The Service of Society
A lot of people think a man needs a new grandfather, sanitation, and a
new shirt, when what he needs is a new heart.--BILLY SUNDAY.
Some day a learned university professor, with a string of titles after
his name, will startle the world by breaking away from the present
conventionalism in sociology, and will conduct elaborate laboratory
experiments in human betterment on the field of a Billy Sunday
campaign. His conclusion will surely be that the most potent force for
the service of society--the shortest, surest way of bettering the human
race--is by the fresh, clear, sincere and insistent preaching of the
Gospel of Jesus Christ.
Of course, the New Testament has been teaching that for nearly twenty
centuries, but the world has not yet comprehended the practicability of
the program. Your learned professor may prove, by literally thousands
of incidents, that honesty, chastity, brotherliness, and idealism
have been more definitely promoted by revivals of religion than by
legislative or educational programs. All that the social reformers of
our day desire may be most quickly secured by straight-out preaching
of the Gospel. The shortcut to a better social order is by way of
converted men and women. And when a modern scholar comes to demonstrate
this he will draw largely upon the aftermath of the Sunday campaigns
for his contemporaneous evidence.
If there is one phrase which, better than another, can describe a
Billy Sunday campaign it is "restitution and righteousness." In season
and out, the evangelist insists upon a changed life as the first
consequence of conversion. His message runs on this wise:
"You ought to live so that every one who comes near you will know that
you are a Christian. Do you? Does your milkman know that you are a
Christian? Does the man who brings your laundry know that you belong
to church? Does the man who hauls away your ashes know that you are
a Christian? Does your newsboy know that you have religion? Does the
butcher know that you are on your way to heaven? Some of you buy meat
on Saturday night, and have him deliver it Sunday morning, just to save
a little ice, and then you wonder why he doesn't go to church.
[Illustration: "DOES YOUR NEWSBOY KNOW THAT YOU HAVE RELIGION?"]
"If you had to get into heaven on the testimony of your washer-woman,
could you make it? If your getting into heaven depended on what your
dressmaker knows about your religion, would you land? If your husband
had to gain admittance to heaven on the testimony of his stenographer,
could he do it? If his salvation depended on what his clerks tell about
him, would he get there? A man ought to be as religious in business as
he is in church. He ought to be as religious in buying and selling as
he is in praying.
"There are so many church members who are not even known in their own
neighborhood as Christians. Out in Iowa where a meeting was held,
a man made up his mind that he would try to get an old sinner into
the Kingdom, and after chasing him around for three days he finally
cornered him. Then he talked to that old fellow for two hours, and then
the old scoundrel stroked his whiskers, and what do you think he said?
'Why, I've been a member of the church down there for fourteen years.'
Just think of it! A member of the church fourteen years, and a man had
to chase him three days, and talk with him two hours to find it out.
"You have let Jesus in? Yes, but you have put him in the spare-room.
You don't want him in the rooms where you live. Take him down into the
living-room. Take him into the dining-room. Take him into the parlor.
Take him into the kitchen. Live with him. Make him one of the family."
Then follows a Sundayesque description of how Jesus would find beer in
the refrigerator and throw it out; how he would find cards on the table
and throw them out; how he would find nasty music on the piano and
throw it out; how he would find cigarettes and throw them out.
"If you haven't Jesus in the rooms you live in, it's because you don't
want him," he says. "You're afraid of one of two things: you're afraid
because of the things he'll throw out if he comes in, or you're afraid
because of the things he'll bring with him if he comes in."
Here is how a great newspaper, the Philadelphia _North American_,
characterizes the ethical and political effectiveness of Mr. Sunday:
Billy Sunday, derided by many as a sensational evangelist, has created
a political revolution in Allegheny County. What years of reform work
could not do he has wrought in a few short weeks. Old line "practical"
politicians, the men who did the dirty work for the political gang,
are now zealous for temperance, righteousness and religion.
