Our Church Finances.
I FOUND one evening last week, in coming home, a business-like-
looking letter lying on my library table. I rarely receive letters
at Wheathedge; nearly all my correspondence comes to my New York
office. I tore it open in some surprise and read the note as
follows:
WHEATHEDGE, Oct. 9th.
"Dear Sir,--A meeting of the male members of the congregation of the
Calvary Presbyterian Church will be held on Thursday evening, at 8
P. M., at the house of Mr. Wheaton. You are respectfully invited to
be present.
"Yours, Respectfully,
"JAMES WHEATON, "Ch'n. B'd. Trustees."
"Well," said I to myself, "I wonder what this means. It can't be a
male sewing society, I suppose. It can hardly be a prayer-meeting at
Jim Wheaton's house. Male members! eh? I thought the female members
carried on this church." In my perplexity, I handed the note to my
wife. She read it with care. "Well," said she, "I am glad the people
are waking up at last." "What does it mean?" said I. "It means
money," said she. "Or rather it means the want of money. Mrs. Work
told me last week she believed her husband would have to resign. All
last quarter's salary is overdue, and something beside. It seems
that Mr. Wheaton has begun to act, at last. I don't see what they
want to make such men church officers for."
My wife has not very clear ideas about the legal relations which
exist between the Church and the Society. Mr. Wheaton is an officer,
not of the church but of the society; but I did not think it worth
while to correct the mistake.
"I do want to think kindly of every body," said Jennie; "but it
makes me indignant to see a minister defrauded of his dues."
"Defrauded is a pretty strong word, Jennie," said I.
"It is a true word," said she. "The people promise the minister
$1200 a year, and then pay him grudgingly $900, and don't finally
make up the other $300 till he threatens to resign; if that is not
defrauding, I don't know what is. If Mr. Wheaton can't make the
Board of Trustees keep their promises any better than that, he had
better resign. I wish he would."
Mr. Wheaton is not a member of the church; and, to tell the truth,
his reputation for success is greater than his reputation for
integrity. But he is president of the Koniwasset branch railroad,
and a leading director of the Koniwasset coal mines, and a large
operator in stocks, and lives in one of the finest houses in
Wheathedge, and keeps the handsomest carriage, and hires the most
expensive pew, and it was considered quite a card, I believe, to get
him to take the presidency of the Board of Trustees.
"Of course you'll go, John," said Jennie.
"I don't know about that, Jennie," said I. "I don't want to get
mixed up with our church finances in their present condition."
"I don't know how they are ever to get in a better condition, John,"
said she, "unless some men like you do get mixed up with them."
Jennie, as usual, knew me better than I knew myself. I went. I was
delayed just as I was starting away, and so, contrary to my
custom--for I rather pride myself on being a very punctual man--I was
a little late. The male members of the Calvary Presbyterian
Congregation were already assembled in Mr. James Wheaton's library
when I arrived. I was a little surprised to see how few male members
we had. To look round the congregation on Sunday morning, one would
certainly suppose there were more. It even seems to me there were at
least twice as many at the sewing society when it met at James
Wheaton's last winter.
I entered just as Mr. Wheaton was explaining the object of the
meeting. "Gentlemen," said he, suavely, "the Calvary Presbyterian
Church, like most of its neighbors, has rather hard work to get
along, financially. Its income is not at all equal to its
expenditures. The consequence is we generally stand on the debtor
side of the ledger. As probably you know, there is a mortgage on the
church of four thousand dollars. The semi-annual interest is due on
the first of next month. There is, I think, no money in the treasury
to meet it."
Here he looked at the treasurer as if for confirmation, and that
gentleman, a bald-headed, weak-face man, smiled a mournful smile,
and shook his head feebly.
"The Board of Trustees," continued the President, "have directed me
to call this meeting and lay the matter before you."
There was a slight pause--a sort of expectant silence. "It isn't a
large sum," gently insinuated the President, "if divided among us
all. But, in some way, gentlemen, it must be raised. It won't do for
us to be insolvent, you know. A church can't take the benefit of the
bankrupt act, I believe, Mr. Laicus."
Being thus appealed to, I responded with a question. Was this
mortgage interest all that the church owed? No! the President
thought not. He believed there was a small floating debt beside.
"And to whom," said I, "Mr. Treasurer, is this floating debt due?"
The Treasurer looked to the President for an answer, and the
President accepted his pantomimic hint.
"Most of it," said he, "I believe, to the minister. But I understand
that he is in no special hurry for his money. In fact," continued
he, blandly, "a debt that is due to the minister need never be a
very serious burden to a church. Nominally it is due to him, but
really it is distributed around among the members of the church.
Part is due to the grocer, part to the tailor, part to the butcher,
part to the dressmaker, and part is borrowed from personal friends.
I lent the parson twenty-five dollars myself last week. But mortgage
interest is another matter. That, you know, must be provided for."
