Transcriber's Note: Page numbers are indicated thus [3] at theend of each printed page. 

The Messiah Pulpit

A STATEMENT:

 the Future of This Church

By

John Haynes Holmes

Minister of the Church of the Messiah

Series 1918-1919----No. VI

PRICE, FIVE CENTS

Published by the

Church of the Messiah

Park Avenue and 34th Street

New York City

[1]

NOTICE

The Messiah Pulpit, by tradition and practice, is a free platform, dedicated to the ideal of truth. Its sermons, in both their spokenand written form, are the utterances of the preacher, who acceptsfor them exclusive responsibility. 

The publication of these sermons is made possible by a private fundfor this purpose. Contributions to this fund are needed, and may besent to Rev. John Haynes Holmes, 61 East 34th Street, New York City. 

[2]

A STATEMENT:

On the Future of This Church

On Sunday, November 24 last, as most of you know. I was invited byunanimous vote of the people of All Souls Church, Chicago, "to takeup the work laid down by (their) beloved pastor, " the late Dr. Jenkin Lloyd Jones. On Thursday, November 28, I received this callthrough the personal visitation of two members of the Chicagochurch, and agreed to give it most earnest consideration. On Sunday, December 1, through my associate, Mr. Brown, I announced this callto the congregation of the Church of the Messiah, explaining that itinvolved the ministry of All Souls Church, the directorship ofAbraham Lincoln Centre, and the editorship of the weekly liberalreligious journal, called "Unity. " I stated in my announcement thatI had asked and been granted ample time for the consideration ofthis call, but that I intended to answer it as speedily as possible. On Thursday last, just five weeks to a day after receiving theinvitation to Chicago, I sent my reply for transmission to thepeople of All Souls Church this morning. I choose this same time toannounce to you my decision. 

At the beginning of my consideration of the problem, I foundquestions of personal inclination and comfort inevitably to thefore. For twelve years minus one month, I have lived and labored inNew York City. Every particle of moral energy which I possess, Ihave invested here. Nearly all of my friends are associated withthis community. Especially am I bound by ties of deepest reverenceand affection to this church. Here are memories of joy and sorrowand great trial which are more truly a part of me than the voicewith which I speak, or the hand with which I turn these pages. It[3] needed but this single summons to teach me what I had notknown--how deeply my roots are struck into the soil of this place, and how great the pain and hazard of their exposure, removal andreplanting. 

It very soon became clear to me, however, that personalconsiderations could rightly have but little part in the settlementof this problem. In no spirit of bravado, but in simplestrecognition of the truth, I say to you that I believe I would havebeen betraying the profession which I have sworn to serve had Ipermitted conditions of personal affection, however lovely andprecious, to determine my decision in this case. I take seriouslythe fact of my ordination--that as a minister of religion I havebeen "set apart, " as the traditional phrase has it, to the highpurpose of propagating an idea, championing a cause, seeking thebest and the highest that I know in terms of God and of his holywill. I am here, in other words, not to make or to keep friends, notto enjoy pleasant associations of hand and heart, not even to servea particular church, but to serve, perhaps at the cost of theseother and more personal things, the great idea of which I speak. Toallow my individual sentiments to fix the place and fashion of myprofessional service, would be to me as dastardly a thing as toallow considerations of profit or prestige to make decision. Noteven my wife or my children could interfere in this case. My problemwas to determine where I could best advance the ideals to which Ihave given my life--where I could find the weapons or tools bestfitted to my hand for the doing of my work--and there to stand. Toremain in this church and city might be infinitely desirable to meas a man; but I must decide not as a man but as a minister, andtherefore if I remained, it must be because I could do no other!

But there was another consideration which held me to this impersonalrelation to the problem. I refer to the fact that the Great War hadbrought to a focus in my own soul the inward and largely unconsciousspiritual development of a decade. I had discovered, through [4]much tribulation of mind and heart, the ideal which I sought toserve, and disclosed to myself at least the picture of therealization of this ideal in institutional form. This same GreatWar, however, had distracted my parish, absorbed the energies andattention of my people, and in spite of wellnigh unexampledforbearance, had introduced elements of misunderstanding and evenalienation. The conflict, in other words, had no more left ourchurch unchanged than the world itself. We had been shaken anddistressed and tortured and driven, so that we were no longer thepersons we once were. You knew me, and I knew you, as we wereyesterday; but we did not know one another as we were going to be, or should want to be, tomorrow. It was necessary that we should meetnot on the plane of the past, nor even of the present, but on theplane of the future, and thus find ourselves again, and discoverwhat now, in this new world, we wanted, and would be able, to dotogether. Months before the War was ended, it had clearly enteredinto my mind to summon you to conference on our future relations asminister and people. This invitation from Chicago but precipitatedsuddenly what was in itself inevitable sooner or later. Itintroduced into a problem already existing between you and me, athird element--namely, the people of Abraham Lincoln Centre. Theproblem, however, in its nature, remained the same. I have work todo. I have set my hand to the plow, and I must find the field whereI can best drive this plow through the furrow of my sowing. 

