The first Sunday was beginning to be more or less dreaded or anticipated
by Calvary Church people. They were learning to expect something
radical, sweeping, almost revolutionary in Philip's utterances on Christ
and Modern Society. Some agreed with him as far as he had gone. Very
many had been hurt at his plainness of speech. This was especially true
of the property owners and the fashionable part of the membership. Yet
there was a fascination about Philip's preaching that prevented, so far,
any very serious outbreak or dissension in the church. He was a
recognized leader. In his presentation of truth he was large-minded. He
had the faculty of holding men's respect. There was no mistaking the
situation, however. Mr. Winter, with others, was working against him.
Philip was vaguely conscious of much that did not work out into open,
apparent fact. Nevertheless, when he came up on the first Sunday of the
next month and began to announce his subject, he found an audience that
crowded the house to the doors, and among them were scattered numbers of
men from the working-men's district with whom Philip had talked while
down there. It was, as before, an inspiring congregation, and Philip
faced it feeling sure in his heart that he had a great subject to
unfold, and a message to deliver to the Church of Christ such as he could
not but believe Christ would most certainly present if he were living
to-day in Milton.
He began by describing the exact condition of affairs in Milton. To
assist this description he had brought with him into the church his map
of the town.
"Look now," he said, pointing out the different localities, "at B
street, where we now are. Here are seven of the largest churches of the
place on this street. The entire distance between the first of these
church buildings and the last one is a little over a mile. Three of
these churches are only two blocks apart. Then consider the character of
the residences and people in the vicinity of this street. It is what is
called desirable; that is, the homes are the very finest, and the people
almost without exception are refined, respectable, well educated, and
Christian in training. All the wealth of the town centres about B
street. All the society life extends out from it on each side. It is
considered the most fashionable street for drives and promenades. It is
well lighted, well paved, well kept. The people who come out of the
houses on B street are always well dressed. The people who go into these
seven churches are, as a rule, well-dressed and comfortable looking.
Mind you," continued Philip, raising his hand with a significant
gesture, "I do not want to have you think that I consider good clothes
and comfortable looks as unchristian or anything against the people who
present such an appearance. Far from it. I simply mention this fact to
make the contrast I am going to show you all the plainer. For let us
leave B street now and go down into the flats by the river, where nearly
all the mill people have their homes. I wish you would note first the
distance from B street and the churches to this tenement district. It is
nine blocks--that is, a little over a mile. To the edge of the tenement
houses farthest from our own church building it is a mile and
three-quarters. And within that entire district, measuring nearly two by
three miles, there is not a church building. There are two feeble
mission-schools, which are held in plain, unattractive halls, where
every Sunday a handful of children meet; but nothing practically is
being done by the Church of Christ in this place to give the people in
that part of the town the privileges and power of the life of Christ,
the life more abundantly. The houses down there are of the cheapest
description. The people who come out of them are far from well-dressed.
The streets and alleys are dirty and ill-smelling. And no one cares to
promenade for pleasure up and down the sidewalks in that neighborhood.
It is not a safe place to go to at night. The most frequent disturbances
come from that part of the town. All the hard characters find refuge
there. And let me say that I am not now speaking of the working people.
They are almost without exception law-abiding. But in every town like
ours the floating population of vice and crime seeks naturally that part
of a town where the poorest houses are, and the most saloons, and the
greatest darkness, both physically and moral.
"If there is a part of this town which needs lifting up and cleaning and
healing and inspiring by the presence of the Church of Christ, it is
right there where there is no church. The people on B street and for six
or eight blocks each side know the gospel. They have large numbers of
books and papers and much Christian literature. They have been taught
the Bible truths; they are familiar with them. Of what value is it then
to continue to support on this short street, so near together, seven
churches of as many different denominations which have for their members
the respectable, moral people of the town? I do not mean to say that the
well-to-do, respectable people do not need the influence of the church
and the preaching of the gospel. But they can get these privileges
without such a fearful waste of material and power. If we had only three
or four churches on this street they would be enough. We are wasting
our Christianity with the present arrangement. We are giving the rich
and the educated and well-to-do people seven times as much church as we
are giving the poor, the ignorant, and the struggling workers in the
tenement district. There is no question, there can be no question, that
all this is wrong. It is opposed to every principle that Christ
advocated. And in the face of these plain facts, which no one can
dispute, there is a duty before these churches on this street which
cannot be evaded without denying the very purpose of a church. It is
that duty which I am now going to urge upon this Calvary Church.
