Bluffton: A Story of To-day. 12mo 12m0 The Minister's Hand-book. For Christenings, Weddings, and Funerals. Cloth Sacred Songs for Public Worship. A Hymn and Tune $1.00 .50 1.00 1.50 1.25 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.50 1.00 1.50 .75 1.00 1.50 Mr. Savage's weekly sermons are regularly printed in pamphlet form in "Unity Pulpit." Subscription price, for the season, $1.50; single copies, 5 cents. GEO. H. ELLIS, Publisher, 141 Franklin St., Boston, Mass. FIFTEEN YEARS IN BOSTON. 64 PART I. OUR OWN CHURCH. So teach us to number our days that we may get us an heart of wisdom."-PSALM XC. 12. SINCE all things that exist are a product of the past, it is a good thing now and again to look back. The foolish man may look back and find food for vanity in his past successes. The weak man may look back and become discouraged over past failures. But the wise will look back to learn, and will learn of both failure and success how to make some better thing out of the present. Six years ago, I preached a sermon entitled "Nine Years of a Modern Ministry." In it, along with much that was personal and much that pertained to our society affairs, I discussed the changed conditions of a minister's life and work. Fifteen years ago, the third Sunday of September just passed, I preached my first sermon as your minister. I wish, therefore, to take occasion of this, the first convenient day after that date, as a point of outlook from which we may take a brief survey of our past. I want to note not only that fragment of our city's life represented by our own church, but the general trend and drift of Boston's life, so that we may comprehend the conditions that bound and limit our own peculiar work. I had thought of covering all this ground in one discourse, but I find this to be impracticable. I shall, therefore, this morning, keep to our own more immediate affairs, and next Sunday I shall discuss the drift of the tide of Boston's religious life. Our own affairs, then, during the past fifteen years. As looked at from the point of view of our external condition, we have had-in spite of many forces that worked against us fifteen years of general and continuous prosperity. Our financial affairs have been admirably managed. Indeed, they have taken care of themselves. We began with forces scattered and disorganized, and with a floating debt. But for these fifteen years the regular income from the pews has covered all expenses of every kind, and this on a lower basis of rental than is common in city churches. The only apparent exception to this was a period of one or two years when an extra outlay which was to have been provided for in another way failed to be so provided for, and had to be met by the treasurer. During other years there has been a surplus, the whole amounting to quite a number of thousands of dollars. Individuals have been appealed to only for subscriptions to charitable and missionary enterprises. I speak of these things only for what they mean. It is well known that the money side of any institution is a most delicate and accurate thermometer and barometer combined. By its depression or rise, the general condition of affairs is infallibly registered. This, then, naturally indicates, what I need not particularly refer to, the nature of the average attendance on our services. I have sometimes wondered as to whether our church would have been full had it been larger. Mr. Hepworth once said to me that it was as easy to fill a church that would hold three thousand as it was to fill a smaller one. And I have often noted the curious fact, in regard to theatres and concert halls, that, on any particular occasion, about the same number usually applied for seats; and this number appeared to be gauged by the seating capacity of the place. Mr. Eugene Tompkins once mentioned this matter to me; and recently it has been referred to by Mr. Dion Boucicault, in his Reminiscences. It is, indeed, true that people come and go, and that changes in a city congregation are many and great. Dr. Hale once said to me that he thought the annual change in his society amounted to a third part of his audience. I have made no careful estimate, but I do not think that our changes can be nearly so great as that. But the conditions of life in a growing city compel many that we would gladly avoid if only we might. Some move away to a distant part of the city or out of town. Some feel that they ought to help the weak and struggling churches in their own neighborhood. Some are compelled to go by business failures. Some go to seek larger business successes. But others come, and so the ranks are full. A society like this bears a striking resemblance to the human body, to which Paul compares it. The particles of which it is composed are in perpetual flux, while the organism remains apparently the same, maintaining both form and identity. I know not how others may feel; but, to me, these changes are very sad. I love old places, old associations ; and I love old friends most of all. So this meeting and saluting, like ships at sea, and then drifting apart again, with future courses and ports all uncertain, has about it a pathos that touches me deeply. In all my life, I have never yet asked anybody to hear me preach. But, were it not for this, which I cannot do, and did I let my heart's impulse have its way, I should find myself begging all those who have been with me to stay with me to the end. The way of life is a little lonelier when even one is gone. But the saddest of all the changes in a society I have not touched on as yet. As I look over this audience to-day, and see the faces of the invisible ones who sat in these pews fifteen years ago, twelve years, ten years, or even one year ago, I think the church would be densely crowded were they all back again in their accustomed places. And my heart cries out to them, "Hail, and God speed!" I trust that, indeed, they have not lost their care for us; that they are still doing a similar, though higher, work; and that they will welcome us into their company when our task is finished here. I wish next to note some phases of the work going on L among our young people. On the whole, there is better work and more of it than there was fifteen years ago. Our Sunday-school,- what shall I say of that? Perhaps it is as prosperous as the average, but I am far from satisfied with it. I do not so much refer to its size. It is easy enough to have a "big," a drum-and-trumpet Sunday-school, if that is what we really wish. But we Americans are already too much given to letting bigness take the place of more important things. This school used to be a very large one, I am told. That was before I knew it. But, since that day, we have elected to make it a church school, and to do our mission work in other ways. And, since so many of our people live at a long distance, it is probably true that our school is as large as we ought to expect it to be. We cannot have more children than there are. And I have no fault to find with the disinterested workers who do come. The highest kind of praise is due to many of them, and all of them do as well as they can. The one thing I regret is, what I suppose most ministers have to regret as well,- that so few of the congregation are willing to help. There is one thing very strange about it. People will send their children, and will be very free in their criticism as to the nature and quality of the work that is done for them, but for which they do not pay one cent and perhaps not one word of thanks. Who do they think these teachers are? They are under no more obligation to teach their critics' children than these critics are to teach theirs. They are only such noble and self-denying ones as are willing to try to do a much-needed work which others — on whom at least an equal obligation rests - refuse to touch. And those who do volunteer I have observed to be generally the hardest-worked people. Most of those with money and leisure, who could do it just as well as not, for some reason decline. Are they unwilling to postpone for a little their dinner hour? Will they have to take their afternoon drive a little later? |