In order to make plain the situation, as it has presented itself tomy mind during the last five weeks, I must turn to the past for amoment, and bring to you therefrom some fragments of autobiography. Those of you who were present at the meeting on last Monday night, have already heard what I am about to say. I beg your undividedattention, none the less, that you may note the bearing of thisrecital not on a problem presented, as then, but on a decision made, as now. 

I entered the Unitarian ministry in the year 1904, [5] under theinfluence of motives not unfamiliar. In the first place, I saw thepulpit. I went into the ministry for the same primary reason whichhas held me there through all these years gone by--a desire topreach. I think I can say, in no spirit of boasting, that from myearliest days I have had an intense interest in the problem oftruth, and a passion to interpret and defend by the spoken word, thetruth as I saw it, to other men. It is just this passion, I suppose, which makes the preacher, as distinguished from the poet or thescientist. So Phillip Brooks would seem to suggest in his famousdictum, that preaching is "Truth (conveyed) through Personality. "Furthermore, the truth which I desired to expound was theological inits nature. My whole approach to the problem was along the lines ofspeculation in the field of religious, as distinguished frompolitical or social, thought. God, the soul, immortality, the originand destiny of man, sin and salvation--these were the questions thatheld me, even as a boy, partly, I suppose, because of nativeinclination, partly because of careful training in a Unitarian homeand church, mostly I am convinced because I early came under thespell of that prince of liberal preachers, Dr. Minot J. Savage. Todo what Dr. Savage was doing each Sunday, preaching to eager throngsthe great truths of the Unitarian gospel--this became the consumingambition of my life. I wanted to stand in a pulpit and preach. Idecided to do so; and if judgment in such a question can be based onexperiences of inward joy, I am ready to testify that my decisionwas not unwise. 

I entered the church, therefore, primarily because it had a pulpit. But other reasons, not so decisive, and yet impressive, persuaded meto this same end. Thus I saw in the church not only a pulpit but analtar. Indeed, the pulpit distinguished itself in my mind from aplatform or a teacher's desk, by the fact that it was alwaysassociated with the presence, visible and invisible, of an altar fordivine worship. It was easy for me to picture myself as saying all Iwanted to say in [6] college halls, in theater meetings, in publicforums, but I craved for my work on behalf of truth the atmosphereand environment of spiritual devotion. It was my desire, in otherwords, to be not merely a teacher or speaker, but a preacher; notmerely a prophet, but also a priest. This does not mean that I am achurchman, as such; or that I find any permanent significance inrituals or other forms of worship. But there is in me that whichseeks the stimulus of praise and prayer, the uplift of consciouscommunion with the Eternal, the consolation of appeal to, and trustin, God. Not only from habit, but from temperament, I find myself athome amid religious rites. Nothing so moved me on my one trip toEurope, as the hours I spent under the shadows of the greatcathedrals. As a quiet place of worship, as well as a high place oftestimony, the church called me in those youthful years, and I gaveanswer. 

A third motive for my choice of the ministry must not be forgotten. I refer to the appeal of the church as a place for action, a servicestation on behalf of public causes. My vision of what we mean bypublic causes was strangely limited. It scarcely went beyond theUnitarian denomination, and the works of charity and kindly reformwith which it has always been identified. I was a passionateUnitarian in those days. I had read, and been deeply stirred by, thestory of the achievements which Unitarianism had wrought on behalfof freedom, fellowship and character in religion. I reverenced itssaints and prophets, and longed to follow in their train. Hence theeagerness with which I sought preparation for the Unitarianministry--that I might serve the church--advance its glory andmagnify its work. 

