The door of the class-room was closed and Philip and the trustees were
together. There was a moment of embarrassing silence and then the
spokesman for the Board, a nervous little man, said:
"Mr. Strong, we hardly know just what to say to this proposition of
yours this morning about going out of the parsonage and turning it into
an orphan asylum. But it is certainly a very remarkable proposition and
we felt as if we ought to meet you at once and talk it over."
"It's simply impossible," spoke up one of the trustees. "In the first
place, it is impracticable as a business proposition."
"Do you think so?" asked Philip, quietly.
"It is out of the question!" said the first speaker, excitedly. "The
church will never listen to it in the world. For my part, if Brother
Strong wishes to----"
At that moment the sexton knocked at the door and said a man was outside
very anxious to see the minister and have him come down to his house.
There had been an accident, or a fight, or something. Some one was dying
and wanted Mr. Strong at once. So Philip hastily excused himself and
went out, leaving the trustees together.
The door was hardly shut again when the speaker who had been interrupted
jumped to his feet and exclaimed:
"As I was saying, for my part, if Brother Strong wishes to indulge in
this eccentric action he will not have the sanction of my vote in the
matter! It certainly is an entirely unheard-of and uncalled-for
proposition."
"Mr. Strong has, no doubt, a generous motive in this proposed action,"
said a third member of the Board; "but the church certainly will not
approve any such step as the giving up of the parsonage. He exaggerates
the need of such a sacrifice. I think we ought to reason him out of the
idea."
"We called Mr. Strong to the pastorate of Calvary Church," said another;
"and it seems to me he came under the conditions granted in our call.
For the church to allow such an absurd thing as the giving up of the
parsonage to this proposed outside work would be a very unwise move."
"Yes, and more than that," said the first speaker, "I want to say very
frankly that I am growing tired of the way things have gone since Mr.
Strong came to us. What business has Calvary Church with all these
outside matters, these labor troubles and unemployed men and all the
other matters that have been made the subject of preaching lately? I
want a minister who looks after his own parish. Mr. Strong does not call
on his own people; he has not been inside my house but once since he
came to Milton. Brethren, there is a growing feeling of discontent over
this matter."
There was a short pause and then one of the members said:
"Surely, if Mr. Strong feels dissatisfied with his surroundings in the
parsonage or feels as if his work lay in another direction, he is at
liberty to choose another parish. But he is the finest pulpit-minister
we ever had, and no one doubts his entire sincerity. He is a remarkable
man in many respects."
"Yes, but sincerity may be a very awkward thing if carried too far. And
in this matter of the parsonage I don't see how the trustees can allow
it. Why, what would the other churches think of it? Calvary Church
cannot allow anything of the kind, for the sake of its reputation. But I
would like to hear Mr. Winter's opinion; he has not spoken yet."
The rest turned to the mill-owner, who as chairman of the Board usually
had much to say, and was regarded as a shrewd and careful business
adviser. In the excitement of the occasion and discussion the usual
formalities of a regular Board-meeting had been ignored.
Mr. Winter was evidently embarrassed. He had listened to the discussion
of the minister with his head bent down and his thoughts in a whirl of
emotion both for and against the pastor. His naturally inclined business
habits contended against the proposition to give up the parsonage; his
feelings of gratitude to the minister for his personal help the night of
the attack by the mob rose up to defend him. There was with it all an
under-current of self-administered rebuke that the pastor had set the
whole church an example of usefulness. He wondered how many of the
members would voluntarily give up half their incomes for the good of
humanity. He wondered in a confused way how much he would give up
himself. Philip's sermon had made a real impression on him.
"There is one point we have not discussed yet," he said at last. "And
that is Mr. Strong's offer of half his salary to carry on the work of a
children's refuge or something of that kind."
"How can we accept such an offer? Calvary Church has always believed in
paying its minister a good salary, and paying it promptly; and we want
our minister to live decently and be able to appear as he should among
the best people," replied the nervous little man who had been first to
speak.
"Still, we cannot deny that it is a very generous thing for Mr. Strong
to do. He certainly is entitled to credit for his unselfish proposal; no
one can charge him with being worldly-minded," said Mr. Winter, feeling
a new interest in the subject as he found himself defending the minister.
