CHAPTER VII

VARIETIES OF WORK IN A GOSPEL MISSION

We are apt to think that all persons who accept the hospitality of the Mission are low-born people; we have not found it so. There have knelt at the altar of the Gospel Mission, priests and preachers, lawyers, doctors, merchants, engineers, college men and poor chaps who have had no education but that of the street.

I remember one night when we were located at 1230 Pennsylvania Avenue, there knelt at the altar three men, one an ex-preacher, one a graduate of the University of Virginia, and one the nephew of an ex-President of the United States. We believed they were all converted. The preacher was in bad physical condition, and we felt it necessary to put him into a Christian institution for such as he for medical treatment. The taste for liquor had gone, but the ulcerated stomach and bowels remained, also his nerves were in a dangerous condition. How we ever obtained money enough to pay that man's bills for six weeks is yet a marvel, but we did it. He came out a redeemed, humble man. He went to the pastor of a large church in Brooklyn, whom he had known at college, and before that large church he acknowledged his sin with shame and deep contrition. The church had grace enough to accept him. The congregation opened a rescue mission, supported entirely by that church, where for five years he has preached the gospel and has saved a hundredfold more souls than the big church which supports the mission.

The Virginian never again crossed our path, but Mr. Buchanan died after three years of a good life, an honored member of an Episcopal church in Washington.

Men who have been dissipated, even when redeemed and reformed do not, as a usual thing, live to old age. The wages of sin is death to the body, though the soul may enter upon eternal life.

Among the sorrowful who nightly are to be found at the missions of this city either pensioned by their family or the government, but not permitted to return to their homes, is one man who was once one of the _best_ mail agents between Washington and New York City. Another, the son of an ex-cabinet officer. Another has been Chief Mathematician in a government bureau, besides about twenty wrecks of various government departments.

I remember the case of a well-known man in Philadelphia. He was converted one extremely cold night at the Breakfast Association. No provision is made there for beds, so that poor fellow started “to carry the banner”—that is to walk the streets all night. About three o'clock in the morning he was taken with a congestive chill. A kind policeman, seeing the man was ill and not drunk, sent him at once to that blessed little Presbyterian hospital in West Philadelphia.

It happened that one of the Board of Directors of the Breakfast Association, Mr. Tibbals, had given the poor fellow his card. The authorities, finding the card, sent for Mr. Tibbals. The sick man had revived enough when Mr. Tibbals arrived, to give his true name and the address of his parents, which was a number on Fifth Avenue, New York City. That street was then a residence street for very wealthy people. Just as soon as it could be done, a telegram for $100 was received in reply and we were directed to do all we could for him. But the man died before night, and Mr. Tibbals was asked to take the body to New York. The coffin was carried into one of the handsomest brown-stone residences on that handsome avenue.

The mother and father met Mr. Tibbals, and in the parlor the coffin was opened for identification. It was the body of the only son of that proud family. The father gave one look, one great sob, then seized his hat and fled. The mother said, “O Mr. Tibbals, you think I am grief-stricken over his death! But I am not even sorry. This son has been a drunkard from childhood. We could not keep him at home, for he would steal everything he could carry away and sell it for whisky. Since we lost sight of him, I have never opened a paper without fearing I should read his name in connection with some awful crime. No, I am relieved. I shall know where he is. I have often gotten into my carriage and have had the driver go up and down this street (which was then covered with cobblestones) as fast as the law permitted him to drive, and I have screamed and screamed my heart out. I have gone to the seashore to scream to let off my nervous strain. Had I given just one such scream in my own house, I would this day be in a mad house. Oh, no, for this death, after what you hope was a conversion, I am deeply grateful to God!”

And yet people wonder at Carrie Nation. It is a wonder that grief like that does not make iconoclasts of all mothers whose sons go down the Jericho road.

The following testimony, given in the winter of 1911, by one who had stood on many rounds of the social ladder, a man who accepted redemption, and is now kept by the power of God:

A REMARKABLE TESTIMONY

“When Brother Wheeler requested me to address this meeting, I felt somewhat nervous, for the simple reason that I had never in my life addressed a religious meeting before, and I so stated to Mr. Wheeler. However, I could not refuse him, and here I am.