"And pray," said I, for I happened to know the parson did need the
money, "how much is the pastor's salary? And how much of it is
overdue?"
"Well," said the President, "I suppose his salary is about--two
thousand dollars. Yes," continued he, thoughtfully, somewhat
affectionately playing with his gold watch-chain, "it must net him
fully that amount."
I was wondering what this "about" meant, and whether the minister
did not have a fixed salary, when Deacon Goodsole broke in abruptly
with, "It's twelve hundred dollars a year!"
"Yes," responded the President, "it is nominally fixed by the Board
at twelve hundred dollars. But then, gentlemen, the perquisites are
something. In the course of a year they net up to a pretty large
amount. Last winter, the ladies clubbed together and made the parson
a present of carpets for his parlors; the year before we gave him a
donation party; almost every year, Deacon Goodsole sends him a
barrel of flour from his store; in one way or another he gets a good
many similar little presents. I always send him a free pass over the
road. And then there are the wedding fees which must amount to a
handsome item in the course of the year. It can't be less than two
thousand or twenty-five hundred dollars all told. A very snug little
income, gentlemen."
"Double what I get," murmured Mr. Hardcap. A very exemplary
gentleman is Mr. Hardcap, the carpenter, but more known for the
virtue of economy than for any other. He lives in three rooms over
his carpenter shop down in Willow lane. If our pastor lived there he
would be dismissed very soon.
I wondered, as the President was speaking, whether he included the
profit he made in selling Koniwasset coal to the Newtown railroad
among his perquisitis, and as part of his salary. But I did not ask.
"Week before last," said Deacon Goodsole, "the parson was called to
attend a wedding at Compton Mills. He drove down Monday, through
that furious storm, was gone nearly all day, paid six dollars for
his horse and buggy, and received five dollars wedding fee. I wonder
how long it would take at that rate to bring his salary up to
twenty-five hundred dollars."
There was a general laugh at the parson's mercantile venture, but no
other response.
"Well, gentlemen," said the President, a little gruffly, I fancied,
"let us get back to business. How shall we raise this mortgage
interest? I will be one of ten to pay it off."
"Excuse me," said I, gently, "but before we begin to pay our debts,
we must find out how much they are. Can the Treasurer tell us how
much we owe Mr. Work?"
The Treasurer looked inquiringly at the President, but getting no
response, found his voice, and replied, "Three hundred dollars."
"The whole of last quarter?" said I.
The Treasurer nodded.
"I think there is a little due on last year," said Deacon Goodsole.
"A hundred and seventy-five dollars," said the Treasurer.
"The fact is, gentlemen," said the President, resuming his blandest
manner, "you know the Methodists have just got into their new stone
church. The trustees thought it necessary not to be behind their
neighbors, and so we have completely upholstered our church anew, at
a cost of five hundred dollars." ("And made the parson pay the
bill," said Deacon Goodsole, soto voce.) "We should have frescoed
it, too, if we had had the money." ("Why didn't you take his wedding
fees?" said the Deacon, soto voce.)
"Well, for my part," said I, "I am willing to do my share toward
paying off this debt. But I will not pay a cent unless the whole is
paid. The minister must be provided for."
"I say so, too," murmured Mr. Hardcap. I was surprised at this
sudden and unexpected reinforcement. The Deacon told me afterwards,
that Mr. Hardcap had been repairing the parson's roof and had not
got his pay.
"Perhaps," continued I, "we can fund this floating debt, make the
mortgage four thousand five hundred, raise the difference among
ourselves, and so clear it all up. Who holds the mortgage?"
This question produced a sensation like that of opening the seventh
seal in heaven. There was silence for the space of--well, something
less than half an hour. The Treasurer looked at the President. The
President looked at the Treasurer. The male members of the
congregation looked at each other. The Deacon looked at me with a
very significant laugh lurking in the corners of his mouth. At
length the President spoke.
"Well, gentlemen," said he, "I suppose most of you know I hold this
mortgage. I have not called you together because I want to press the
church for the money. But a debt, gentlemen, is a debt, and the
church, above all institutions, ought to remember the divine
injunction of our blessed Master (the President is not very familiar
with Scripture, and may be excused the blunder): 'Owe no man
anything.' ("Except the minister," said Deacon Goodsole, soto voce.)
The proposition of our friend here, however, looks like business to
me. I think the matter can be arranged in that way."
Arranged it was. The President got his additional security, and the
parson got his salary, which was the main thing Jennie cared for.
And to be perfectly frank with the reader, I should not have gone
near Jim Wheaton's that night if it had not been that I knew it
would please Jennie. I wait with some curiosity to see what will
become of a church whose expenditures are regularly a quarter more
than its income. Meanwhile, I wonder whether the personal presents
which friends make for affection's sake to their pastor ought to be
included by the Board of Trustees in their estimate of his salary?
and also whether it is quite the thing to expect that the pastor
will advance, out of his own pocket, whatever money is necessary to
keep his church from falling behind its neighbors in showy
attractions?