"Are you in favor of allowing him to do what he proposes in the matter
of the parsonage?" asked another.
"I don't see that we can hinder Mr. Strong from living anywhere he
pleases if he wants to. The church cannot compel him to live in the
parsonage."
"No, but it can choose not to have such a minister!" exclaimed the first
speaker again, excitedly; "and I for one am most decidedly opposed to
the whole thing. I do not see how the church can allow it and maintain
its self-respect."
"Do you think the church is ready to tell Mr. Strong that his services
are not wanted any longer?" asked Mr. Winter coldly.
"I am, for one of the members, and I know others who feel as I do if
matters go on in this way much longer. I tell you, Brother Winter,
Calvary Church is very near a crisis. Look at the Goldens and the
Malverns and the Albergs. They are all leaving us; and the plain reason
is the nature of the preaching. Why, you know yourself, Brother Winter,
that never has the pulpit of Calvary Church heard such preaching on
people's private affairs."
Mr. Winter colored and replied angrily, "What has that to do with this
present matter? If the minister wants to live in a simpler style I
don't see what business we have to try to stop it. As to the disposition
of the parsonage, that is a matter of business which rests with the
church to arrange."
The nervous, irritable little man who had spoken oftenest rose to his
feet and exclaimed, "You can count me out of all this, then! I wash my
hands of the whole affair!" and he went out of the room, leaving the
rest of the Board somewhat surprised at his sudden departure.
They remained about a quarter of an hour longer, discussing the matter,
and finally, at Mr. Winter's suggestion, a committee was appointed to go
and see the minister the next evening and see if he could not be
persuaded to modify or change his proposition made in the morning
sermon. The rest of the trustees insisted that Mr. Winter himself should
act as chairman of the committee, and after some remonstrance he
finally, with great reluctance, agreed to do so.
So Philip next evening, as he sat in his study mapping out the week's
work and wondering a little what the church would do in the face of his
proposal, received the committee, welcoming them in his bright, hearty
manner. He had been notified on Sunday evening of the approaching
conference. The committee consisted of Mr. Winter and two other
members of the Board.
Mr. Winter opened the conversation with considerable embarrassment and
an evident reluctance for his share in the matter.
"Mr. Strong, we have come, as you are aware, to talk over your
proposition of yesterday morning concerning the parsonage. It was a
great surprise to us all."
Philip smiled a little. "Mrs. Strong says I act too much on impulse, and
do not prepare people enough for my statements. But one of the greatest
men I ever knew used to say that an impulse was a good thing to obey
instantly if there was no doubt of its being a right one."
"And do you consider this proposed move of yours a right one, Mr.
Strong?" asked Mr. Winter.
"I do," replied Philip, with quiet emphasis. "I do not regret making it,
and I believe it is my duty to abide by my original decision."
"Do you mean that you intend actually to move out of this parsonage?"
asked one of the other members of the committee.
"Yes." Philip said it so quietly and yet so decidedly that the men were
silent a moment. Then Mr. Winter said:
"Mr. Strong, this matter is likely to cause trouble in the church, and
we might as well understand it frankly. The trustees believe that as the
parsonage belongs to the church property, and was built for the
minister, he ought to live in it. The church will not understand your
desire to move out."
"Do you understand it, Mr. Winter?" Philip put the question point blank.
"No, I don't know that I do, wholly." Mr. Winter colored and replied in
a hesitating manner.
"I gave my reasons yesterday morning. I do not know that I can make them
plainer. The truth is I cannot go on preaching to my people about living
on a simpler basis while I continue to live in surroundings that on the
face of them contradict my own convictions. In other words, I am living
beyond my necessities here. I have lived all my life surrounded by the
luxuries of civilization. If now I desire to give these benefits to
those who have never enjoyed them, or to know from nearer contact
something of the bitter struggle of the poor, why should I be hindered
from putting that desire into practical form?"
"The question is, Mr. Strong," said one of the other trustees, "whether
this is the best way to get at it. We do not question your sincerity
nor doubt your honesty; but will your leaving the parsonage and living
in a less expensive house on half your present salary help your church
work or reach more people and save more souls?"
