The Committee on Supply hold an informal Meeting.
MR. Work has preached his last sermon. A committee has been
appointed to supply the pulpit, and secure a candidate for the
pastorate. I believe this sort of business is generally left to the
session; but on Deacon Goodsole's motion a special committee was
appointed partly out of respect to the congregational element which
is considerable in this church, and partly, I suspect, as a
compliment to Mr. Wheaton. It consists of Mr. Wheaton and Mr. Gear,
on behalf of the society, and Deacon Goodsole, Mr. Hardcap and
myself on behalf of the church. I forgot to mention that since our
Bible-class was commenced, Mr. Gear has begun to attend church,
though not very regularly. Mr. Goodsole nominated Mr. Gear on the
committee, and of course he was elected. I was rather sorry for I
would have preferred that he did not know about the internal
workings of this church. I do not think it will enhance his respect
for religious institutions. Still I could make no objection. I did
make objections to taking a place on the committee myself, but
Jennie persuaded me to relinquish them. She has often heard me
arguing that politics is a duty, that citizens are bound to take and
administer public office for the benefit of the State. By a neat
little turn she set all these arguments against me, and as I could
not answer them I was obliged to yield. Our wives' memories are
sometimes dreadfully inconvenient.
Our committee held a sort of informal meeting last night, at the
Post-Office, where we all met by chance, the usual way. In the
Post-Office is the news exchange of Wheathedge, where we are very
apt to meet about the time of the arrival of the evening mail.
Deacon Goodsole had been delegated to get a supply for the next two
Sabbaths till we could discuss the merits of candidates. He reported
that he had engaged the Rev. Mr. Elder, of Wheatensville. "He has
the merest pittance of a salary," said the Deacon, "and I knew the
twenty dollars would be acceptable to him. Besides which he is not
only an excellent man but a sound preacher."
"Why wouldn't he be the man for us?" said I.
Mr. Wheaton exclaimed against me, "Too old," said he.
"Besides he's got five children," said Mr. Hardcap.
"What's that got to do with it?" said I. "So has Deacon Goodsole;
but he's none the worse for that."
"We can't afford to support a man with a large family," said Mr.
Hardcap. "We must get a young man. We can't possibly afford to pay
over $1,200 a year, and we ought not to pay over $1,000."
"Oh!" said I; "do we grade the ministers' salaries by the number of
the minister's children?"
"Well we have to consider that, of course," said Mr. Hardcap.
"Solomon wasn't so wise as he is generally thought to be," said Mr.
Gear sarcastically, "or he never would have written that sentence
about blessed is he whose quiver is full of them!"
"Well," said Mr. Hardcap, "all I've got to say is, if you get a man
here with five children you can pay his salary, that's all."
"When you take a job Mr. Hardcap," said I, "do you expect to be paid
according to the value of the work or according to the size of your
family?"
"Oh! that's a very different thing," said Mr. Hardcap, "very
different."
"Any way," said Mr. Wheaton, "Mr. Elder is entirely out of the
question--entirely so. Mr. Laicus can hardly have proposed him
seriously."
"Why out of the question, gentlemen?" said I. "He is a good
preacher. Our congregation know him. He is a faithful, devoted
pastor. We shall do Wheatensville no injustice, for it cannot give
him a support. As to age, he is certainly not infirm. I do not
believe he is a year over forty-five."
"No! no!" said Mr. Wheaton, decidedly. "It is utterly out of the
question. We must have a young man, one who is fresh, up with the
spirit of the age; one who can draw in the young men. The Methodists
are getting them all."
"And the young girls too," said Mr. Gear dryly.
I wish Mr. Gear were not on this committee. The Deacon meant well.
But he made a blunder.
"Very well, then, gentlemen," said I; "if we want a fresh man let us
go right to the theological seminary and get the best man we can
find there."
"The seminary!" said Mr. Wheaton. He received this suggestion even
more disdainfully than the previous one. "We must have a man of
experience, Mr. Laicus. A theological student would never do."
"Experience without age!" said I; "that's a hard problem to solve.
For the life of me I do not see how we are going to do it."
"Well you must consider, Mr. Laicus," said Mr. Wheaton, adding force
to his words by a gentle and impressive gesture with his forefinger,
"that this is a very important and a very peculiar field-a very
peculiar field indeed, Mr. Laicus. And it requires a man of very
peculiar qualifications. It is really a city field," he continued.
"To all intents and purposes Wheathedge is a suburb of New York
City. In the summer our congregation is very largely composed of
city people. They are used to good preaching. They won't come to
hear a commonplace preacher. And at the same time we have a very
peculiar native population. And then, apart from our own people,
there is the Mill village which really belongs to our parish, and
which our pastor ought to cultivate. All these various elements
combine to make up a diverse and conflicting population. And it will
require a man of great energy, and great prudence, and no little
knowledge of human nature, and practical skill in managing men, to
get along here at all. I know more about Wheathedge than you do, Mr.
Laicus, and I assure you that it is a very peculiar field."
I believe that in the estimation of supply committees all fields are
very peculiar fields. But I did not say anything.
"And we need a very peculiar man?" said Mr. Gear inquiringly.
"Yes," said Mr. Wheaton, decidedly; "a man of peculiar abilities and
qualifications."
