Part 2

There are some who seem to think that the Church makes good by building _itself_ up--that if it becomes strong as an institution, if it flourishes in its outward aspects, it justifies its existence. They are well satisfied if it increases in numbers, if it erects splendid and beautiful buildings, if it contributes substantially to the glory of the denomination to which it belongs, whether it really serves the people or not. But it can never answer the ends of its existence by simply building itself up as an institution. There have been periods in the history of the Church when it was very strong as an organization, but very weak as an element of helpfulness in the lives of the people. Fine buildings and stately ritual and high social standing can never satisfy the great Founder of the Church. Jesus said, "The Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many." He sent his Church on the same errand. Unless it is doing the thing for which it was sent it has no justification for its existence. It is here to serve, to help the people. In-so-far as it actually does serve it may claim and expect love, recognition, and support--but no further. This became one of my strong convictions.

2. I also became convinced that the Church, if it makes good must serve _all_ the people. The impression has sometimes prevailed that the Church is for good people, for those who are respectable. It has been thought of, and sometimes it has thought of itself, as under obligations to minister to the religious people of the community, or to those who can be induced to become religious. There is a large class of people who are not religiously inclined and who have no affiliation with the Church, and who, perhaps, are not likely to have, for whom it has not been thought to be responsible. In almost every parish, or within reach of it, there are numbers of people who are not touched by the Church, and who are not considered to be material for the Church to work upon. Some are outside of its influence because they live so far away that they cannot easily be reached. Some because of their character and standing in society are considered beyond its pale. What would be the effect if a company of women from the street should come into one of our beautiful and respectable churches for a few Sunday mornings? How would they be received? Would the ushers show them comfortable seats? Would they be welcome in the pews of the good people who have come together to worship God? And yet, the great Head of the Church came "to seek and to save that which was lost." He did not shun such people or banish them from his presence. He was "a friend of publicans and sinners," and brought down upon himself serious criticism because he did not discriminate more carefully in the matter of his associates. The Church should have the spirit of the Master, and, wherever there is a man, woman, or child, there is one in whom the Church should be interested, and whom it should seek to serve, whatever may be his character, his condition, or his standing socially. It became one of my strong convictions that the Church has a definite mission to every person within the possible range of its influence, and out of that conviction came the vision.

3. It also became plain that if the Church would fulfil its mission it must serve _all_ the interests of the people. I was brought up with the idea that its mission was largely, if not exclusively, spiritual. Its chief and almost only concern was the soul of the individual man. It was thought that a man has a soul, and that that soul was in peril. His _soul_ must be saved--that was the important thing. It was of small consequence that the man himself went to the dogs, if only his soul was saved. The man was forgotten in anxiety for his soul. We were the victims of a false psychology; as if a man and his soul could be separated--as if there could be any such thing as simply saving the soul of a man! We have come to see that a man, though composed of many parts, is a unit. He is not put together mechanically, so that one part may be taken and treated and the other parts ignored. He is not built in separate compartments, his soul in one, and his body in another. Christianity is not dealing with souls alone. It is dealing with men, and we are becoming interested in all that makes a man a man. The conviction became strong that the Church should have something to say and something to do with everything that goes to make up the life of the man; that it should make itself felt as an influence in his business, his education, his recreation, his home life, as well as in his so-called religious exercises; that it should be a force with him on Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday as well as on Sunday. In other words, the line that has been supposed to separate the sacred from the secular must be obliterated, and every common thing must become sacred. It was seen that everything that has a rightful place in the life of a man should be the concern of the Church, and that whatever cannot be brought into harmony with the Church and its principles has no proper place in the real life of a man.

4. The conviction became strong that the village church, if it would fulfil its mission, must be responsible for _country evangelization_. It must reach out into all the surrounding neighborhoods, and touch the people in a vital way for many miles around. In the popular conception the influence of the church has been contracted and narrowed till it does not include half the territory nor half the people embraced in its responsibility. Many ministers are content to tramp around in the narrow confines of their own village, with an occasional excursion into the country, while there are scores of families living a little more remote for whom they are attempting nothing. Some ministers look upon their churches as their field rather than their force--a field to be cultivated rather than a force of workers to be led out into the widestretching fields that lie beyond. This is a serious mistake. Such a limited conception of the extent of its work and such an inadequate idea of its real responsibility and of its best opportunity will certainly condemn a church to comparative uselessness, and in the end to failure. When all the village churches get the vision and see their work in its fulness, the country problem will be solved.