It was with such ideas as these in my heart that I was ordained inFebruary, 1904. Within two years there came an event which shook mylife to its foundations, revolutionized my thought, and changed thewhole character of my interest and work. I refer to what we have [7]learned to describe in our time as the social question. Thisquestion, of course, is nothing new. It has burned at the heart oflife from the beginning, and at intervals has flamed forth like theeruption of a volcano, to the terror and glory of the world. Itslatest phase, as we know it today in the religious field, made itsappearance at about the time I entered the ministry. I recall thatthe book, which first revealed the fires so soon to burst uponus--Prof. Peabody's "Jesus Christ and the Social Question "--waspublished in 1903, the year before my ordination. I was notunprepared for what was coming. My deep-rooted reverence forTheodore Parker, the supreme prophet of applied Christianity in ourtime, and my enthusiastic study of his life, had revealed to me themeaning of socialized religion. But I had caught only the pureessence of its spirit; I had not thought to apply it to the socialproblems of today. Indeed, I was not aware of the existence of suchproblems. My whole approach to the question of truth and experienceup to that time, had been along the lines of speculation in thefield of theological, as contrasted with political or social, thought. In the second year of my ministry, however, I read HenryGeorge's "Progress and Poverty"; then followed the writings of HenryD. Lloyd and Prof. Walter Rauschenbusch; then came the deep andprolonged plunge into the waters of socialism. For several yearsafter I came to this church, I was in a state of intellectual andemotional upheaval impossible for me to describe. At last came aconviction which was a complete reversal of all my former ideas. Iwas as a man converted; I was as one who had seen a great light. Henceforth I was a social radical; and religion, pre-eminently not atestimony to theological truth but a crusade for social change. Ofcourse, my interest in theology has persisted; but its place in mylife has tended to become ever more subordinate to other and moredirectly practical interests. You know how the character of mypreaching has changed since I first entered the Messiah pulpit. Youknow with what [8] waxing intensity of expression I have moved tothe left of our various divisions on the social question. You do notknow, hence I must tell you, how this intensity of radicalconviction is destined to continue in the years that are now beforeus. For the war has accelerated the social crisis beyond allforecasting. In two years has transpired what fifty years could nothave consummated under more normal conditions. Three greatempires--Russia, Germany, Austria--and several newborn countries, like that of the Czecho-Slovaks, have been captured by theSocialists; and the British Empire seems promised to the BritishLabor Party in not more than another decade or two. The socialrevolution long prophesied, long hoped for, long feared, is here;and this means in countries like our own, still untouched by change, such a "sturm and drang periode, " as makes even the Great War paleinto insignificance. Now in these years which are before us, Ipropose to speak and serve for the speediest and most thoroughgoingsocial reconstruction. I am committed both by conviction andtemperament to the program of the British Labor Party and its policyof indirect or political action for the advancement of that program. This is my predominant interest at this moment, and through what isdestined I suppose to be the whole period of my life. This is asmuch the cause of our day as abolition was the cause of the daysbefore the Civil War. To this I have given all I have--from this Iintend to withdraw nothing that I have given. Not in any sense ofbitterness or violence in method, but in every sense of utter changeas the end desired, I am committed to the ideal of the completedemocratization of society. 

When the significance of this transformation first broke upon me, Ifelt an impulse to leave the church, and attach myself directly tothe labor movement. I recall how my soul leapt in answer to thegreat scene at the close of Kennedy's "The Servant in the House, "when the Vicar strips off his clerical garb, seizes the dirty handof his brother, the Drain-Man, and cries out, [9] "This is nopriest's work--it calls for a man!" I was deterred, however, not, Ihope, by cowardice but by wisdom. On the surface I felt that Ishould miss the services of the church--the prayers and worship withmy people. Deeper down, and nearer the heart of things, was anunshaken trust in the church as a social institution. I loved hertraditions, reverenced her saints and prophets, believed in herdestiny--was unconvinced that she must necessarily serve theinterests of reaction. At-bottom, was a perfectly clearunderstanding that my approach to the social question was aspiritual approach, and my acceptance of it the acceptance of areligious task. I saw my new position as nothing more nor less thanthe logic of Christianity. Men must be free from all oppression, because they are children of God, and therefore living souls. Theymust be equal in opportunity and privilege, because they are membersof the holy family of God, and therefore brothers. They must belifted up out of poverty, disease, war, because their heritage isthe life of God, and they must have it abundantly. The materialaspects of the social question, I would be among the last, I trust, to ignore. These are central--but central only as the fetters arecentral to the problem of slavery. Furthermore, the means which Irecognized to the great end, were also spiritual. I could find noplace in my thought for the use of violence. The plea ofclass-conscious rebellion never won my acceptance. Only patience, persuasion, and much love for humankind, seemed to me legitimateweapons of reform. In other words, I was again a victim of the logicof Christianity. And where did this logic hold me, if not to thechurch? Where could I make plain my spiritual position, or bring tobear my spiritual influence, apart from the church? If thisinstitution must hold me altogether aloof from the social question, then of course my duty was manifest. But its pulpit was wide open tosocial preaching; its altar a chosen place for social consecration;and its machinery of service all at hand to be shifted from the gearof [10] charity to the gear of justice. Why not stay, therefore, inthe church, as Theodore Parker stayed, and fight capitalism, as hefought slavery, in the garb of a minister of Christ?