"It has been said by some of the ministers and members of the churches
that we might combine in an effort and build a large and commodious
mission in the tenement district. But that, to my mind, would not settle
the problem at all, as it should be settled. It is an easy and a lazy
thing for church-members to put their hands in their pockets and say to
a few other church-members, 'We will help build a mission, if you will
run it after it is up; we will attend our church up-town here, while the
mission is worked for the poor people down there.' That is not what will
meet the needs of the situation. What that part of Milton needs is the
Church of Christ in its members--the whole Church, on the largest
possible scale. What I am now going to propose, therefore, is something
which I believe Christ would advocate, if not in the exact manner I
shall explain, at least in the same spirit."
Philip paused a moment and looked over the congregation earnestly. The
expectation of the people was roused almost to the point of a sensation
as he went on.
"I have consulted competent authorities, and they say that our church
building here could be moved from its present foundation without serious
damage to the structure. A part of it would have to be torn down to
assist the moving, but it could easily be replaced. The expense would
not be more than we could readily meet. We are out of debt, and the
property is free from incumbrance. What I propose, therefore, is a very
simple thing--that we move our church edifice down into the heart of the
tenement district, where we can buy a suitable lot for a comparatively
small sum, and at once begin the work of a Christian Church in the very
neighborhood where such work is most needed.
"There are certain objections to this plan. I think they can be met by
the exercise of the Christ spirit of sacrifice and love. A great many
members will not be able to go that distance to attend service, any more
than the people there at present can well come up here. But there are
six churches left on B street. What is to hinder any Christian member
of Calvary Church from working and fellowshiping with those churches,
if he cannot put in his service in the tenement district? None of these
churches are crowded; they will welcome the advent of more members. But
the main strength of the plan which I propose lies in the fact that if
it be done, it will be a live illustration of the eagerness of the
Church to reach and save men. The very sight of our church moving down
off from this street to the lower part of town will be an object lesson
to the people, and the Church will at once begin to mean something to
them. Once established there, we can work from it as a centre. The
distance ought to be no discouragement to any healthy person. There is
not a young woman in this church who is in the habit of dancing, who
does not make twice as many steps during an evening dancing party as
would be necessary to take her to the tenement district and back again.
Surely, any Christian church-member is as willing to endure fatigue, and
sacrifice, and to give as much time to help make men and women better,
as he is to have a good time himself. Think for a moment what this move
which I propose would mean to the life of this town, and to our Christian
growth. At present we go to church. We listen to a good choir, we go
home again, we have a pleasant Sunday-school, we are all comfortable and
well clothed here; we enjoy our services, we are not disturbed by the
sight of disagreeable or uncongenial people. But is that Christianity?
Where do the service and the self-denial and the working for men's souls
come in? Ah, my dear brothers and sisters, what is this church really
doing for the salvation of men in this place? Is it Christianity to
have a comfortable church and go to it once or twice a week to enjoy
nice music and listen to preaching, and then go home to a good dinner,
and that is about all? What have we sacrificed? What have we denied
ourselves? What have we done to show the poor or the sinful that we
care anything for their souls, or that Christianity is anything but a
comfortable, select religion for those who can afford the good things of
the world? What has the church in Milton done to make the working-man
here feel that it is an institution that throbs with the brotherhood of
man? But suppose we actually move our church down there and then go
there ourselves weekdays and Sundays to work for the uplift of immortal
beings. Shall we not then have the satisfaction of knowing that we are
at least trying to do something more than enjoy our church all by
ourselves? Shall we not be able to hope that we have at least attempted
to obey the spirit of our sacrificing Lord, who commanded His disciples
to go and disciple the nations? It seems to me that the plan is a
Christian plan. If the churches in this neighborhood were not so
numerous, if the circumstances were different, it might not be wise or
necessary to do what I propose. But as the facts are, I solemnly believe
that this church has an opportunity before it to show Milton and the
other churches and the world, that it is willing to do an unusual thing
that it has within it the spirit of complete willingness to reach and
lift up mankind in the way that will do it best and most speedily. If
individuals are commanded to sacrifice and endure for Christ's sake and
the kingdom's, I do not know why organizations should not do the same.