Country evangelization belongs primarily and practically to the village church. The village church is the only one that can really take it up and deal with it in a successful way. It is in the power of the churches in the villages and small towns to change the whole aspect of things in the country, religiously, morally, and socially.

For some years the pastor and church of this story had been trying to do something for the outlying regions, but they had not grasped the idea that all the people for many miles around who were not cared for by some other church were in their parish--that for them they were responsible and to them they had a mission. They began to see that they were not doing half the work they might do and ought to do; that there were scores of families, and hundreds of people, to whom the church was nothing, who should be made to feel its force in a stimulating and uplifting way. They began to feel the pressure of that obligation that had rested on them all along, and of which they had been unconscious or unheedful. The voice of God began to sound plainly in their ears, "Go ye forth into these ripe harvest-fields, and gather sheaves for the Master." The conviction became so strong that they ought to take up the wider work, and the duty grew to be so plain that they wondered that they had not seen it long before.

5. The conviction became strong that, if the village church would fulfil its mission, it must be a community church. I used to think that the church had simply to do with individuals; that its work was to reach out here and there, to get hold of this one and that one, and that there its work terminated. Society was thought of as a heap of sand, and not as an organism. Man was considered in himself alone, and not in his relations, and so he was misunderstood, for nothing can be truly and fully known except in its relations. But it has become plain that this exclusively individualistic conception was a mistake; that there is such a thing as community life, the life that all the people have in common; that men are bound up together by common interests; that they are members one of another; that "none of us liveth to himself, and none dieth to himself." The conviction became strong that the church should take account of this community life of which the individual is a part; that it should concern itself not only for men, but for _man_; that it should serve the whole community, and that nothing should be foreign to the church or ignored by it that in any way concerns the common life of the people.

This conviction did not detract from my estimate of the importance of the spiritual, or of the individual. I still regarded the spiritual part of a man as his most essential part. It was still plain that we have to deal with men as individuals, but I recognized them also in their organic relation to the whole life of the community. Not only were the men's souls to be saved, but the _men_ themselves were to be saved. Not only were the _men_ to be saved and lifted up to a better life, but the _whole community_ was to be saved, and the community life was to be uplifted and placed on a higher plane.

Out of these convictions, which grew more and more positive, came the vision whose fulfilment is the subject of this story.

III

HOW THE VISION CAME

The genesis of a vision is always interesting, though often obscure. On one day a certain side of life is a blank. There is no outlook, no hint of the coming brightness. On another day that side of life is made all radiant and glorious by a vision, clear and definite, that beckons on to future achievement. Sometimes it comes suddenly, like Peter's vision when he was upon the housetop in Joppa; and sometimes it dawns gradually, and little by little paints itself in beautiful colors upon the sky of one's inner consciousness. As remarked in a previous chapter, a conviction is the egg from which the vision comes; but the egg is only dead and formless matter until it is brooded over and warmed into life. So a conviction may be strong and positive, but it may exist for a long time, formless, lifeless, and useless, until it is quickened into vitality by the brooding spirit of a man, and thus becomes an active and inspiring force. So it may be profitable and necessary to the proper understanding of this story to tell how the vision came.

For fifteen years I had been working away in my country parish. They had been happy years of glad, harmonious work. I was satisfied with my job. Though remote from the great centers of population, in a small village, and with people of very modest means, that restless feeling that spoils the peace and mars the work of so many ministers had been absent. My people were of the strong and sturdy sort, faithful and appreciative beyond many, ready to coöperate in carrying out any plans of work that the pastor might propose. They were splendid followers, responding quickly to all my suggestions. There was a good understanding between myself and the people.

I was called to pass through deep affliction. My home was broken up by a sudden stroke and I was left alone. Into the dark valley of sorrow my people accompanied me as far as they were able to go, and the effect seemed to be to unite us with bonds that were very strong and tender. Every home in all the parish was mine. All the children belonged to me. There was a chair for me at every fireside and a plate at every table.

But as the years went by there came some tempting opportunities to engage in work elsewhere. I was not without my ambitions and aspirations. I wanted to fill out the full measure of my ability and do my best work. And when some opportunities came that made the little country parish seem by comparison rather small and meager, I was not altogether proof against them. To become assistant pastor in a famous church in a large city--to take up the work of general missionary for a whole state seemed to promise fields of usefulness so rich and large that they made a strong appeal to the best there was in me, and perhaps also to the worst. I spent some weeks and months in considering these propositions and finally turned them down. I could not bring myself to sever my connection with those to whom I had been so long and so closely related. The personal tie was too strong and I decided to remain with my people.

With the decision came a thorough heart-searching. It marked a turning-point in my spiritual history. I was impressed with the thought that if it was God's will that I should remain in my present work, it must be for a special purpose. Things could not be in the future as they had been in the past. It would be criminal to turn down a larger work for one that was small unless there were good and sufficient reasons for doing so. If it was the Lord's will that I should remain in that country parish, there must be some work there that it was worth while for me to do, some work that in a proper degree, at least, would approach in importance the large proposition made by the city and the state. What was the work? Was there anything to be done among those hills and in those rapidly disappearing forests that could fire a man's ambitions and satisfy his high aspirations?

Just here the vision came. At first a whole township was revealed as a possible parish, with every family tributary to the church, and the church performing a valuable ministry for them all. The vision expanded until it took in another township, and parts of three or four more. It became plain that almost half a county was tributary to the church, that five hundred families and twenty-five hundred people were waiting for its ministry. It dawned upon my mental vision that I was called upon to be the pastor of all these people, for five or six miles in every direction, that the Benzonia church was responsible for them all, that they had a right to look to us for service and help, and that if we failed to give it we should be unfaithful to our Master and recreant to our trust. Then I said: "Here is something worth doing. Here may be wrought out an experiment in country evangelization and rural betterment that may help to arrest the downward trend that has become so alarming in these latter days. It was for this that God has kept me here. If I can make this vision a reality, I need not pine for a larger field. If I can help others to see the vision, and inspire them with enthusiasm to make it real in larger fields than mine, and in many parts of our country, I shall never regret that I stayed by the stuff." The vision came as a compensation. It was the reward that God gave for following his leading along those ways where natural inclinations would not have disposed me to go. God wants us to do our best and largest work. He never calls us to a smaller work. If he bids us walk along a humble path and go in an obscure way, we shall find our true life-work there.

The church had for many years been much interested in both home and foreign missions. I preached frequently upon the subject, and kept it constantly before the people. Regular collections were taken for missionary objects, and the Every Member Canvass plan had long been in operation. The response was always general and liberal. In fact, those who were well acquainted with the churches of the state have often said that in proportion to its resources, its gifts were larger than those of any other church. Not only did they give money, but they also gave their sons and daughters to carry the gospel to less favored regions. Many of the young women of the church had gone to teach in home mission schools. And there came a beautiful summer Sabbath when a favorite niece, brought up in my home, and an active and useful member of the church, beloved by all, with solemn services in the little church on the hilltop was consecrated to the foreign work and sent forth with the prayers and blessings of all the people to represent them among the awakening millions of China.

As I was sitting in my study one day pondering upon these things, the absurdity of the situation came over me all at once. "Here we are gathering money to send our sons and daughters to the distant parts of the earth, but we are doing absolutely nothing for scores of families that are almost within the sound of our church-bell. We feel some responsibility for the millions of people of other lands whom we have never seen, and never shall see, but we have not felt very much responsibility for those who are separated from us by only a few miles. We are anxious to give the gospel to the colored people, the Chinese, and to those of alien races; but we have felt no such anxiety for those of our own race who are not so very far away. There are many families and hundreds of people within five or six miles of our church that are practically without the gospel, as truly as are the Chinese or the South Sea Islanders. We have made no systematic effort to interest them in these things. We have given them no reason to believe that we are drawn out toward them with Christlike motives. Surely there must be something wrong in our calculations." Then I heard the Master say, "These ye ought to have done, and not to have left the other undone."

