice in giving them expression, and so natural the adaptation of his
whole manner to their import, that his simple reading gave a better
understanding of Scripture than the explanations of most other men.
The prayer that followed the hymn was very marked in its general
characteristics, comprehensive, and adapted to the occasion and the
needs of the people before him. It invariably gave expression to a
thankful spirit, lamented sins and failures, was permeated with a
yearning desire for communion with God and with great sympathy with men,
class after class of whom he brought before the Heavenly Father for
deliverance, comfort, and blessing.
The sermon was long, consuming from three-quarters of an hour to an
hour, and sometimes more, in delivery, and usually combined in a very
marked degree the three elements, the exegetical, the philosophic, and
the hortatory. He delighted in giving a full and broad opening of
Scripture, that all might be quickened and fed; in showing the relation
and harmony of the truths thus presented to other truths already
admitted, making their bearings clear by frequent illustrations, and
pressing them in the progress of the sermon, and especially at the
close, upon the acceptance of his hearers. His preaching informed,
convinced, inspired, and moved men to decisive action Godward, or it
was, in his view, a failure.
The benediction with which the services closed was as if he saw the
hands of the living Saviour stretched out over His beloved people, and
he became but a mouthpiece for the solemn and tender expression of His
beneficence.
Then followed the informal after-meeting, unadvertised and
unarranged—the pressing forward to the pulpit, or the waiting in the
aisles until he should pass out, of some who perhaps had a word of
thanks for help received in the sermon, of others asking questions or
bearing messages, of strangers who wished to press his hand, or of
troubled ones who wanted a word of cheer. The meeting continued down the
aisle, out into the porch, out on to the street, as friends still walked
along with him, talking as they went.
The weekly meetings of the church, besides Sabbath services and the
Sunday-school, at this early period, were three: a “Lecture,” Tuesday
evening; a “Sociable,” Thursday evening; and a Prayer-meeting, Friday
evening.
The weekly _lecture_ was a familiar meeting of the church family and
their friends, where, in simple and colloquial speech, the pastor
instructed them in the things that pertain to the spiritual life. It was
always spoken of, not as a _sermon_, but as a “_Lecture-Room Talk_.” The
subjects chosen were practical, like these, given in the order in which
he delivered them: “Groping after God,” “Praying for Others,” “Fervency
of Religious Feeling,” “Conversing with the Impenitent,” picked up in
his intercourse with his people, selected with direct reference to
solving doubts, removing difficulties, and securing spiritual growth and
activity. In these, perhaps more than anywhere else, he displayed the
resources of his great common sense, revealed the depth of his spiritual
life, and drew most largely on the wealth of his own Christian
experience.
The prayer-meetings did not differ in form from those that are common in
Congregational churches. A moment before the hour for the meeting Mr.
Beecher came upon the platform, threw his hat upon the floor by the side
of his chair, sat down, and, throwing back his cloak, took up the
“Plymouth Collection,” and, the instant the bell ceased tolling, without
rising, gave out in a clear, firm voice the number of some familiar
hymn, usually of thanksgiving. The pianist wasted no time in playing the
tune through, but struck the opening note firmly, the audience joined
without delay and sang without dragging, and the meeting gained that
most important advantage—a good send-off. No sooner had the hymn ceased
than the pastor arose and read a passage from a Bible which he held in
his hand. He then led in a prayer, simple, confiding, hopeful, tender,
that helped all weary and waiting souls to realize that they were in the
presence of their very best Friend, and gave them needed help. Another
hymn, given out in the same manner and sung with the same spirit,
followed. Then, that there might be no break in the movement of the
service, looking at the individual addressed, usually some one of the
old warriors upon the front seats, he would say, “Will Brother ——— lead
us in prayer?” When this prayer was finished his eye seemed to take a
broader range and search out some of the younger and less experienced to
bring them into the work. Woe be to you then if you have come in late,
taken a back seat, and tried to keep out of sight! He seemed to know
instinctively where you were, and how you felt, and how essential, if
you would enjoy the meeting, that this ice should be broken; and on this
second call for leaders you would be very likely to hear your name
pronounced with that same kind but authoritative intonation that you
could neither pretend not to hear nor refuse to obey. Another hymn
increases the kindly warmth of Christian feeling that has begun to
pervade the audience like an atmosphere, and under its inspiration other
prayers are offered, at this stage by volunteers; experiences are
related, often by the pastor; questions are asked upon some practical
difficulty, and answers are given; failures and sins are confessed and
lamented, and prayers are requested and offered, until the hour was
passed all too quickly. Another hymn, and then the benediction closes
the meeting.
The social meetings, for the accommodation of which Mr. Beecher added
the parlors—at that time an unusual feature of a church—were a very
earnest attempt made by him in the meridian of his social power and
enthusiasm, and in a church more than ordinarily inspired by his loving
spirit, to overcome the separations which different conditions and
dissimilar social training and surroundings bring about in the Church of
Christ, and to realize as nearly as possible the family ideal. A
sewing-meeting was held in the afternoon for some benevolent enterprise,
followed by a plain tea to which all were invited. Friends dropped in,
pleasant conversation ensued, and perhaps a few selections of reading or
song, prepared for the occasion, were given. “Mr. Beecher then took his
stand in the centre of the large room, rapped with his pencil and called
his flock around him, and gave them ten minutes of appreciative, kindly,
witty, helpful talk. ‘Plymouth Collection of Hymns’ was then handed
round, and everybody sang, or tried to. After this, prayer and
‘good-night.’” This was about the outline, and for several years it was
moderately successful; but busy times crowded in upon it, unregulated
elements worked into it, getting and doing more harm than good, and at
length it was given up, and the members of Plymouth Church chose their
companions according to social affinities, similarity of position, and
circumstances, like other people.
Such preaching and labors, with such appliances, under the blessing of
God were sure to bring abundant results, and revivals followed each
other in quick succession all through those early years; in fact,
Plymouth Church thus far during its whole history may be called a
revival church.
Its polity was Congregational, as we find in its manual of 1850:
“This church is an independent ecclesiastical body, and in matters of
doctrine, order, and discipline is amenable to no other organization.
This church will extend to other evangelical churches and receive from
them that fellowship, advice, and assistance which the laws of Christ
require.”
His own policy toward the church is given in these words:
“I have never _managed_. I have never employed management. I have tried
to inspire kind feelings and thus lead men to take up their crosses. I
have never sought to exert my authority, but to promote the utmost
freedom of thought and action.... I have maintained from the beginning
the most profound desire that there should be a church-life among you
quite independent of me, and that as the pulpit was independent, so
should the pews be also. I have scrupulously avoided meddling with the
liberties of this church, except to _enforce_ them. My simple aim from
the beginning has been to develop among you as high a standard of
manhood, and of Christian manhood, as the infirmity of human nature
would permit; and for that—the exaltation of manhood in Christ Jesus—I
have labored in season and out of season: not without flaw, not without
fault, not without sin, but, as God is my witness, with every power of
my soul and body and understanding, from year to year.”
Such was Plymouth Church as she stood a score and a half and more years
ago, and as she still remains.
“Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth is this our Mount
Zion” well expresses the feelings of multitudes as they recall these
years and remember these places. Her streets of Sabbath service and
work-day conference and prayer were continually trodden by eager crowds,
and were made beautiful and attractive by the Christian fellowship that
grew up and blossomed here on every side under the inspiration and
culture of one who himself so trustfully, hopefully, and exultingly
walked with God.