Judges on the bench, grand dames of society, millionaire business
men, in common with the great host of undistinguished men and women
in homes, mills, offices, and shops, have been fired by this amazing
prophet with burning zeal for practical religion.
An unexpected, unpredicted and unprecedented social force has been
unleashed in our midst. Not to reckon with this is to be blind to
the phase of Sunday's work which bulks larger than his picturesque
vocabulary or his acrobatic earnestness.
In the presence of this man's work all attempts to classify religious
activities as either "evangelistic" or "social service" fall into
confusion.
Sunday could claim for himself that he's an evangelist, and an
evangelist only. He repudiates a Christian program that is merely
palliative or ameliorative. To his thinking the Church has more
fundamental business than running soup kitchens or gymnasiums or oyster
suppers. All his peerless powers of ridicule are frequently turned upon
the frail and lonely oyster in the tureen of a money-making church
supper.
Nevertheless, the results of Sunday's preaching are primarily social
and ethical. He is a veritable besom of righteousness sweeping
through a community. The wife who neglects her cooking, mending and
home-making; the employer who does not deal squarely with his workers;
the rich man who rents his property for low purposes or is tied up in
crooked business in any wise; the workman who is not on "his job"; the
gossip and the slanderer; the idle creatures of fashion; the Christian
who is not a good person to live with, the selfish, the sour, the
unbrotherly--all these find themselves under the devastating harrow
of this flaming preacher's biting, burning, excoriating condemnation.
"A scourge for morality" is the way one minister described him; he is
that, and far more.
After the whole field of philanthropy and reform have been traversed it
still remains true that the fundamental reform of all is the cleaning
up of the lives and the lifting up of the ideals of the people. That
is indisputably what Sunday does. He sweetens life and promotes a
wholesome, friendly, helpful and cheerful state of mind on the part of
those whom he influences.
Assuredly it is basic betterment to cause men to quit their drunkenness
and lechery and profanity. All the white-slave or social-evil
commissions that have ever met have done less to put a passion for
purity into the minds of men and women than this one man's preaching
has done. The safest communities in the country for young men and young
women are those which have been through a Billy Sunday revival.
One cannot cease to exult at the fashion in which the evangelist makes
the Gospel synonymous with clean living. All the considerations that
weigh to lead persons to go forward to grasp the evangelist's hand,
also operate to make them partisans of purity and probity.
Put into three terse phrases, Sunday's whole message is: "Quit your
meanness. Confess Christ. Get busy for him among men." There are no
finely spun spiritual sophistries in Sunday's preaching. He sometimes
speaks quite rudely of that conception of a "higher spiritual life"
which draws Christians apart from the world in a self-complacent
consciousness of superiority.
His is not a mystical, meditative faith. It is dynamic, practical,
immediate. According to his ever-recurring reasoning, if one is not
passing on the fruits of religion to somebody else--if one is not
hitting hard blows at the devil or really doing definite tasks for God
and the other man--then one has not the real brand of Christianity.
Sunday's preaching has hands, with "punch" to them, as well as lift;
and feet, with "kick" in them, as well as ministry.
Like a colliery mined on many levels, Sunday's preaching reaches
all classes. Everybody can appreciate the social service value of
converting a gutter bum and making him a self-supporting workman. Is
it any less social service to convert a man--I cite an actual instance
from Pittsburgh--who had lately lost a twelve-thousand-dollar-a-year
position through dissipation, and so thoroughly to help him find
himself that before the meetings were over he was back in his old
office, once more drawing one thousand dollars a month?
To a student of these campaigns, it seems as if business has sensed,
better than the preachers, the economic waste of sin.