Decision on this point came fairly early, and it was favorable tothe church. Strangely enough, however, it brought me little peaceand surety in my church relations. Outside, in the denomination atlarge, I found myself in almost constant conflict with my fellows. There were few meetings or conferences in which I did not speak inprotest and vote with minorities. Here in the Messiah parish therewas no trouble, thanks to your forbearance, friendship, andscrupulous loyalty to freedom; but almost from the beginning therewas uncertainty, wonderment, at times unrest, on the part of thoselongest associated with this society; and the records show amelancholy tale of withdrawals of those, not unable to enduredifferences of opinion, but impelled to turn away when theinstitution, long precious in their sight, no longer presented therecognizable attributes of a Unitarian church. That my ownshortcomings as a man and a minister were responsible for much ofthis disturbance inside and outside the parish, I have no doubt. Butas I look back over the years, I also have no doubt that there wassomething much more fundamental here, at the heart of the trouble. That I was a heretic on the social question was insignificant, forUnitarians have long since learned not only to tolerate but torespect their heretics. What was infinitely more important, as I nowsee, was the fact that unconsciously through these years, I wascoming to question not the church itself, as I have explained, butthe whole order and purpose of the church as it now exists. Everyecclesiastical institution today is denominational in character. Itbelongs primarily to some particular sectarian body, and is pledgedto the service of this body. Sometimes the central body is narrow, as in the case of the more orthodox Protestant denominations;sometimes it is liberal, as in the case of the Unitarians andUniversalists. [11] But always there is a distinctive form oforganization, or type of ritual, or doctrine of belief, or spirit ofassociation, which binds these separate churches into a singlegroup; and always this distinctive feature is something which hadits origin, and still finds its vitality, in the thought andexperience of an earlier age. Every one of our denominations, andevery one of the churches in our denominations, is representative ofpast controversies, not of present interests and duties. No one sectcan be distinguished from any other, except by a reference to thetext books of Christian history. 

Now with the intrusion of the social question into religion, a newconcept of church organization came immediately to the fore. Theunit of fellowship was now no longer the denomination, but thecommunity. The centre of life and allegiance was no longer thechallenge of ancient controversy, but the cry of present day humanneed. The more I became interested in questions of social change, the less I was concerned with questions of denominational welfare. The more I became absorbed in the people of New York City, thecloser became my fellowship with other ministers similarly absorbed, and the remoter my fellowship with those who were bound to me onlyby the accident of the Unitarian tradition. More and more my handand heart went out directly to men who saw and labored for thebetter day of which I dreamed; and only indirectly to those withwhom I was appointed to serve, but who could not or would not catchthe vision of my dreams. An irreconcilable conflict was here beingjoined--the old, old conflict between a dead and a livingfellowship. It was my intuitive, although unconscious knowledge ofthis fact, which made me a rebel in every Unitarian gathering of thelast ten years. It was a similarly unconscious instinct ofself-preservation which taught my Unitarian brethren, to whom theold association was still central, to resent the things I sought. Wehad been born together, and we lived together; our past and ourpresent were joint possessions. But when we faced the future, wedivided; my [12] colleagues, many of them, were content with old, familiar ways, while I sought new associations. 

What was dimly felt in those days, was suddenly transformed intosomething clearly seen by the impact of the Great War. If thisstupendous conflict has revealed anything in religion, it is thatthe sectarian divisions of Christendom are no longer to betolerated. In the fusing fires of battle, Presbyterian, Methodist, Episcopalian, Unitarian, even Catholic, Protestant and Jew, havebeen melted, and now flow in a single flaming stream into the mouldwhich shall fashion them into a single casting. Man after man hasreturned from the front, to tell us that the denominational churchis dead. A new ordering of Christendom is at hand. The unit oforganization will be not the one belief, nor even the one spirit, but the one field of service. Not the sect, but the community, willbe the nucleus of integration. We will have groupings not ofMethodist churches, and Baptist churches, and Unitarian churches, toremind the world of ancient differences, but of New York churches, and Boston churches, and San Francisco churches, to teach the worldof present needs and future hopes. Our churches will be related asthe wards in a city are related, or the cities in a state, or thestates in the nation. We shall be all Christians together, as we areall Americans together. We shall have different religious ideas aswe have different political ideas. But we shall be organizedreligiously, as well as politically, in a single community. Ourchurches, like our schools, will be the possession, and the resort, of all!