"I am glad you put it that way," exclaimed Philip, eagerly turning to
the speaker. "That is just it. Will my proposed move result in bringing
the church and the minister into closer and more vital relations with
the people most in need of spiritual and physical uplifting? Out of the
depths of my nature I believe it will. The chasm between the Church and
the people in these days must be bridged by the spirit of sacrifice in
material things. It is in vain for us to preach spiritual truths unless
we live physical truths. What the world is looking for to-day is object
lessons in self-denial on the part of Christian people."
For a moment no one spoke. Then Mr. Winter said:
"About your proposal that this house be turned into a refuge or home for
homeless children, Mr. Strong, do you consider that idea practicable? Is
it business? Is it possible?"
"I believe it is, very decidedly. The number of homeless and vagrant
children at present in Milton would astonish you. This house could be
put into beautiful shape as a detention house until homes could be found
for the children in Christian families."
"It would take a great deal of money to manage it."
"Yes," replied Philip, with a sadness which had its cause deep within
him, "it would cost something. But can the world be saved cheaply? Does
not every soul saved cost an immense sum, if not of money at least of an
equivalent? Is it possible for us to get at the heart of the great
social problem without feeling the need of using all our powers to solve
it rightly?"
Mr. Winter shook his head. He did not understand the minister. His action
and his words were both foreign to the mill-owner's regular business
habits of thought and performance.
"What will you do, Mr. Strong, if the church refuses to listen to this
proposed plan of yours?"
"I suppose," answered Philip, after a little pause, "the church will not
object to my living in another house at my own charges?"
"They have no right to compel you to live here." Mr. Winter turned to
the other members of the committee. "I said so at our previous meeting.
Gentlemen, am I not right in that?"
"It is not a question of our compelling Mr. Strong to live here," said
one of the others. "It is a question of the church's expecting him to do
so. It is the parsonage and the church home for the minister. In my
opinion it will cause trouble if Mr. Strong moves out. People will not
understand it."
"That is my belief, too, Mr. Strong," said Mr. Winter. "It would be
better for you to modify or change, or better still, to abandon this
plan. It will not be understood and will cause trouble."
"Suppose the church should rent the parsonage then," suggested Philip;
"it would then be getting a revenue from the property. That, with the
thousand dollars on my salary, could be wisely and generously used to
relieve much suffering in Milton this winter. The church could easily
rent the house."
That was true, as the parsonage stood on one of the most desirable parts
of B street, and would command good rental.
"Then you persist in this plan of yours, do you, Mr. Strong?" asked the
third member of the committee, who had for the most part been silent.
"Yes, I consider that under the circumstances, local and universal, it
is my duty. Where I propose to go is a house which I can get for eight
dollars a month. It is near the tenement district, and not so far from
the church and this neighborhood that I need be isolated too much from
my church family."
Mr. Winter looked serious and perplexed. The other trustees looked
dissatisfied. It was evident they regarded the whole thing with disfavor.
Mr. Winter rose abruptly. He could not avoid a feeling of anger, in
spite of his obligation to the minister. He also had a vivid
recollection of his former interview with the pastor in that study. And
yet he struggled with the vague resistance against the feeling that
Philip was proposing to do a thing that could result in only one way--of
suffering for himself. With all the rest went a suppressed but conscious
emotion of wonder that a man would of his own free will give up a
luxurious home for the sake of any one.
"The matter of reduction of salary, Mr. Strong, will have to come before
the church. The trustees cannot vote to accept your proposal. I am very
much mistaken if the members of Calvary Church will not oppose the
reduction. You can see how it would place us in an unfavorable light."
"Not necessarily, Mr. Winter," said Philip, eagerly. "If the church will
simply regard it as my own great desire and as one of the ways by which
we may help forward our work in Milton, I am very sure we need have no
fear of being put in a false light. The church does not propose this
reduction. It comes from me, and in a time of peculiar emergency, both
financial and social. It is a thing which has been done several times by
other ministers."
"That may be. Still, I am positive that Calvary Church will regard it as
unnecessary and will oppose it."
"It will not make any difference, practically," replied Philip, with a
smile. "I can easily dispose of a thousand dollars where it is needed by
others more than by me. But I would prefer that the church would
actually pay out the money to them, rather than myself."
Mr. Winter and the other trustees looked at Philip in wonder; and with a
few words of farewell they left the parsonage.