"There was an unusual spirit of homeness about the place, such as I never felt in a church before. I was not alone in feeling it. The moment I stood in the audience room, an agreeable sense of rest and pleasure came over me. Everyone else appeared to feel the same. There was none of the stiff restraint most churches have. All moved about and greeted each other with an ease that was pleasant indeed. I saw some people abusing the liberty of the place by whispering, even during the sermon. They may have been strangers. They evidently belonged to the lower classes. But it was a curiosity to notice the liberty every one took at pauses in the service, and the close attention there was when the reading or speaking began.
"All the people sang. I think the great preacher has a strong liking for the old hymns. Of course I noticed his selection of Wesley's favorite. A little boy in front of me stood upon the pew when the congregation rose. He piped out in song with all his power. It was like a spring canary. It was difficult to tell whether the strong voice of the preacher, or the chorus choir, led most in the singing. A well-dressed lady near me said 'Good evening,' most cheerfully, as a polite usher showed me into the pew. They say that all the members do that. It made me feel welcome. She also gave me a hymn-book. I saw others being greeted the same. How it did help me praise the Lord! At home with the people of God! That is just how I felt. I was greatly disappointed in the preacher. Agreeably so, after all. I expected to see an old man. He did not look over thirty-five. He was awkwardly tall. I had expected some eccentric and sensational affair. I do not know just what, but I had been told of many strange things. I think now it was envious misrepresentation. The whole service was as simple as simple can be. And it was surely as sincere as it was simple. The reading of the hymns was so natural and distinct that they had a now meaning to me. The prayer was very short, and offered in homely language. In it he paused a moment for silent prayer, and every one seemed to hold his breath in the deepest, real reverence. It was so different from my expectations. Then the collection. It was not an asking for money at all. The preacher put his notice of it the other way about He said, 'The people who wish to worship God by giving their offering into the trust of the church could place it in the baskets which would be passed to any who wanted to give.' The basket that went down to the altar by me was full of money and envelopes. Yet no one was asked to give anything. It was all voluntary, and really an offering to the Lord. I had never seen such a way of doing things in church collections. I do not know as the minister or church require it so. The church, was packed in every corner, and people stood in the aisles. The pulpit platform was crowded so that the preacher had nothing more than standing room. Some people sat on the floor, and a crowd of interested boys leaned against the pulpit platform. When the preacher arose to speak, I expected something strange. It did not seem possible that such a crowd could gather year after year to listen to mere plain preaching. For these are degenerate days. The minister began so familiarly and easily in introducing his text that he was half through his sermon before I began to realize that he was actually in his sermon. It was the plainest thing possible. I had often heard of his eloquence and poetic imagination. But there was little of either, if we think of the old ideas. There was close continuous attention. He was surely in earnest, but not a sign of oratorical display. There were exciting gestures at times, and lofty periods. But it was all so natural. At one point the whole audience burst into laughter at a comic turn in an illustration, but the preacher went on unconscious of it. It detracted nothing from the solemn theme. It was what the 'Chautauqua Herald' last year called a 'Conwellian evening.' It was unlike anything I ever saw or heard. Yet it was good to be there. The sermon was crowded with illustrations, and was evidently unstudied. They say he never takes time from his many cares to write a sermon. That one was surely spontaneous. But it inspired the audience to better lives and a higher faith. When he suddenly stopped and quickly seized a hymn-book, the audience drew a long sigh. At once people moved about again and looked at each other and smiled. The whole congregation were at one with the preacher. There was a low hum of whispering voices. But all was attention again when the hymn was read. Then the glorious song. One of the finest organists in the country, a blind gentleman by the name of Wood, was the power behind the throne. The organ did praise God. Every one was carried on in a flood of praise. It was rich. The benediction was a continuation of the sermon and a closing prayer, all in a single sentence. I have never heard one so unique. It fastened the evening's lesson. It was not formal. The benediction was a blessing indeed. It broke every rule of church form. It was a charming close, however. No one else but Conwell could do it. Probably no one will try. Instantly at the close of the service, all the people turned to each other and shook hands. They entered into familiar conversation. Many spoke to me and invited me to come again. There was no restraint. All was homelike and happy. It was blessed to be there."
CHAPTER XVIII
FIRST DAYS AT GRACE BAPTIST CHURCH
Early plans for Church Efficiency. Practical Methods for Church Work.
The Growing Membership. Need of a New Building.
The preaching filled the church. Men and women felt that to miss a sermon was to miss inspiration and strength for the coming week's work, a broader outlook on life, a deeper hold on spiritual truths. But it was more than the sermons that carried the church work forward by leaps and bounds, added hundreds to its membership, made it a power for good in the neighborhood that gradually began to be felt all over the city.
The spirit of the sermons took practical form. Mr. Conwell followed no traditions or conventions in his church work. He studied the needs of the neighborhood and the hour. Then he went to work with practical, common sense to meet them. First he determined the church should be a home, a church home, but nevertheless a home in its true sense, overflowing with love, with kindness, with hospitality for the stranger within its gates. Committees were formed to make strangers welcome, to greet them cordially, find them a seat if possible, see that they had hymn books, and invite them heartily to come again. And every member felt he belonged to this committee even if not actually appointed on it, and made the stranger who might sit near him feel that he was a welcome guest. When the church became more crowded, members gave up their seats to strangers and sat on the pulpit, and it was no unusual sight in the church at Berks and Mervine streets to see the pulpit, as well as every other inch of space in the auditorium, crowded. Finally, when even this did not give room enough to accommodate all who thronged its doors, members took turns in staying away from certain services. No one who has not enjoyed the spiritual uplift, the good fellowship of a Grace Church service can appreciate what a genuine personal sacrifice that was.
After the service, Mr. Conwell stationed himself at the door and shook hands with all as they left, adding some little remark to show his personal interest in their welfare if they were members, or a cordial invitation to come again, if a stranger. The remembrance of that hearty handclasp, that frank, friendly interest, lingered and stamped with a personal flavor upon the hearer's heart, the truths of Christianity that had been preached in such simple, clear, yet forcible fashion from the pulpit.
Another of Mr. Conwell's methods for carrying out practical Christianity was to set every body at work. Every single member of the church was given something to do. As soon as a person was received into the membership, he was invited to join some one or other of the church organizations. He was placed on some committee. In such an atmosphere of activity there was no one who did not catch the enthusiasm and feel that being a Christian meant much more than attending church on Sundays, putting contributions in the box, and listening to the minister preach. It was a veritable hive of applied Christianity, and many a man who hitherto thought he had done his full duty by attending church regularly and contributing to its support had these ideas, so comfortable and self-satisfied, completely shattered.
The membership was composed almost entirely of working people, men and women who toiled hard for their daily bread. There were no wealthy people to help the work by contributions of thousands of dollars. The beginnings of all the undertakings were small and unpretentious. But nothing was undertaken until the need of it was felt; then the people as a whole put their shoulders to the wheel and it went with a will. And because it practically filled a need, it was a success.