This vision of the church as a community, or civic centre, is thelogical application of socialized religion. It is no accident thattogether these two things have captured my life. For a moment, justas the idea of the social question set me thinking of leaving thechurch altogether, so this idea of the community church set methinking of leaving this church and organizing in this city anindependent religious movement. Indeed, this latter thought has beensomething more than a [13] momentary temptation. To have a churchhas been with me from the beginning a necessity. To have a church ofthe new community order has become a great desire. Last spring Iseriously considered presenting to you my resignation, that I mightenter upon the fulfillment of this hope. Last summer I prettydefinitely made up my mind to lay this problem and prospect beforeyou, as soon as peace should come, and the distractions of war begone. Then, at the very moment when peace came, as though toanticipate and thus forestall my decision, there came the call fromChicago. 

Most of you know what Abraham Lincoln Centre is, and many of you bywhat pioneer devotion this church of the future was fashioned out ofa traditional church of the past. It is not perfect; in some ways itis already itself became traditional again. But it stands today as amore complete embodiment of what I feel a modern church should bethan any other institution of which I know in America. Theinvitation from the people seemed to me an instant bestowal of allfor which I seek. I do not think I could have resisted this call toservice, had it not been for your rightful claims of loyalty andaffection, and my own reluctance to abandon the project ofaccomplishing my desires in New York. These considerations made mehesitate--and while I hesitated, I thought. Why should I turnelsewhere for the fulfillment of hopes which may be as surely if notas swiftly realized here? Why should I undertake to build anindependent church in this city, or accept the leadership of achurch however remarkably developed in Chicago, when the Church ofthe Messiah, pledged to freedom, and long committed to the idea ofprogress, lies ready to my hand? Why should I seek the easyinheritance of another man's completed work, and thus avoid the hardlabor of building an institution of my own, which, for that reasonalone, would be moulded nearer to my heart's desire? Above all, whyshould I assume that my people who have loved and sustained me thesedozen years, are unwilling to move on with me in comradeship [14] tothe new pathways of the new world which we have entered, or by whatright make decision involving my future ministry here or elsewhere, without taking them fully into my confidence and searching theutmost temper of their minds? These were the questions which came tome promptly on the receipt of the Chicago call. Should I undertaketo organize an independent church in New York, should I go toChicago as minister of All Souls' Church and Director of AbrahamLincoln Centre, should I stay here as minister of this Church of theMessiah--this was my problem. I could not solve it, with fairness tomyself or to you, until you had spoken. Hence, the meeting of lastMonday night, called by the helpful co-operation of the Board ofTrustees, and attended largely by our people. 

In addressing this meeting, I stated in some detail the futureconditions of church work which I proposed to establish or to find. I had intended originally not to make these public, at least all atonce; but rumor has been busy, and exact information, for purposesof correction, if nothing more, has now become essential. 

First of all, therefore, may I say that I made announcement to thismeeting, as I would now make announcement to you, that I have left, or am planning to leave, the Unitarian denomination, and propose notmuch longer to be known specifically as a Unitarian minister. Thereasons for this change in my life, I shall make plain at anothertime; this morning I content myself with stating the fact. Almost ayear ago I resigned the office of vice-president of the MiddleStates Conference of Unitarian churches, which have held ever sinceI came to New York. Two months ago, I resigned from the Council ofthe Unitarian General Conference. Two weeks ago, I resigned mylife-membership in the American Unitarian Association. Next May, when the new list is made up, I expect to withdraw my name from theofficial roll of Unitarian clergymen, and thus sever the last strandwhich holds me to the Unitarian body. Of course, I shall join noother denomination, and in [15] this sense shall be independent. Butto me this action means not isolation, but entrance into that largerfellowship which I so long to share. No barrier will then separateme from those Episcopalians and Baptists and Methodists and othermen, who are my real spiritual brethren. I shall be at one with allmen everywhere--at home with the family of mankind. I shall not somuch cease to be a Unitarian, as to become a Christian. This matteris of course personal; and it thus affected only incidentally theproblem which was before our meeting last Monday night. It is easyto find precedent for the occupancy of a Unitarian pulpit by aminister not a Unitarian. At the time of the famous Year-Bookcontroversy, Mr. Potter of New Bedford, Mass. , and several of hiscolleagues, withdrew from the Unitarian body, but continued to holdtheir Unitarian pulpits. The latest instance of which I chance toknow was called to my attention by the death last week of Prof. George A. Foster, of Chicago University. Dr. Foster was born, bredand ordained a Baptist; and yet last year was called to fill thepulpit of the First Unitarian Church church in Madison, Wisconsin;and died in the service of this church, a Baptist. 

Even in orthodox churches, the denominational tag is losing itssignificance. Thus, when the City Temple London, the most famousCongregational church in the world, sought a successor to Dr. Campbell, it chose Dr. Joseph Fort Newton, of Iowa, a Universalist. We are getting sensible enough these days to recognize that theessential thing even about a minister is not his name but hismanhood. Nevertheless, my contemplated change in denominationalstatus might well be regarded as a part of the whole problem beforeus, and I therefore made careful mention of it last Monday night. Secondly, and more important, I stated my desire that the churchwhich I should serve tomorrow, might itself be undenominational, atlast to the degree implied by my conception of what I have calledthe community church. By this I meant that the church shouldproclaim [16] as its primary interest and aim identification with, and service of, the people of its community, to the subordination, and, if necessary, the ending of its connection with persons ofvarious and scattered communities who have no other bond of unionthan that of a single denominational inheritance. Was I wrong when Iventured the assertion at the meeting of our Society, that in thischurch we have already moved far in this direction? Unconsciously, in the last dozen years, it seems to me, we have been moving out ofthe denomination, into the community. Nearly every interest in thisparish is a community and not a denominational interest. Our naturalaffiliations as a church in this city have not been so much withchurches of our own denomination, as with churches of variousdenominations distinguished like ourselves as predominantly civic, or community, institutions. This congregation is an independentcongregation. If the Unitarian name adheres to it at all, it is tothe embarrassment of those whose Unitarianism is their pride, and tothe confusion of those who, not Unitarians either by birth orconviction, desire to join us in spirit and active work. For years, like "the chambered nautilus, " we have been outgrowing ourdenominational shell, and seeking "more stately mansions. " Is it nottime, now, that we left this "outgrown shell, " and became at lastthe full and free community institution of which I speak? Should wenot at least clear ourselves of ancient entanglements to such degreethat we may invite people openly and honestly to come into ourportals not because they want to profess themselves Unitarians, butbecause they want to confess themselves lovers and servants ofmankind?

Again, I stated at last Monday's meeting my desire that the churchwhich I shall serve tomorrow, may have a name which means somethingin the language and thought of our time. The application of thisprinciple to our church is obvious. The name, Church of the Messiah, is precious to many of us, because it awakens memories and revivestender associations. But a name [17] is important not from thestandpoint of those who know what it means, or ought to mean, but ofthose who do not know. The name of a church, like that of abusiness, is an advertisement. It is a symbol, a slogan, a banner. It should tell at once to everybody what is behind it, what itstands for; and this is exactly what our name does not do, except tothe initiate. Dr. Savage tried to save the situation by associatingwith the name, Lowell's familiar line, "some great cause, God's newMessiah. " I have tried to breathe the breath of life into thecorpse, by attaching it deliberately to our various activities--asthe Messiah Forum, the Messiah Social Service League, etc. But allin vain! Our name suggests a hope of ancient Judaism, a period ofUnitarian history, a habit of Episcopalian nomenclature--and that isall! It should be changed, to give some adequate expression of ourideals. The City Church, the People's Church, the Community Church, the Church of the People, the Church of the New Democracy, theFellowship, the Free Fellowship, the Fellowship of Social Idealism, the Fellowship of the Kingdom, the Fellowship of SpiritualDemocracy, the Liberal Centre, the Community Centre, --think of whatwe might call ourselves, if we but had the courage. And after all, what courage would it take, save that long since displayed by ourfathers in this church? How many of you know that for fourteenyears, this church was known simply as the Second CongregationalUnitarian Society of New York. Then in 1839, because the nameUnitarian was open to serious misconstruction, this name, except inits strictly legal uses, was dropped, and the highly orthodox namewe now bear, was substituted. I stated at our meeting that if Ishould remain as your minister, I should hope that this church mightsimilarly baptize itself afresh in the language of our own time, andin the spirit of our own life!

Again, at this meeting on Monday last, I stated that a modern churchshould have free pews. This statement needs no definition orargument. The system of pew [18] rentals is an abomination, alreadyabolished in countless churches more orthodox than our own, and ascandal in any church claiming to be liberal or democratic. 