And then came the vision of "The Larger Parish." I saw the church reaching out its hand and touching tenderly but effectively all the people in the surrounding country. I saw the church feeling some responsibility for every family, and counting them all as within the bounds of its parish. I saw every family in all that wide region as tributary to the church. I saw the church making systematic plans to carry the gospel to all these outlying neighborhoods. I began to think of all those people as my parishioners as truly as were those who lived near the church and were members of it. And so the vision dawned upon me of the Larger Parish. In my own mind I annexed all the surrounding country and began to make plans for the evangelization and helping of all the people who dwelt therein. So under the stimulus of foreign missions the vision came of the work that should be done and could be done nearer home.

And it may be well to add that since the work of the Larger Parish began, the contributions to foreign missions have more than doubled. There are those all over this wide territory who knew little and cared less about missions three years ago, but who now are eager to make some contribution to the support of the missionary in China, half of whose salary our Church is pledged to provide.

And so the vision came, from above as all good visions do, but it came while walking in the pathway of duty, in the unfolding of a larger experience. He who follows the dawning light will see the vision.

IV

HOW THE VISION BECAME A REALITY

The chief value of visions is in their fulfilment. A visionary man is one who sees but does not do. He has revelations of splendid possibilities, but they do not materialize. The sky of his inner consciousness is all painted over with beautiful pictures, but those designs never get on the canvas or into the marble or find their fulfilment in flesh and blood. The most elaborate plans and specifications will not shelter a family nor constitute a home. They must be embodied in brick and stone and timber in order to make them valuable. Only the concreting of ideals can save the vision-gazer from becoming a visionary.

It is always interesting and instructive to trace the process by which a vision is made real. Often the pathway to the goal is obscure, difficult, and tedious, but it is worth while to follow it. This chapter will be an endeavor to trace the process by which the vision of the Larger Parish became a reality.

I had a clear apprehension of two things--the work to be done, and the instrument by which it must be accomplished; but just how the instrument was to accomplish the work was not so evident. Here was the church, and here were the people; but how could they be brought together to their mutual advantage? I had been a very busy man for years. My time had been fully occupied and I had not supposed it possible to take more work. How was I to multiply my activities many fold and still be efficient? The church had been active and aggressive. It had been doing large things. In the opinion of some it had been straining itself beyond reasonable limits in carrying on its work. How could it quadruple the size of its parish by annexing all the territory within a radius of five miles in every direction, and increase its constituency several times over. Would it not be swamped by its acquisitions? Would it not be overwhelmed by the number and greatness of its obligations and responsibilities? It had not adequately ministered to all the people in its smaller parish. How would it be when its boundaries were so greatly increased?

These and many other doubtful questions presented themselves, and the answers were not at hand. But there were the outlying neighborhoods; without consulting them I had annexed them to my parish. There was the church; without asking its consent, in my own mind I had multiplied its work and increased its burdens many fold. I had a task with the people to make them willing to be annexed; with the church, to lead it to accept its heavier burdens and its larger responsibilities; and a still greater task to bring the church and the people into such relations that the work should be accomplished. How did I go about my task?

1. The first thing to be done was to make a survey of the field. I began to think of all the twenty-five hundred people in this Larger Parish as belonging to me. I felt a measure of responsibility for them all. We, as a church and pastor, must do something for them all, and in order to do it, we must know them all. So I started out to visit all the families in this wide territory. Many of them, of course, I knew already. But many that were more remote I had not touched closely, though in my fifteen years' pastorate there were few who had not some acquaintance with me. I tramped around over the whole parish, living with the people, often being absent from my home for two or three days at a time, until there was scarcely a home in all that region in which I was a stranger. This was most delightful and rewarding work. There was a welcome for me everywhere. Almost without exception the people seemed pleased to come in touch with the representative of the church. Weary of body, but glad of heart, I laid myself down at night under the shelter of some hospitable farmer's roof after having spent the evening in friendly conversation with him and his family. Such an opportunity to get up close to people is worth a score of sermons.

This visiting tour occupied many weeks--in fact a large part of the autumn months was spent in this way, and in many desirable things more was accomplished in those three months than had been done in the fifteen previous years. I came to know the outside people as I had never known them before. My touch with them was warmer and closer. I came to think of them in a different way. My interest in them was more definite and more intelligent. I came to understand the field--to know its extent, its difficulties, and its encouragements--and so I was prepared to grapple with the task God had given me.