“True, in years gone by, while down South, I have spoken to political gatherings. Since I got religion, I stopped that. If I should ever make a political address again, it will be in the interest of the Prohibition party. I regret that I have no experience in addressing a religious meeting, and I, therefore, ask you to be patient with me, especially as, due to previous engagements, I was unable to prepare myself, except in so far that I have decided to make a few remarks on personal salvation, and by the term personal I have my own in mind.

“I want to tell you something about my own experience, how I had lost my God and found Him again. A man born and reared on the Bowery or any of its side streets in New York City, a man who from his childhood on has been influenced by evil-minded and sinful people, has never heard of Christ, and in the course of time becomes a hardened criminal, such a man may be condemned by mankind, but never by God.

“A man born and raised in a comfortable, refined home, who has been taught the doctrines of Christ, has confessed his belief that Christ is His Saviour, has a full knowledge of right and wrong and of the duties he owes his fellow-man—if such a man becomes a willing victim to sensual pleasures, he may not be condemned by mankind, but God will condemn him, unless he repents and starts to lead a new, clean life.

“Only too often men are so completely wrapped up in their personal matters, as, for instance, in their business affairs, that they absolutely lose sight of the obligations they owe God, and also their fellow-men, and, as a natural result, neglect their souls.

“I honestly believe that such a man is more to be pitied than the ones who, either through their own fault or being victims of circumstances, have lost their hold in life and finally found themselves 'down and out.' A man may temporarily be without food and shelter, but this is nothing compared to trying to live without God. However, a man who is a wanderer on the face of the earth and who has lost his God, is indeed a wretched being. I am speaking from experience.

“For years I had violated the divine laws. I had been what is generally termed a society man, 'way down South. I enjoyed a large income, but I spent everything for worldly pleasures. Finally, I became disgusted with my surroundings; but, better still, I became disgusted with myself. I drifted to New York City, determined to live a new life. This occurred about fourteen years ago. Up to that time I had not been within or even near a church for seven years. The New York atmosphere apparently did not agree with me. Instead of leading a clean, moral life—by that I understood at that time a life simply conforming to the requirements of the social laws (the divine laws did not exist for me)—I became worse than I had ever been.

“Although I made good money, as the saying is, I was, nevertheless, broke all the time. I voluntarily gave up several splendid positions because objections had been made to my reporting late in the morning for duty, and, having become rather nervous, I practically found it impossible to get along with anyone. I had become a slave to my habits, and finally associated with the 'has beens,' as they are sometimes called.

“There is not a man in this room who knows more about the life on the east side of New York than I do. I know full well what it means to be hungry and homeless. I have worked as a longshoreman, newspaperman, cook, bookkeeper and correspondent. I have been running hot frankfurter stands, etc., sometimes I had two jobs in one day. I was given a wonderful taste of the ups and downs in New York City, especially the downs. I certainly am grateful to Providence for subjecting me to that awful experience in New York City, for in that way I learned to know human nature. I learned to know that the so-called submerged masses were composed of human beings, not brainless individuals; that, as a matter of fact, there are better people, especially morally, among the poor than among the so-called society people.

“I might be asked why it was that I did not find God again, when I was down and out in New York City. Christ was knocking, knocking all the time to enter my heart, but I had become a cynic and would not let Him in. I used to think in those times that if there was a just God I would not be in such a sorrowful plight. The trouble with me was, I did not have enough sense to admit that my condition was simply due to my own faults and to nothing else.

“During my stay in New York I have met many saintly people, men and women who devoted their time, energy and money to the uplift of the homeless and the friendless. Those good people tried their best to have me converted. They did not succeed because I was not willing and because I actually believed most of my friends who were in charge of the several missions that I was in the habit of attending were suffering from hallucinations, although perfectly honest in their self-imposed task.

“The greatest evil in New York City is, as everywhere, the saloon. The majority of you men present here this evening must admit if it were not for the saloon you would not be here as applicants for bodily assistance. There are evil spirits in us and around us to lead us astray; the devil's worst temptation is whisky or any other intoxicating drink. Man was made in the image of God; when a man gets drunk he is worse than a beast. A man will get drunk again and again, a beast will not, having seemingly more sense than a man. The saloon is the greatest foe to the spread of the gospel. In most cases the saloon-keeper knows quite well that he is a highway robber, that his business is ruining untold thousands of men, women and children, but as his so-called business is a legalized one, he may continue indirectly committing murder.