Lastly, I stated my desire that my church should have anon-covenanted membership. On the side of organization, this meansof course that we make our church and society a single body, andthus abolish the present system of two unrelated groups, the onebusiness and the other spiritual in character. On the side ofreligion, it means that we abandon the idea of an inner group ofmembers, who have reached some spiritual eminence not attained byothers. Of course, in our body, this sanctification aspect of churchmembership has disappeared from our apprehension. But if this is thecase, why should we retain the form? What is essential isorganization and fellowship on the basis of simple brotherhood. Herewe are, comrades together, worshipping and working to the great endof a better world. We must be bound together in some way, for wemust be an enlisted body, not a mob of unrelated individuals. Butlet it be a Roll-Call to Service--a joining of the church as of theRed Cross for the love of mankind. In spirit, our membership isalready this; but its form is not so much an embodiment of the newdemocracy of the saviors as an echo of the old aristocracy of thesaved. 

It was with these five points that I confronted the members of thisSociety last Monday evening. I stated them much as I have statedthem this morning, and then asked not that action be taken, but thatsentiment be expressed. Since that time, I have been assiduouslycollecting information of what took place. Official report of actiontaken, of votes passed, has been laid upon my desk. Friends havewritten or spoken to me their impressions of the gathering. I havemyself canvassed the members of the Board of Trustees, and havereceived replies to my questions which show such high endeavor toconvey accurate information and sound advice, quite apart frompersonal opinion on most points, as does [19] abounding honor to thepersons concerned. From what has thus come to me, I deduce threefacts about this meeting. First, that the members of this churchwere willing to face without revolt or rebuke, questions which moreoften than not in the past have been the occasion of unseemlyquarrel and unholy schism. Secondly, that the consideration of thesequestions was carried on for two hours without bitterness of spiritas between the members of the church, or as between these membersand the absent minister. Lastly, that there is a large workingmajority in this church who desire the things that I desire. Takingthese facts into my own soul, which must be the last court ofdecision, after all, I have become convinced that I am confrontedhere by a situation which I can neither ignore nor evade. Mychallenge to you has been answered by a challenge to myself. Torefuse this challenge, is impossible. To leave this fruitage of mytwelve years of plowing and planting unharvested, and thus to witherand be scattered, would be a crime. I have therefore declined thecall to Chicago, and will remain here as your minister!

To this announcement of my decision in this case, may I make, inclosing, some two or three supplementary remarks?

In the first place, for the benefit of such rasher or moreenthusiastic spirits as may be present in this place, I would statethat I have no intention of abusing the confidence thus reposed inme, or the power thus granted me, by demanding immediate and finalaction on all the points of my program. We are members here not of apolitical caucus, but of a church; and it behooves us, therefore, toobserve even the uttermost refinements of good-will and mutualconsideration. We must respect with scrupulous fidelity the rightsof each, and seek nothing that falls short of the happiness of all. Determination must now yield place to patience, and courage tosympathy. Conversion and not conquest is our method. I had ratherwait years to gain my point with the consent of every heart, thancarry off the victory [20] tomorrow with some hearts broken andthrown away. I have a perfect faith in the power of persuasion--anunshaken confidence in the ultimate supremacy of love; and am quitewilling to leave to these mystic forces the determination of thetime, the method and the ultimate form of our accomplishment. 

On the other hand, lest there be those who think that deeds are notto follow upon words, may I state that I take up my ministry in thischurch afresh today with the conviction that I am committed to aprogram, and you committed to its decent and friendly consideration. Nay more, I am persuaded that we are ready for unanimous action onsome points. At the regular annual meeting of this Society, onMonday, January 13, I hope, and have every reason to expect that aresolution will be introduced, providing for the abolition of thepew rental system of financial support, and the establishment of theprinciple of free pews. I shall recommend that certain methods beemployed for the affecting of this great change: (1) that allpresent pew-holders be invited to surrender their sittings and topay to the treasurer in the form of subscription what they now payin form of rent; (2) that those who may be for any reason unwillingto make this change, be protected in their rights and be guaranteedtheir sittings, so long as they may desire this arrangement; (3)that all new-comers be invited to support the church by subscriptionpayments only, and no pews or sittings be rented anew under anyconsideration after a certain date. By some such procedure as thiswe shall gain our end, protect our present income, and imposecompulsion upon no single individual. 

Secondly, it is my hope, and expectation, that at this annualmeeting next week, the problem of our name as a church will be takenup. I shall recommend that a committee be appointed to consider anew name for the Church of the Messiah, and to report back to aspecial meeting of the Society perhaps in the early spring, theirrecommendation on this point. 

