he Americans are Christians; that is to say, they attend church on Sundays. Like other Christians, they attend to business on week-days.
In America, religion is served up with sauces to suit all palates. Independently of the Catholic religion, there are 189 different religious sects. England has only 185.
Every good preacher draws a full congregation, no matter to which sect he belongs. The church in itself is not the attraction, and the minister has no other influence over the people than that which he exercises by his oratorical talents. A religious or moral lecture is as popular as a literary lecture, a concert, or a play.
Put a bad preacher into an American pulpit, and he will soon empty the church; replace him by a gifted orator, and soon there will be "standing room" only, and every seat will be at a premium.
The priesthood is not a vocation; it is a profession: no talent, no success. An American will go and listen to the minister of a sect differing from his own, rather than sit and be bored by a tiresome preacher belonging to his own denomination. He will rather go to hear Dr. MacGlyn, the excommunicated Roman Catholic priest, or Dr. Felix Adler, the eloquent agnostic; religious as he is, he will sometimes regret that Colonel Ingersoll does not appear in public on Sundays any longer; Protestant as he is, he has no scruple about going to hear a musical mass in the Catholic cathedral; in fact, you can see him everywhere, except in the churches where dulness prevails, and the mind waits in vain for fresh nourishment.
The churches advertise a preacher in the newspapers as the theatres advertise a "star." In default of a good preacher, other attractions are put forward to draw the public. How resist the two following appeals, posted at the doors of a New York and a Chicago church? I copied them word for word with great care:
"Musical evangelists, solos, short sermons. The place to be happy and saved."
Walk in, ladies and gentlemen, walk in.
The other, more seductive still, was worded thus: