me. They love me but they don't come to church." Mr. Nelson confided in
this vein one night to his intimate friend, Jesse Halsey, into whose
study he had stopped on his way home from a call in a distant suburb.
While it was inevitable that some people should use him as a crutch or
should let him do their climbing for them, the truth of the matter is
that he was a chosen channel for the communication of the Divine Spirit
to earth-bound men. Because he was genuinely humble, he was troubled
about those people who could approach God only through him. If they
little sensed that what they loved in him was God, they nevertheless
were compelled by their limitations to think of God in terms of Frank
Nelson.
He was only a voice in the successive generations of men whom God has
sent to minister unto this world, but men loved the voice and though it
is now no longer heard, the mystery and wonder of his personality still
remain. The happy blend of the spiritual and the human in his nature had
a profound influence upon those who knew him. Though poor, faltering
words may suggest the salient outlines of his character, the richness
and singularity of it defy complete expression.
Mr. Nelson's rare gifts of mind and spirit were enhanced by a robust
physique. He was tall, well-proportioned, and in his last twenty years
took on an almost majestic bearing which gave him a distinguished
appearance in any company. In his manner there was that graciousness
which men call charm or presence. Those who associated with him, whether
rich or poor, talented or commonplace, felt his friendliness. He was at
home with all kinds of people, and though born on the sunny side of the
street, and by birth and breeding an aristocrat, he became one of the
most democratic of men. Because of his greatness some approached him
hesitatingly, but they went away remembering only his kindness of heart.
He never stood on his dignity in that sense which conveys condescension.
His gay, infectious laughter which so often filled a room put people
immediately at ease, and yet he never belittled his calling nor lowered
himself to meet men.
There was a look of keenness in his eyes that sometimes pierced one
through and through, but always there shone forth faith and sympathy and
understanding. It was the warmth of his humanity that drew people, and
consciously or unconsciously gave them confidence and a stronger
readiness to meet life. Bishop Edward L. Parsons of California writes,
"When with him you felt as if you were entirely safe. You knew that his
judgment would be sound. You knew that he was too big to be dominated by
personal considerations."
The same warmth expressed itself in his appreciation of other men's
opinions, and because he was decisive in outlook and views, he found
pleasure and stimulus in the spirited exchange of ideas and in sprightly
repartee. In the Episcopal Church there is an amazing diversity of
thought on ecclesiastical matters. Frank Nelson, for instance,
represented one conviction, and the Right Reverend Spence Burton, now
Lord Bishop of Nassau, quite another. "We were the best of friends,"
writes Bishop Burton, who is a Cincinnatian by birth, "and we often
disagreed but got on happily together because I think that
temperamentally we were somewhat alike--what might vulgarly be known as
whole-hoggers. In that way we understood each other and did not annoy
each other nearly so much as if we had had the idea that we could have
only as much affection for each other as we had agreement with one
another." The admiration and affection which Mr. Nelson elicited was
pointedly demonstrated at his funeral. Bishop Burton sat in the chancel
alongside the Reverend Jesse Halsey, the Presbyterian minister. Dr.
Halsey said: "Bishop Burton, perfect gentleman that he is, not once
crossed himself in deference to Frank's (to him, atrocious) low church
prejudices!" Frank Nelson was like that. Respect for him sometimes came
grudgingly, but it came because there was no personal animosity in the
man. He was honored because he was a moral and a spiritual force with
which to be reckoned.
His election to the Commercial Club of Cincinnati in 1923 is another
indication of his democratic and appealing character. This club is one
of the city's most exclusive, its membership being comprised entirely of
business executives, captains of industry, and a small sprinkling of
professional men. The constitution of the club allows for three honorary
members, and at the time of Mr. Nelson's election, the only honorary
member was William Howard Taft. An extract from the Club's minutes
reads:
Believing that it would be a merited recognition of one of our
most worthy citizens, won by his unselfish zeal for the cause of
humanity, and as a leader for higher ideals in our civic life,
your Executive Committee unanimously recommend the election of
Rev. Frank H. Nelson to be an honorary member of the Commercial
Club.
Each year at the Club's Christmas dinner, Mr. Nelson invariably gave an
address on some contemporary significance of Christmas. His message was
deeply impressive to this inner circle of representative citizens, for
he was one with them in spirit, even as he was one with the humblest of
his parish. In turn, such associations gave him courage and reenforced
his will to persist in a difficult calling, as the following lines
penned to a club member reveal:
I wonder if you and a few men who are like you in real
understanding and real goodness, realize what your confidence and
friendship do for a minister? It isn't easy for us to keep our
faith in what is right and just and true, when successful men
tell us we don't know what we are talking about--that our faith
is plain foolishness in the face of realities.
He entered into the Club's frolics with huge enjoyment, and on one
occasion took part in a pageant, dressed in the vestments of a mediaeval
bishop. During an outing in the South, the Club attended a religious
service, and while in the church Mr. Walter Draper had his pocket
picked. After the service, in some excitement he freely expressed his
indignation, continuing at great length until Mr. Nelson gleefully
returned the filched article!
Out of his warmth of human feeling there came a real capacity for
enjoying simple, ordinary things. If he was stirred by the tragedy and
the immemorial pain of humanity, he was also moved by the elemental ties
of family and friendship, and by all the simplicity that lends them zest
and joy. He loved anniversaries, and was deeply appreciative of the
innumerable remembrances he received on those occasions. Christmas
parties in his home were a particular delight to friends and to those
members of the staff fortunate enough to enjoy the hospitality of Mr.
and Mrs. Nelson. He was child-like at heart, and those close to him were
warmed by his gaiety and thoughtfulness. He had a feeling for music and
when he led the carol rehearsals in the parish house hall before
Christmas and Easter, the boys and girls responded whole-heartedly. He
took charge in a firm manner; in fact no bronco was ever more
competently restrained than his youngsters. The chorus of boys and girls
sang softly or loudly at his will, and enjoyed it, and when he left the
platform, they did not growl an adieu, they applauded!
Mr. Nelson's interest in people, and the work he accomplished had for a
background the sort of home environment which enhanced his capacity. In
1907 he was married to Miss Mary Eaton, the daughter of William Oriel
Eaton, a Cincinnati artist of distinction. Their adopted daughter, Ruth,
was an unending delight to him, and he lived to officiate at her
marriage, and to become a happy grandfather. Mrs. Nelson's admirable
arrangements of the household left him free of the many details that
might hamper a man in public office. He did not have to worry about
bringing home unexpected guests, and when he was not at home Mrs. Nelson
carried on in a loyal manner expressive of his interest in people. At
one time before the Travelers' Aid Society was organized, a mother and
two children arrived at the railroad station in some sort of pressing
difficulty. Not knowing where to go, the mother inquired of the
telephone operator, who suggested "Rev. Nelson." The woman in her
distress went to the rector's home on Pike Street. Mr. Nelson was out of
the city, but in characteristic fashion, his wife took them in and kept
them overnight. Mrs. Nelson's interest and work in the parish,
particularly with the young candidates for the Girls' Friendly Society,
was of a notable quality, and her fine understanding of their problems
was not only an important factor in the effectiveness of that
organization, but also happily supplemented her husband's unceasing
labors.
Frank Nelson was continually sensitive to his good fortune in possessing
adequate means, in contrast to the deprivation and financial
difficulties of many others. He was incapable of concealment and there
was a refreshing frankness to his acknowledgment one Sunday morning
when, speaking on the parish budget, he facetiously told his
congregation that his salary was too large but he did not have the moral
courage to refuse it! He was also fortunate in many other ways, such as
being free from illness the larger part of his life, and from personal
bereavements, for his parents lived to a ripe age. His gift of
imagination in dealing with many problems not experienced by him
personally was, therefore, the more unusual. "Genius is the power of
getting knowledge with the least possible experience, and one of the
greatest differences between men is in the amount of experience they
need of anything in order to understand it."[21]
The even tenor of his lot in life did not produce in him
self-satisfaction and complacency, but often did make him uneasy. He had
inherited his father's sternness of conscience and moral fibre. At one
time when a parishioner sold a piece of property and asked Mr. Nelson to
use the money to buy his first car, he was sorely perplexed as to the
appropriateness of accepting such a gift and allowing himself the luxury
of an automobile. He wondered what some of the people in his parish
would think. When calling in the "Bottoms," he often wore an old, blue
serge suit. He was acutely aware that his salary came in part from many
who had little, and to the end of his days his conscience troubled him
about this, wanting as he did to share the life of the least of his
people.