As regards the problem of non-covenanted membership [21] I proposeto recommend that this matter be promptly referred to the AdvisoryBoard for study; that this body, in turn, report its findings to theBoard of Trustees for similar study; and that this Board, at suchtime, and in such way, as it and the ministers may deem proper, bring the matter before the Society for action. This question iscomplicated, and poorly understood. We shall want to examine theexperience and precedent of other denominational bodies, and of suchindependent religious organizations as the Ethical Culture Societyand the Free Synagogue. We must find, or create, a system ofmembership which shall accurately and fully represent the spiritualidealism of this church, as well as practical utility, at its best;and this is a task calling at this moment not for action but formeditation. 

There is left the most important of all questions which I haveraised--the continued connection of this church with the Unitariandenomination. It is to me an occasion for surprise that some of youshould have imagined that I was desiring, or expecting, action onthis matter last Monday night. I have been still more astonished tohear, during the week, that some of you suspect or infer that adecision on my part to remain will involve an immediate intention toproceed to the capture of the church for purposes not disclosed. OnMonday night I gave expression to a conviction and a hope, and askedyou to register opinion thereupon. Beyond that I would not go, andcould not if I would. Those of you who have been Unitarians foryears, are Unitarians today, and desire to remain Unitarians, mustbe protected in your rights. The indebtedness of this church to themany in generations gone who have served it for the sake and in thename of Unitarianism, must not be repudiated. Moral obligation aswell as legal necessity may make it impossible for this church tosever connection with the body of its origin. Above all, I aminsistent that there shall be no quarrel or schism on this issue. There may be place here for change by evolution, but never byviolence. No faction must presume to dictate what may [22]come beneficently by consent alone. What I did on Monday last was toplant in your minds the seed which found lodgement years ago inmine. What I shall now do is to wait the germination of that seedthrough a period of years which may be less, and may well be more, than I endured. And I do this with the more content and confidence, that I have little doubt as to what the result will be. I have notlived with you all these years gone by, without learning theopenness of your minds, the instinctive passion of your souls forright, the quickness of your sensibilities to all sweet influencesof progress and good-will. If there be truth in my conviction forchange, it will in time be your conviction, as it is mine. If thisbe

 "The freer step, the fuller breath, The wide horizons grander view, "

then it will inevitably work enchantment in your hearts as it has inmine. And if not, then shall I trust those sweeping tides of changewhich are now engulfing all the world and destined so soon, toobliterate the barriers of denomination, so that this issue betweenus must vanish for good and all. And in any case, we may ever havethe task of making our Unitarianism in this place of so new andwonderful a character that this body to which we are bound, mayitself become transfigured by the service we perform for God andman. I am quite content, therefore, to postpone this question for anindefinite period. By the inward consent of converted minds, or theoutward logic of inexorable events, this problem will be settled indue time, and with perfect amity and concord. 

Lastly, may I congratulate you, as I am congratulating myself, onthe high adventure of the spirit which we undertake this day; andappeal, without apology, in frankness unashamed, for your support inthis endeavor? I call to my people in this church, to join theirhands and hearts in this great enterprise of faith. Not to divide, but to unite you, am I speaking: for it is the challenge of high aimand struggle which alone can hold [23] us to accord. I call as wellto people outside this church--strangers and friends alike, whohave turned from the churches of the past, but, still devout inexpectancy and love, have waited long for the new church of themorrow. Our vision may be dim, our purpose weak; but we are tryingfor something higher and better than man has ever known--and we needthe help that you can give. We need your money--bills cannot be paidwithout it. We need your names--a body cannot exist and laborwithout members. We need your love--our hearts must falter if wehave it not. To all who hear these words I speak, to all who readthem when they are printed, to all whom rumor may inform andquestion, I cry out, Come! To go on alone, were not so hard. I cando it, if it be necessary. The blazed trail, as well as the broadavenue, knows the footsteps of the Lord. The wilderness and thesolitary place, as well as the crowded city, is the abode of God. But better than loneliness is comradeship. The explorer may see fromafar the Promised Land, the pioneer may spy it out, but it is themarching host that enters to conquer and possess. To you all, therefore, I lift my cry

 "We have chosen our path-- Path to a clear-purposed goal, Path of advance!--but it leads A long steep journey, through sunk Gorges, o'er mountains of snow. . . . Fill up the gaps in our files, Strengthen our wavering line, Stablish, continue our march, On to the bound of the waste, On, to the city of God. "

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