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Crucifixion of Philip Strong

<h2 id="id00348" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER VIII.</h2> 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. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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