Frank Nelson was a singularly modest person. In the early years of his
ministry one did not hear much about what he was doing. Everywhere
people talked of Stein's distinguished preaching, and not much was said
about Mr. Nelson's talents. He belittled his own abilities, and imagined
that things which were difficult for him came easily to other people. He
not only deprecated his skill in preaching, but thought he had no
capacity for meeting intellectuals on their own ground. It cannot be
said that he had an inferiority complex for that implies weakness, and
in Frank Nelson power and gentleness were happily and usefully joined.
The honor and acclaim that came to him from church and city never
impressed him unduly; in fact, he was saddened by them because they
represented a seeming success which in comparison with the great ideals
of the Christian ministry approximates failure. "So likewise ye, when ye
shall have done all those things which are commanded you, say, We are
unprofitable servants; we have done that which was our duty to do."
His exceptional sense of reality and proportion, which is the very
essence of humility, made him a forceful leader and at the same time
congenial company. Because he was completely sincere and unaffected, his
friends felt no self-consciousness in the presence of "the cloth." They
in turn could be candid with him. This fact was once amusingly
demonstrated when the music at Christ Church was not at its customary
high standard, and Mr. Nelson, happening to meet a parishioner who had
not been in church for some time, asked her why, and enjoyed a good
chuckle over her reply: "Oh! I am tired of hearing the choir bawl and
you bawl!" There was always a lively give and take in his friendships.
On one occasion at the close of an inter-faith meeting, he was chided by
a Roman Catholic friend about his poor speech. Admitting that he had
come unprepared, Mr. Nelson without the slightest sign of resentment
offered to drive his friend home, and they had a good two hour talk in
front of the Roman Cathedral.
The range of his friendships was extraordinary for he possessed the
capacity to kindle admiration and affection. Many a man found him a
refreshing tonic, and would say, "I felt better for contact with him."
He was a frequent participant at the Round Table discussions in the
University Club, and delighted in the exchange of thought that came from
all sorts. At the time of the death of his friend, Father Finn, the
Pastor of St. Xavier's Church, which is in the vicinity of Christ
Church, Mr. Nelson attended the Requiem Mass, and afterwards was
observed standing by the hearse, head uncovered and tears in his eyes,
for they had been the best of friends. A great personality is more than
what he says, and many times brushes aside the trammels of the popular
conception of the institution which he represents. Frank Nelson had a
well-nigh perfect concept of what it means to be a Christian; and,
therefore, in his wide range of friendship among all faiths and those of
no faith, he carried himself without the faintest hint of disloyalty to
the Episcopal Church. As he was never colorless, men knew where he
stood, and though sometimes disagreeing with him, friends and critics
alike recognized his genuine goodness and knew his motives to be without
guile. He would say, "Always believe a person right until proved
otherwise. Take people at face value. I am a fool, but that is the only
way to begin." Such were the tenets of his quiet pugnacity of faith in
human beings. It is no wonder that a working-man called him, "The
greatest Christian in shoe-leather I ever met; a Christian capitalist
worthy of anyone's emulation"; or that his faithful colored sexton, who
waited on him, shined his shoes, and served him devotedly to the end of
his days, should say, "We were pals. He was always tops with me."
Mr. Nelson was often the one called upon when grace of speech, dignity
of manner and discriminating taste were required. At a community mass
meeting in Music Hall in 1927, he was chosen to introduce the speaker of
the evening, Miss Maude Royden, the noted English preacher. He
accompanied Miss Royden to the center of the platform with all the
courtliness of a true gentleman, and with that deference due a
gentlewoman and an eminent personage. His introduction was an instance
of his singular felicity of expression and his ability to state in
choice language the sentiments prompted by the event of the moment. Such
was Mr. Nelson's gift for being master of every occasion. Sitting in
the back row of the immense hall which was crowded to the doors, I felt
that the audience quickly sensed the fitness of the presence on the same
platform of two such estimable representatives of the Christian Church.
To illustrate further his command of language and his absolute candor,
there is an incident which also neatly tested his tact and truthfulness.
One sultry evening in Holy Week, when a long-winded clergyman was
preaching, it appeared to me that the rector dozed. I wondered what he
could honestly say to the man. After the service when we were in the
sacristy, he put his arm around the preacher's shoulders, and said, "Old
man, you set me to thinking!" His tact was never failing, though often
its diplomatic flavor could be more than faintly sensed!
Accompanying his humility of spirit there was in his nature and his
opinions an air of authority wholly unecclesiastical, purely personal,
but immensely impressive. It came in part from his particular type of
intellect. He had an assimilative mind, which enabled him, for example,
to acquire rapidly the gist of a book, and to state succinctly and
clearly a point which he was desirous of making. His was an intuitive
knowledge rather than a scientific. It was not the kind of knowledge of
which the dogmatists speak and in which they alone can believe. Mr.
Nelson's knowledge was the sort which sees into the life of things and
of men. His intellectual powers were richly developed by his parish work
and heavy responsibilities, and by his reflection upon all kinds of
experiences and his understanding insight into other people's problems.
A forty years' ministry combined with such a type of mind gave him, for
one thing, a rather fine grasp of medical science. He knew its
principles, and was able to simplify and help at times when technical
terms leave the layman baffled and vague. Because of this special kind
of mind and the sweep of his experience, his general effect on people
was sometimes overwhelming. To illustrate a minor angle, he was not
adept in leading discussions; he could not draw out a group because he
had pretty thoroughly covered the subject himself, and the impact of
his personality was a bit overpowering.
But above all, the authority one felt most in his personality was that
which came as a result of his being Christ-fashioned. He of all men
possessed the kind of nature which cannot live without God. There was
within him a spontaneity that was entirely himself, impossible of
duplication, totally socialized. He was not a mystic and maintained that
he was puzzled by their writings. He admitted that the prayer-life was
difficult for him, that he could not meditate or think about God for
long periods. His was not the ascetic or contemplative nature; he did
not live in reflective calm. In the whirlpool of human relations he was
an explorer, a bold adventurer bringing people into the presence of God;
and what does it matter whether one prays in words or acts? He
exemplified in his life one definition among many, namely, "To labor is
to pray." The weight of people's needs pressed down upon him so
relentlessly that he was driven to do something about them. His was the
temperament which animates an ancient prayer, "Lord, I am so busy this
day, if I forget Thee, do not Thou forget me." We are disposed to have
our tight little crystallizations of what prayer should or should not
be. Frank Nelson was impatient of such, for he ventured upon a scale
more broad than that envisioned by the average parson or layman. There
are no theological concepts which fit him.
Mr. Nelson had a natural talent for enjoying people, which implemented
all his work, but for a man in his position such a gift has its price:
either one wears himself out or neglects his major task and so spreads
himself thin. He chose the first course, and as we contemplate this
record of vast accomplishment who are we to say that he did not choose
wisely? He was a very busy man, and went about doing good, not just
doing. His description of Helen Trounstine's life of activity is
applicable to his own:
It was not restlessness, the hurrying on from one thing to
another, just to be busy. It was the true energy of full-hearted
and full-minded interest in life, and all that it holds; the
passion to learn that she might teach; to enjoy that she might
give joy; to rest that she might have strength to do her work; to
serve because men need her service. It was energy of mind and
heart so full of the vision of the greatness of life and the
opportunity of living, that she could not waste time except as it
ministered to the part she was to play.
Mr. Nelson did not scatter his interests indiscriminately but
concentrated his efforts in the fields where he was most competent:
social problems and the relation of the Church to the most concrete
activities of human life. All these fitted into his prime purpose.
The vision which governed his days was strengthened every year in the
long vacations that he took at his summer home in Cranberry Isles,
Maine. There beside the sea he dreamed long dreams, and drank in the
salty air which brought indispensable relaxation, and mental and
spiritual refreshment. In his small cabin on a point of land overlooking
the limitless ocean, he could be very much alone. Something of that
setting and its influence is conveyed in a letter to the Reverend
Theodore Sedgwick, a life-long friend, which discloses Mr. Nelson in a
reflective mood:
Sept. 6, 1928
Dear Ted:
Many, many thanks for your intensely interesting letter, and its
review of Julian Huxley's book. Such a view of life and religion
does make one stop and think--and hesitate. It is the terribly
earnest spiritual problem that we face today in the ministry. It
is the sort of thing I had in mind, in suggesting the subject of
"God" for the next Swansea Conference. For we have got to face
the issue with eyes open, minds familiar with the biologist's
point of view. The old affirmations of formal theology are not
adequate to meet the issue. And yet in those affirmations I am
sure lies the truth--that God lives, God our Father--conscious of
Himself and of us--a person in a very real sense--from Whom we
derive personality--from Whom we came--and to Whom we go. If
mankind loses that, "his arms _do_ clasp the air" and he drowns
in the infinity of time and space and his own nothingness. We
have from Christ the truth and somehow we must learn it with a
new understanding--or rather with _the_ new understanding that
modern science and modern reverent scientific thought have given
us. I am sitting at my desk in my cabin at sunset. The day has
been cool and grey--a heavy curtain of cloud over the sky--But
now--that curtain is thinning and through the break in the
west--the whole glory of the sun has colored sky and sea with a
golden light beyond description for exquisite beauty. The gulls
are winging their way across the sea to a distant island where
they rest and go back to each night. As I sit and look, my whole
spirit is moved by the beauty and the evening quiet. There is
infinity here--of space and imagination. Yet--the gulls--I think,
are unconscious of all that--but I am moved by it and keenly
conscious of it. It is not just biology--or I would be as the
gulls--and I am not. And men are not. They want God--behind the
glory--God clothed with the glory--adequate to the glory--that
their own imagination and hunger and aspiration may be
justified--That is what Christ has given us to preach and it is
the truth. Now the gold has turned to a flaming red--thrilling
almost to the point of pain. One must believe--and then face the
chill grey of the coming night with the memory of it to lighten
and interpret it.
We go a week from tomorrow, back to work, to the men and women
who have so bravely gone on working through long, hot summer days
in the streets and factories and tenements of the city. And in
that bravery and drudgery, there is the same flaming glory of
God. It isn't just biology--it is the spirit of God, making the
physical the dwelling place of God and glorifying it with His
presence.
Frank Nelson had an almost Elizabethan zest for thought and action, and
even at Cranberry he entered enthusiastically into the local life. He
preached at least once every summer in the Congregational Church, and in
that church today are numerous memorials to him: a silver alms bason,
the Service Book of the Congregational Church beautifully bound in red
morocco, a United States flag, and several pictures. Each year at Easter
there is a large cross of geraniums in the church, and after the service
the flowers are distributed among the families on the island with a
card saying, "Given in memory of Frank Howard Nelson with the Easter
message of Christ's Resurrection." When he left Cranberry the last time,
all the public school children were dismissed to wave their goodbyes.
His unaffected interest in the affairs of the community expressed itself
in practical ways, and his unassuming and simple manner gave little
inkling that he was a foremost citizen of Cincinnati.
"There is nothing comparable," says Coventry Patmore, "for moral force
to the charm of truly noble manners." Frank Nelson's manner was not only
the result of a choice family inheritance, but also the rich fruitage of
a lifetime of faithful obedience to a consuming passion and vision. He
was a life-giving river flowing in a parched land. In him the ancient
prophet's words found a fresh fulfillment: "Everything shall live
whithersoever the river cometh."
FOOTNOTES:
[21] R. L. Nettleship _Lectures on the Republic of Plato_, p. 129,
published by Macmillan Co. Used with permission.
_Last
Years_
_Then of those shadows, which one made descent
Beside me I knew not; but Life ere long
Came on me in the public ways, and bent
Eyes deeper than of old; Death met I too
And saw the dawn glow through._