And in this instance something on a large scale, something that
represents large sacrifice, something that will convince the people of
the love of man for man, is the only thing that will strike deep enough
into the problem of the tenement district in Milton to begin to solve it
in any satisfactory or Christian way.
"I do not expect the church to act on my plan without due deliberation.
I have arrived at my own conclusions after a careful going over the
entire ground. And in the sight of all the need and degradation of the
people, and in the light of all that Christ has made clear to be our
duty as His disciples, it seems to me there is but one path open to us.
If we neglect to follow him as he beckons us, I believe we shall neglect
the one opportunity of Calvary Church to put itself in the position of
the Church of the crucified Lamb of God, who did not please Himself, who
came to minister to others, who would certainly approve of any steps His
Church on earth in this age might honestly make to reach men and love
them, and become to them the helper and savior and life-giver which the
great Head of the Church truly intended we should be. I leave this plan,
which I have proposed, before you, for your Christian thought and
prayer. And may the Holy Spirit guide us all into all the truth. Amen."
If Philip had deliberately planned to create a sensation, he could not
have done anything more radical to bring it about. If he had stood on
the platform and fired a gun into the audience, it would not have
startled the members of Calvary Church more than this calm proposal to
them that they move their building a mile away from its aristocratic
surroundings. Nothing that he had said in his previous sermons had
provoked such a spirit of opposition. This time the church was roused.
Feelings of astonishment, indignation, and alarm agitated the members of
Calvary Church. Some of them gathered about Philip at the close of the
service.
"It will not be possible to do this thing you propose, Brother Strong,"
said one of the deacons, a leading member and a man who had defended
Philip once or twice against public criticism.
"Why not?" asked Philip, simply. He was exhausted with his effort that
morning, but felt that a crisis of some sort had been precipitated by
his message, and so he welcomed this show of interest which his sermon
had aroused.
"The church will not agree to such a thing."
"A number of them favor the step," replied Philip, who had talked over
the matter fully with many in the church.
"A majority will vote against it."
"Yes, an overwhelming majority!" said one man. "I know a good many who
would not be able to go that distance to attend church, and they
certainly would not join any other church on the street. I know for one
I wouldn't."
"Not if you thought Christ's kingdom in this town would be advanced by
it?" asked Philip, turning to this man with a directness that was almost
bluntness.
"I don't see as that would be a test of my Christianity."
"That is not the question," said one of the trustees, who had the
reputation of being a very shrewd business man. "The question is
concerning the feasibility of moving this property a mile into the
poorest part of the town and then maintaining it there. In my opinion,
it cannot be done. The expenses of the organization cannot be kept up.
We should lose some of our best financial supporters. Mr. Strong's
spirit and purpose spring from a good motive, no doubt, but viewed from
a business point of view, the church in that locality would not be a
success. To my mind it would be a very unwise thing to do. It would
practically destroy our organization here and not really establish
anything there."
"I do not believe we can tell until we try," said Philip. "I certainly
do not wish the church to destroy itself foolishly. But I do feel that
we ought to do something very positive and very large to define our
attitude as saviors in this community. And moving the house, as I
propose, has the advantage of being a definite, practical step in the
direction of a Christlike use of our powers as a church."
There was more talk of the same sort, but it was plainly felt by Philip
that the plan he had proposed was distasteful to the greater part of the
church, and if the matter came to a vote it would be defeated. He talked
the plan over with his trustees as he had already done before he spoke
in public. Four of them were decided in their objection to the plan.
Only one fully sustained Philip. During the week he succeeded in finding
out that from his membership of five hundred, less than forty persons
were willing to stand by him in so radical a movement. And yet the more
Philip studied the problem of the town, the more he was persuaded that
the only way for the church to make any impression on the tenement
district was to put itself directly in touch with the neighborhood. To
accomplish that necessity, Philip was not stubborn. He was ready to
adopt any plan that would actually do something, but he grew more eager
every day that he spent in the study of the town to have the church feel
its opportunity and make Christ a reality to those most in need of Him.
It was at this time that Philip was surprised one evening by a call from
one of the working-men who had been present and heard his sermon on
moving the church into the tenement district.
"I came to see you particularly, Mr. Strong, about getting you to come
down to our hall some evening next week and give us a talk on some
subject connected with the signs of the times."
"I'll come if you think I can do any good in that way," replied Philip,
hesitating a little.
"I believe you can. The men are beginning to take to you, and while they
won't come up to church, they will turn out to hear you down there."
"All right. When do you want me to come?"
"Say next Tuesday. You know where the hall is?"
Philip nodded. He had been by it in his walks through that part of
Milton.
The spokesman for the workmen expressed his thanks and arose to go, but
Philip asked him to stay a few moments. He wanted to know at first hand
what the man's representative fellows would do if the church should at
any time decide to act after Philip's plan.
"Well, to tell the truth, Mr. Strong, I don't believe very many of them
would join any church."
"That is not the question. Would they feel the church any more there
than where it is now?"
"Yes, I honestly think they would. They would come out to hear you."
"Well, that would be something, to be sure," replied Philip, smiling.
"But as to the wisdom of my plan--how does it strike you on the whole?"
"I would like to see it done. I don't believe I shall, though."
"Why?"
"Your church won't agree to it."
"Maybe they will in time."
"I hope they will. And yet let me tell you, Mr. Strong, if you succeeded
in getting your church and people to come into the tenement district, you
would find plenty of people there who wouldn't go hear you."
"I suppose that is so. But oh, that we might do something!" Philip
clasped his hand over his knee and gazed earnestly at the man opposite.
The man returned the gaze almost as earnestly. It was the
personification of the Church confronting the laboring man, each in a
certain way asking the other, "What will the Church do?" And it was a
noticeable fact that the minister's look revealed more doubt and anxiety
than the other man's look, which contained more or less of indifference
and distrust. Philip sighed, and his visitor soon after took his leave.
So it came about that Philip Strong plunged into a work which from the
time he stepped into the dingy little hall and faced the crowd peculiar
to it, had a growing influence on all his strange career, grew in
strangeness rapidly as days came on.
He was invited again and again to address the men in that part of
Milton. They were almost all of them mill-employes. They had a simple
organization for debate and discussion of questions of the day.
Gradually the crowds increased as Philip continued to come, and
developed a series of talks on Christian Socialism. There was standing
room only. He was beginning to know a number of the men and a strong
affection was growing up in their hearts for him.
That was just before the time the trouble at the mills broke out. He had
just come back from the hall where he had now been going every Thursday
evening, and where he had spoken on his favorite theme, "the meaning and
responsibility of power, both financial and mental." He had treated the
subject from the Christian point of view entirely. He had several times
roused his rude audience to enthusiasm. Moved by his theme and his
surroundings, he had denounced, with even more than usual vigor, those
men of ease and wealth who did nothing with their money to help their
brothers. He had mentioned, as he went along, what great responsibility
any great power puts on a man, and had dealt in a broad way with the
whole subject of power in men as a thing to be used, and always used for
the common good.
He did not recall his exact statements, but felt a little uneasy as he
walked home, for fear he might possibly have influenced his particular
audience against the rich as a class. He had not intended anything of
the kind, but had a vague idea that possibly he ought to have guarded
some words or sentences more carefully.
He had gone up into his study to finish some work, when the bell rang
sharply, and he came down to open the door just as Mrs. Strong came in
from the other room, where she had been giving directions to the girl,
who had gone upstairs through the kitchen.
The minister and his wife opened the door together, and one of the
neighbors rushed into the hall so excited he could hardly speak.
"Oh, Mr. Strong, won't you go right down to Mr. Winter's house? You
have more influence with those men than any one around here!"
"What men?"
"The men who are going to kill him if some one doesn't stop it!"
"What!" cried Philip, turning pale, not from fear, but from
self-reproach to think he might have made a mistake. "Who is trying to
kill him--the mill-men?"
"Yes! No! I do not, cannot tell. But he is in great danger, and you are
the only man in this town who can help to save him. Come!"
Philip turned to his wife. "Sarah, it is my duty. If anything should
happen to me you know my soul will meet yours at the gates of Paradise."
He kissed her, and rushed out into the night.