"Well then," said Mr. Gear, "I hope you are prepared to pay a
peculiar salary. I don't know much about church matters gentlemen. I
don't know what you put me on the committee for. But in my shop if I
want a peculiar man I have to pay a peculiar salary."
There was a little laugh at this sally, but Mr. Gear evidently meant
no joke, and as evidently Mr. Wheaton did not take any.
"Well," said I, "so far as salary goes I am prepared to vote for an
increase to $1,500 and a parsonage. I don't live on less than twice
that."
Mr. Hardcap struck his hands down resolutely into his pockets and
groaned audibly.
"I am afraid we can't get it, Mr. Laicus," said Mr. Wheaton. "I
believe a minister ought to have it, but I don't see where its
coming from. We musn't burden the parish."
"And I believe," I retorted, "that the laborer is worthy of his
hire; and we must not burden the pastor."
"For my part," said Mr. Hardcap, "I won't give my consent to a
dollar over $1,200 a year. I ain't goin' to encourage ministerial
luxury nohow."
"Well, for my part," said Mr. Wheaton, "I don't care so much about
that. But we must have a first rate man. He has to preach here in
the summer time to city congregations. They are critical sir,
critical. And we have got to have just as good a man as the Broadway
Tabernacle. But as to paying a city salary, that you know is absurd,
Mr. Laicus. We can't be expected to do that."
"Bricks without straw," murmured Mr. Gear.
Just then the Post-Office window opened, and we made a rush for our
mail. But before we separated we agreed to hold a formal meeting at
my house a week from the following Thursday evening for a further
canvass of the whole matter.
Meanwhile I am perplexed by the double problem that our informal
meeting has suggested. I have been sitting for half an hour
pondering it. The children have long since gone to bed. I have
finished my evening paper, and written my evening letters. The fire
has burned low, and been replenished. Jennie sits by my side engaged
in that modern imitation of Penelope's task, the darning of
stockings. And for half an hour, only the ticking of the clock and
the sighing of the wind outside have disturbed the silence of the
room.
"Jennie," said I, at length, "when I told you to-night of our talk
at the Post-Office you said you hoped we would get a young man.
Why?"
"Why?" said Jennie.
"Yes," said I. "I can understand why Mr. Hardcap wants a young man.
It is for the same reason that he employs half taught apprentices in
his shop. They are cheap. Of course our good friend Maurice
Mapleson, with neither wife nor children, can more easily lay up
money on $1,000 a year than Mr. Elder, with his five children can on
$1,500 or $2,000. But I don't think you and I, Jennie, want to
economize on our minister."
"I am sure we don't John," said Jennie.
"And I can understand why Mr. Wheaton wants a young minister. Young
ministers do draw better, at least at first. There is a certain
freshness and attractiveness in youth. Curiosity is set agog in
watching the young minister, and still more in watching his young
bride. A ministerial honey-moon is a godsend to a parish. Whether we
ought to hire our pastors to set curiosity agog and serve the parish
as a nine-day's wonder may be a question. But I suspect that we very
often do. But, Jennie, I hope you and I don't want a minister to
serve us as food for gossip."
"I am sure not, John,' said Jennie earnestly.
"Why is it then, Jennie," said I, "that you and I want youth in our
minister? Young lawyers and young doctors are not in requisition.
Age generally brings confidence even when it does not endow with
wisdom. I believe that Judge Ball's principal qualification for his
office was his bald head and grey beard. When you discovered a
couple of grey hairs on my head a little while ago, I was delighted.
I should like to multiply them. Every grey hair is worth a dollar.
Dr. Curall has hard work to get on in his profession because he is
so young and looks still younger than he is. If there was such a
thing as grey dye it would pay him to employ it. Lawyers and doctors
must be old-ministers must be young. Why, Jennie?"
"Perhaps," said Jennie, "we want in our ministers enthusiasm more
than wisdom."
"Enthusiasm," said I. "That might do for the Methodists. But it does
not apply to the Congregationalists, and the Episcopalians, and the
staid and sober Presbyterians."
"I don't know about that," said Jennie. "What we want of our
preachers is not so much instruction as inspiration. We want some
body not to think for us but to set us to thinking. Our souls get
sluggish, and they want to be stirred up. I do not want some one to
prove the authority of the ten commandments, John, but some one to
make me more earnest to obey them. I do not care much about Dr.
Argure's learned expositions of the doctrine of atonement. But I do
want some one who shall make me realize more and more that Jesus
died for me."
"And what has that to do with youth, Jennie?" said I.
"I don't know," said Jennie, thoughtfully; "unless it is that the
truth seems somehow new and fresh to the young minister. Besides it
is not youth, John, altogether. It is freshness, and warmth, and
enthusiasm, and spiritual life. Mr. Beecher is not young nor is
Spurgeon, nor Dr. Hall, nor Dr. Tyng, nor John B. Gough. But they
are all popular. Father Hyatt isn't young, John, but I had rather
hear him than Dr. Argure any day."
I rather think Jennie is right. It is not youth we want at
Wheathedge, but spiritual life and earnestness. At least it is to be
thought of.
But as to salary-how we are to get a first class man at a third
class salary puzzles me. I shall have to refer that to Mr. Wheaton.
He is the financier of our church I believe.