The unhallowed harvest

by Homer Greene

“Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary?”

The preacher called the attention of his hearers to the fact that the founder of the Christian religion, in His early manhood, had been a laborer. He had gone about, with hammer and axe, working for wages, as did the carpenter of to-day. He was born of humble parents, reared in adversity, hardened to toil. Why should not the wage-earner of the twentieth century listen to His gospel and follow in His footsteps? His message was especially to the humble and the poor. His condemnation was for the haughty and self-sufficient rich. He founded His Church on the brotherhood of man. Its very existence was declaratory of the solidarity of the human race. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female, for ye are all one in Christ Jesus. No other Messiah, no other religion in the history of the world has made so strong, so sympathetic an appeal to the humble and toil-worn. How utterly inconsistent it was, therefore, for the workers of the world to permit any other class to monopolize the benefits and enjoyments of the Church, an institution founded by one of their own, and dedicated to the principle that we are all “heirs of God, and joint heirs with Christ; if so be that we suffer with Him.”

But the preacher’s special appeal this morning was to the men and women of wealth and prominence in his church and parish, on behalf of their brothers and sisters on whom fortune had not so abundantly smiled. It was not an appeal for kindness and charity, or material help of any kind. It was an appeal for recognition.

“I say to you,” he said, in concluding his sermon, “that until we professed followers of Christ utterly abandon the idea that the Church is an institution to be enjoyed, managed and patronized only by the cultured, the wealthy and the well-to-do, we shall not begin to understand the lesson taught us by the carpenter of Nazareth. Until we abandon the pleasing delusion that we have measured up to our full duty as members and supporters of the Church when we attend its services, recite its prayers, contribute to its charities, relieve its poor and visit its suffering; until we take a vastly broader view than that of our duty and privilege as Christian men and women, we are yet in our sins. Neither my work as minister nor your work as laymen will be satisfactory in the sight of God until these church portals and pew-doors stand equally wide open to the poor and the rich. If we would do as the Master would have us do, we must hold out welcoming hands to the toiler, no matter how humble the character of his toil, and we must say to him, not ‘Come and be my guest to-day in the House of God,’ but ‘Come and be my fellow-worshiper, my comrade in Christ, my brother and my friend.’ I say to you frankly that I shall not be satisfied with my labors here until the workingman and the toiling-woman sit, side by side, in every pew, with the cultured and the rich; until they read together from the same prayer-book, recite together the same creed, kneel by each other at the same chancel-rail, and partake together of the Holy Communion in loving memory of Him who died for all men, ‘the carpenter, the son of Mary.’”

Whether or not the humble folk who crowded the rear pews enjoyed the rest of the beautiful and solemn service, they were at least pleased with the sermon. On many a homely and rugged face, as these people passed out into the street, there was a smile of approval, and on many a lip that had never moved in prayer there was a comment of rejoicing that at least one preacher in the city understood the hearts of the poor and was not afraid to tell the rich, to their faces, what they ought to do.

But the regular, influential parishioners of Christ Church, those to whom the appeal had been made, were, apparently, not so well pleased with the sermon. It was not noticed that any among them made immediate response by mingling in friendly intercourse with the humble strangers who had come to their house of worship.

For the most part they waited in their pews until the unfamiliar faces had vanished beyond the outer doors. Then, by ones and twos and in little groups they moved slowly down the aisles. The stamp of unimpeachable respectability was on them all. They were well-mannered and well-dressed.

The majority of the men wore black coats and gray trousers and carried silk hats and canes in their hands, while the women were handsomely and appropriately gowned. The principal topic of conversation among them was, of course, the rector’s sermon; and, regrettable as it may seem, there were few who were heard to speak of it approvingly. Why should they approve of it? These people and their ancestors had worshiped in Christ Church through more than two generations. Their wealth and social standing had given to the church a position in the diocese second to none. Their polished manners and timely courtesies and gracious hospitality had attracted to the church many other people of wealth and prominence who, in their turn, had become regular attendants and liberal supporters. By their concern for the welfare of the poor they had made the name of Christ Church a synonym for well-organized and widely distributed Christian charity. Surely it hardly lay in the mouth of this young preacher, who had been scarcely two years in their pulpit, to announce to them that, notwithstanding all this, they were yet in their sins. It is no wonder that a mild spirit of resentment had been roused within them, or that it found expression as they talked with each other on their way to the street. It was noticeable that the men, as a rule, were not outspoken in their disapproval of the sermon. Business and professional men are apt to be cautious in the matter of a hasty expression of opinion. Experience has taught them the policy of being conservative. But the women were under no similar restraint. They did not hesitate to say what was in their minds. And their minds were, apparently, made up. Of course Mr. Farrar was an eloquent preacher and, personally, a most attractive man, and Mrs. Farrar was perfectly lovely; but really, the sermons they had been having of late were unpardonable, and the one of to-day had simply capped the climax. Such things were so unjust to the people who were doing the work of the Church and bearing its financial burdens; so subversive of all accepted theories and customs; so well calculated to stir up discontent and jealousy, if not open antagonism, in the breasts of the envious and ignorant. One woman, prominent in the church, pompous and matronly, declared that she would not again humiliate herself by coming to listen to such heterodox preaching. She considered such sermons as the one of to-day to be positively irreligious, and destructive of the first principles of Christianity.

Following her down the aisle came Ruth Tracy and her mother, and it was to them that this opinion had been expressed. Ruth’s face flushed and she made no reply; but Mrs. Tracy nodded her head in approval and said, “Yes, indeed!” Mr. Tracy, the husband and father, was not present. He went to church only on rare occasions. His week-days were strenuous, and his Sundays were needed for rest and recreation. He was the senior partner in the law firm of Tracy, Black and Westgate, of which firm Ruth’s fiancé was the junior member.

Before Mrs. Tracy and her daughter reached the curb where their car was waiting, Westgate joined them.