A careful and discriminating thinker, the Rev. Joseph H. Odell, D.D.,
formerly pastor of the Second Presbyterian Church of Scranton, wrote an
estimate of Billy Sunday and his work for _The Outlook_, in which he
explains why his church, which had been opposed to the coming of the
evangelist, reversed its vote:
Testimony, direct and cumulative, reached the ears of the same refined
and reverent men and women. The young business men, even those from
the great universities, paused to consider. The testimony that
changed the attitudes of the Church came from judges, lawyers, heads
of corporations and well-known society leaders in their respective
communities. The testimony was phenomenally concurrent in this: that,
while it did not endorse the revivalist's methods, or accept his
theological system, or condone his roughness and rudeness, it proved
that the preaching produced results.
"Produced results!" Every one understood the phrase; in the
business world it is talismanic. As the result of the Billy Sunday
campaigns--anywhere and everywhere--drunkards became sober, thieves
became honest, multitudes of people engaged themselves in the study
of the Bible, thousands confessed their faith in Jesus Christ as the
Saviour of the world, and all the quiescent righteousness of the
community grew brave and belligerent against vice, intemperance,
gambling, and political dishonesty.
During the last week of February I went to Pittsburgh for the purpose
of eliciting interest in the candidacy of J. Benjamin Dimmick for
the nomination of United States Senator. Billy Sunday had closed his
Pittsburgh campaign a few days earlier. My task was easy. A group of
practical politicians met Mr. Dimmick at dinner. They were the men
who had worked the wards of Allegheny County on behalf of Penrose
and the liquor interests for years. Together they were worth many
thousands of votes to any candidate; in fact, they were the political
balance of power in that county. They knew everything that men could
know about the ballot, and some things that no man should know.
Solidly, resolutely, and passionately they repudiated Penrose. "No one
can get our endorsement in Allegheny County, even for the office of
dog-catcher, who is not anti-booze and anti-Penrose," they asserted.
When asked the secret of their crusader-like zeal against the alliance
of liquor and politics, they frankly ascribed it to Billy Sunday; they
had been born again--no idle phrase with them--in the vast whale-back
tabernacle under the preaching of the baseball evangelist.
Billy Sunday deals with the very springs of action; he seeks to help
men get right back to the furthermost motives of the mind. "If you're
born again, you won't live knowingly in sin. This does not mean that a
Christian cannot sin, but that he does not want to sin." This truth the
evangelist illustrates by the difference between a hog and a sheep. The
sheep may fall into the mud, but it hates it and scrambles out. A hog
loves the mud and wallows in it.
Nobody can measure the results of the social forces which this
simple-thinking evangelist sets to work. His own figure of the dwarf
who could switch on the electric lights in a room as easily as a
giant, comes to mind. He has sent into Christian work men who can do
a kind of service impossible to Sunday himself. Thus, one of Sunday's
converts out in Wichita, two years ago, was Henry J. Allen, editor of
_The Beacon_ and Progressive candidate for governor. Mr. Allen became
a member of one of the celebrated "Gospel Teams," which, since the
Sunday meetings, have been touring Kansas and neighboring states and
have won more than eleven thousand converts. It was in a meeting held
by this band that William Allen White, the famous editor, author and
publisher, took a definite stand for Christ and Christian work. One of
the most interesting facts about Sunday's work is this one that the
three greatest editors in the State of Kansas today are his direct
or indirect converts. An "endless chain" letter would be easier to
overtake than the effects of a Sunday revival campaign.
In the face of the mass of testimony of this sort is it any wonder
that business men deem a Sunday campaign worth all it costs, merely
as an ethical movement? The quickest and cheapest way to improve
morals and the morale of a city is by a revival of religion. Thus
it is illuminating to learn that there were 650 fewer inmates in
the Allegheny County jail, during the period of the Sunday revival
meetings, than during the same time in the preceding year.
From Pittsburgh also comes the remarkable story that the Cambria
Steel Company, one of the largest steel concerns in the country, has
established a religious department in connection with its plant, and
placed a regularly ordained minister in charge of it. This as an avowed
result of the Sunday campaign.