“Really I have more respect for the highwayman and robber than for a saloon-keeper. During my voluntary and involuntary observations in New York and elsewhere, I have come to the conclusion that Christ would conquer the world in much less time if only the awful saloon and dive could be eliminated.

“In my travels in this country and in the foreign countries, I have met many people who by word and deed were spreading the gospel. Some of them naturally inquired of me whether I had been converted. My answer was 'No,' because, as a matter of fact, I did not know the meaning of the word converted. I was told to seek Christ and the meaning would be made plain to me. Evidently I was not sufficiently willing to meet Christ half way, and thus I wasted years of my life before I finally submitted to the pleadings of the Saviour.

“While I was in the Philippine Islands, twelve years ago, I was deeply impressed with the different attitudes of the officers and enlisted men when on the firing line. It was plain, even to the casual observer, that the men who were thoroughly devout Christians—and there are many thousands of Christians in our army—were not afraid to face the bullets, but the men who were agnostics and unbelievers, whatever that may mean, were so nervous and excited that they hardly knew what they were doing, or they were downright cowards.

“In my own case I was not afraid of death, as I had given very little thought to such a possibility; besides I had become more or less indifferent to life and possible death. One hot summer day, while fighting the Filipinos, I was shot through the head. An army surgeon bandaged me up as best he could and then assured me I was very likely not to live through the day.

“If I ever got scared, it was then, and if ever I prayed, it was then, in spite of the excruciating pains I suffered. The words of a comrade, who was a fine soldier, though not a thorough Christian, uttered by him shortly before I was wounded, were constantly ringing in my ears, namely, 'A man may possibly live without Christ, but he cannot die without Christ.'

“For a month or so the doctors and nurses did not think I would live, but God spared my life, and no doubt for a purpose. For six months I was unable to utter a word, as the bullet had passed through my tongue. It was well for me I could not talk to any human being, but I could talk to God. During those months I lived my entire life over again. I promised God to become a better man. True, I became more earnest in my views of life, I realized the value of the golden rule, but I was not converted. I could not yet understand the meaning of the word.

“The Red Cross nurses, who at the beginning of the trouble in the Philippines were in charge of the hospital, were not only experts in their profession, but were splendid types of self-sacrificing Christians, and their presence alone made the patients think of their mothers or sisters or other dear ones at home, thousands of miles away, and thus unconsciously these nurses, noble representatives of womanhood, frequently wrought a change for the better in the hearts of the wounded soldiers.

“While I was a patient at Manilla I saw many a man pass out of this life. The man with Christ in his heart died with a smile on his lips, knowing he had done his duty and that Christ would meet him. The unbeliever suffered agonies.

“I was wounded almost twelve years ago, not a day has passed without my communicating with God, and God was always willing to talk with me, when I addressed Him. As a result of my experience in the Philippines I spent almost three years in the hospital. I thank God He made me suffer, it was the only possible way for me to find Him again. My conversion did not take place all at once, it took place gradually. God used different means and ways in recalling me. I cannot mention them here without baring my life to you, which may be of no interest to you. Let me assure you no man can succeed without Christ. A man may amass a fortune, but if he neglects his soul his life is of little value.

“Among the applicants at different missions, I have met men who claimed the good people in charge were nothing but hypocrites. It is certainly strange that those fellows apply to hypocrites for help. Why don't they go to the agnostic or to the unbeliever?

“Follow my advice, first seek Christ; He is always ready and willing to accept you; the rest is easy. A drunkard cannot become sober by taking the Keeley cure or anything like that. The desire for drink is often inherited, medicine will not cure the sufferer, only God's grace can cure him.

“Why is it that the man who lives with Christ is always happy, even under adverse circumstances, and the man without Him is, as a rule, nothing but an egotist? You can easily find the answer yourself. Come to Christ, and, if you are willing to come, why not now?”