The Rev. Dr. Maitland Alexander, D.D., pastor of the First Presbyterian
Church of Pittsburgh, is sponsor for this news, and he also
declares that nine department stores of Pittsburgh are now holding
prayer-meetings every morning at eight o'clock. These two statements
are taken from Dr. Alexander's address to a body of ministers in New
York City. He is reported to have said also:
Billy Sunday succeeded in moving the city of Pittsburgh from one
end to the other. That, to my mind, was the greatest result of the
meetings. It is easy to talk about religion now in Pittsburgh. Men
especially are thinking of it as never before, and the great majority
are no longer in the middle of the road. They are on one side or the
other. I never knew a man who could speak to men with such telling
effect as Billy Sunday. I covet his ability to make men listen to him.
It was necessary in my own church, which when packed, holds 3200
persons, to hold special meetings for different groups, such as
lawyers, doctors, bankers, etc., and they were always crowded. In the
big tabernacle, which was built for the campaign and holds more than
20,000 persons, the men from the big steel shops, after the second
week, came in bodies of from one to three thousand, in many cases
headed by their leading officers.
Dr. Alexander said that up to the time of this address the Sunday
campaign had added 419 members to his own church.
One of the striking consequences of the Sunday campaign in Scranton
was the development of the "Garage Bible Class." This was originally
a Wilkes-Barre poker club. As the story was told by Mr. William
Atherton, a Wilkes-Barre attorney, to the same New York meeting that
Dr. Alexander addressed, the Garage Bible Class was originally a group
of wealthy men meeting at different homes every week for a poker game.
One man bet a friend fifteen dollars that he wouldn't go to hear Billy
Sunday. One by one, however, the men found themselves unable to resist
the lure of the Tabernacle. As a result the poker club was abandoned,
and in a garage belonging to one of the men they organized a Bible
class which now has about a hundred members. They have adopted a rule
that no Christian shall be added to their ranks. They make their own
Christians out of the unconverted.
From this episode one gets some conception of the tug and pull of
the Sunday Tabernacle. The temptation to attend becomes well nigh
irresistible. All the streams of the community life flow toward the
great edifice where the baseball evangelist enunciates his simple
message. A writer in _The Churchman_ said, following the Pittsburgh
campaign:
This evangelist made religion a subject of ordinary conversation.
People talked about their souls as freely as about their breakfast.
He went into the homes of the rich, dropped his wildness of speech,
and made society women cry with shame and contrition. One's eternal
welfare became the topic of the dinner table, not only in the slums
but in the houses of fashion. It sounds incredible, and it is not a
fact to be grasped by the mere reading of it, but the citizens of
Pittsburgh forgot to be ashamed to mention prayer and forgiveness of
sin; the name of Christ began to be used with simpleness and readiness
and reverence by men who, two months ago, employed it only as a
by-word. City politicians came forward in the meeting and asked for
prayer. The daily newspapers gave more space to salvation than they
did to scandal, not for one day, but for day after day and week after
week. As a mere spectacle of a whole modern city enthralled by the
Gospel it was astonishing, unbelievable, unprecedented, prodigious.
Because he preaches both to employers and to employed, Sunday is able
to apply the healing salt of the gospel at the point of contact between
the two. From Columbus it is reported that a number of business men
voluntarily increased the wages of their helpers, especially the women,
because of the evangelist's utterances.
A horse jockey out West reached the core of the matter when he said to
a friend of mine concerning Billy Sunday, "He sets people to thinking
about other people." There you have the genesis and genius and goal of
social service. No other force that operates among men is equal to the
inspirations and inhibitions of the Christian religion in the minds of
individuals. The greatest service that can be done to any community is
to set a considerable proportion of its people to endeavoring honestly
to live out the ideals of Jesus Christ.
It is simply impossible to enumerate anything like a representative
number of incidents of the community value of Billy Sunday's work. They
come from every angle and in the most unexpected ways. A banker, who
is not a member of any church, showed me the other day a letter he had
received from a man who had defrauded him out of a small sum of money
years before. The banker had never known anything about the matter
and did not recall the man's name. What did amaze him, and set him to
showing the letter to all of his friends, was this man's restitution,
accompanied by an outspoken testimony to his new discipleship to Jesus
Christ, upon which he had entered at the inspiration of Billy Sunday.
The imagination is stirred by a contemplation of what these individual
cases of regeneration imply. Consider the homes reunited; consider the
happy firesides that once were the scene of misery; measure, if you
can, the new joy that has come to tens of thousands of lives in the
knowledge that they have given themselves unreservedly to the service
of Jesus Christ.
The dramatic, human side of it strikes one ever and anon. I chanced
to see a young man "hit the trail" at Scranton whose outreachings I
had later opportunity to follow. The young man is the only son of his
parents and the hope of two converging family lines. Grandparents
and parents, uncles and aunts, have pinned all of their expectations
on this one young man. He was a youth of parts and of force and a
personality in the community. When, on the night of which I write, he
came forward up the "sawdust trail" to grasp the evangelist's hand,
his aged grandfather and his mother wept tears of joy. The grandfather
himself also "hit the trail" at the Scranton meetings and has since
spent his time largely in Christian work. It is impossible to say how
this young man's future might have spelled sorrow or joy for the family
circle that had concentrated their hopes on him. But now it is clear
that his conversion has brought to them all a boon such as money could
not have bought nor kings conferred.
One of the countless instances that may be gleaned in any field of
Sunday's sowing was related to me the other evening by a business man,
who, like others, became a protagonist of Sunday by going through one
of his campaigns. In his city there was a cultivated, middle-aged
German, a well-known citizen, who was an avowed atheist. He openly
scoffed at religion. He was unable, however, to resist the allurement
of the Sunday meetings, and he went with his wife one night merely to
"see the show." That one sermon broke down the philosophy of years, and
the atheist and his wife became converts of Billy Sunday. His three
sons followed suit, so that the family of five adults were led into the
Christian life by this evangelist untaught of the schools. One of the
sons is now a member of the State Y. M. C. A. Committee.
A western business man, who is interested in the Young Men's Christian
Association, told me that one cold, rainy winter's day he happened
into the Association Building in Youngstown, Ohio. He found a crowd of
men streaming into a meeting, and because the day was so unpropitious,
he asked the character of the gathering. He was told that it was the
regular meeting of the Christian Workers' Band, gathered to report
on the week's activities. The men had been converted to Christ, or
to Christian work, by Billy Sunday, and their meeting had continued
ever since, although it was more than a year since the evangelist's
presence in Youngstown. Said my friend, "That room was crowded. One
after another the men got up and told what definite Christian work they
had been doing in the previous seven days. The record was wonderful.
They had been holding all sorts of meetings in all sorts of places,
and had been doing a variety of personal work besides, so that there
were a number of converts to be reported at this meeting I attended."
To have set that force in operation so that it would continue to work
with undiminished zeal after twelve months of routine existence, was a
greater achievement than to preach one of the Billy Sunday sermons.
There is a sufficient body of evidence to show that the work of Billy
Sunday does not end when the evangelist leaves the community. He has
created a vogue for religion and for righteousness. The crowd spirit
has been called forth to the service of the Master. Young people and
old have been given a new and overmastering interest in life. They have
something definite to do for the world and a definite crowd with which
to ally themselves.
One result has been a tremendous growth of Bible classes for men
and women and a manifestation of the crusader spirit which makes
itself felt in cleaned-up communities and in overthrown corruption in
politics. So far as the Billy Sunday campaigns may be said to have a
badge, it is the little red and white bull's eye of the Organized Adult
Bible Classes.
Six months after the Scranton campaign five thousand persons attended
a "Trail Hitters'" picnic, where the day's events were scheduled under
two headings, "athletic" and "prayer." When wholesome recreation comes
thus to be permeated with the spirit of clean and simple devotion
something like an ideal state of society has come to pass for at least
one group of people.
In more ways than the one meant by his critics, Sunday's work is
sensational. What could be more striking than the visit on Sunday,
October 25, 1914, of approximately a thousand trail-hitters from
Scranton to the churches of Philadelphia, to help prepare them for
their approaching Sunday campaign? Special trains were necessary to
bring this great detachment of men the distance of three hundred miles.
They went forth in bands of four, being distributed among the churches
of the city, to hold morning and evening services, and in the afternoon
conducting neighborhood mass meetings. These men were by no means all
trained speakers, but they were witness-bearers; and their testimony
could scarcely fail to produce a powerful influence upon the whole
city. That, on a large scale, is what Sunday converts are doing in a
multitude of places.
To close this chapter as it began, the truth stands out that Billy
Sunday has set a host of people to thinking that this world's problems
are to be solved, and its betterment secured, not by any new-fangled
methods, but along the old and tested line of transforming individual
characters through the redeeming power of the crucified Son of God.
Salvation is surest social service.
The great evangelist's sermons are filled with the life stories of the
men and women he has saved. The following is only one of many:
"I was at one time in a town in Nebraska and the people kept telling
me about one man. 'There is one man here, if you can get him he is good
for one hundred men for Christ.' I said: 'Who is he?'
"'John Champenoy. He is the miller.' I said to Mr. Preston, who was
then a minister: 'Have you been to see him?' 'No.' I asked another
minister if he had been to see the fellow and he said no. I asked the
United Presbyterian preacher (they have a college out there), and he
said no, he hadn't been around to see him.
"I said: 'Well, I guess I'll go around to see him.' I found the fellow
seated in a chair teetered back against the wall, smoking. I said: 'Is
this Mr. Champenoy?' 'Yes, sir, that's my name.' He got up and took
me by the hand. I said: 'My name is Sunday; I'm down at the church
preaching. A good many have been talking to me about you and I came
down to see you and ask you to give your heart to God.' He looked at
me, walked to the cupboard, opened the door, took out a half-pint flask
of whisky and threw it out on a pile of stones.
"He then turned around, took me by the hand, and as the tears rolled
down his cheeks he said: 'I have lived in this town nineteen years and
you are the first man that has ever asked me to be a Christian.'
"He said: 'They point their finger at me and call me an old drunkard.
They don't want my wife around with their wives because her husband is
a drunkard. Their children won't play with our babies. They go by my
house to Sunday school and church, but they never ask us to go. They
pass us by. I never go near the church. I am a member of the lodge. I
am a Mason and I went to the church eleven years ago when a member of
the lodge died, but I've never been back and I said I never would go.'
"I said: 'You don't want to treat the Church that way. God isn't to
blame, is he?'
"'No.'
"'The Church isn't to blame, is it?'
"'No.'
"'Christ isn't to blame?'
"'No.'
"'You wouldn't think much of me if I would walk up and slap your wife
because you kept a dog I didn't like, would you? Then don't slap God in
the face because there are some hypocrites in the Church that you don't
like and who are treating you badly. God is all right. He never treated
you badly. Come up and hear me preach, will you, John?'
"'Yes, I'll come tonight.'
"I said: 'All right, the Lord bless you and I will pray for you.' He
came; the seats were all filled and they crowded him down the side
aisle. I can see him now standing there, with his hat in his hand,
leaning against the wall looking at me. He never took his eyes off me.
When I got through and gave the invitation he never waited for them to
let him out. He walked over the backs of the seats, took his stand for
Jesus Christ, and in less than a week seventy-eight men followed him
into the kingdom of God. They elected that man chairman of the civic
federation and he cleaned the town up for Jesus Christ and has led the
hosts of righteousness from then until now. Men do care to talk about
Jesus Christ and about their souls. 'No man cares for my soul.' That's
what's the trouble. They are anxious and waiting for some one to come."