The Unhallowed Harvest/Chapter 6
The vestry of Christ Church was a conservative body. Not ultra-conservative, but reasonably so; the conservatism that might be expected of successful business men. Nor was it an overly religious body. Some of its members were not, never had been, and never expected to be communicants of the Church. But, as a whole, it was unquestionably and sincerely devoted to the welfare of Christ Church. Possibly the material welfare of the church loomed larger in the eyes of these gentlemen than did its spiritual interests. Be that as it may, they left nothing undone which, in their judgment, it was desirable to do to promote the prosperity of the church of which they were the governing body. They had this purpose in mind when they called the Reverend Robert Bruce Farrar to be their rector. They felt that they were acting with wisdom and foresight. He was certainly a rising young man. He was idolized by the people to whom he had ministered, and he came with a splendid recommendation from the bishop of his diocese. He was understood to be fairly liberal in his social views, but he had, as yet, developed no dangerous tendencies; and it was thought that, in his new environment, there could be no possibility of such development. Since the day of his installation, however, the minds of many of the members of the vestry had undergone a gradual change concerning him. They no longer felt that he was quite safe. And to that feeling the sermons that he had been preaching of late had given a decided impetus. It is true that, up to this time, there had been no serious or open differences between the rector and his vestry. But it was plainly apparent, both to him and to them, that the day was fast approaching when such differences would become acutely developed unless either he changed his course or they changed their opinions. Certain of the vestrymen, in their consultations with each other, on the street, at the club, or in their homes, had deprecated, in rather strong language, the social theories of the rector, and had suggested that it was about time to call a halt. But nothing had been done. Then came the sermon of Sunday, with its strange and radical plea for social equality in the church, and what had been merely a thought in the minds, or a suggestion on the tongues, of certain members of the vestry, suddenly developed into a desire for action. The man had taken the bit in his teeth and was trying to run away with them. It was necessary that something should be done.
The regular monthly meeting of the vestry was to be held on the Friday evening following the Sunday on which the objectionable sermon had been preached, and it was agreed, among those who protested, that this would be an opportune time to voice their protest, and express their determination, and reach, if possible, some kind of an understanding as to the future. Nor was the Reverend Mr. Farrar so dull of comprehension that he failed to anticipate that there might be expressions of opinion at the meeting adverse to his views and policy. Indeed, he set out deliberately to invite such expressions of opinion, if there were any members of the vestry who disagreed with him. He felt that there must be no longer any evasion or paltering on either side; that, if necessary, armed neutrality must give way to active warfare; that a crisis had been reached beyond which Christ Church would advance in accordance with her God-given privilege, or else recede, disintegrate, and be lost. The stage was surely set for dramatic developments.
The meeting was to be held, as usual, in the rector's study, after the mid-week evening service. Judge Bosworth, the senior warden, was the first to arrive. He was followed closely by Westgate. While they were awaiting the coming of the others there was some casual conversation on different topics, but it was marked by an air of restraint of which all three men were aware. Then, in rapid succession, the remaining members of the vestry came in—all but old Mr. Ray, who was ill and unable to leave his house.
They knelt with due devotion while brief prayers were read, and then the usual order of business was taken up. The treasurer's report was made and commented on, and other matters of more or less importance to the parish were considered and disposed of.
When the order of "new business" was reached, the rector said:
"There is a matter, gentlemen, on which I desire to have your judgment, and, if possible, your favorable action. You have doubtless observed the increased attendance on our services by people of the laboring class. I am convinced that it is among these people, during the next few years, that our work must largely be done. We must break down the indifference, the prejudice, the open antagonism which so many of them manifest, not wholly without reason, toward the Church. If we extend to them a fitting welcome, and if we properly provide for them, I have no doubt they will continue to come to us in increasingly large numbers, to their own spiritual benefit, and to the great strengthening of the Church. It is plain that we cannot accommodate them under our present system by which we rent pews for the exclusive use of our several families. It is my recommendation, therefore, and my hearty desire, that the renting system shall be abolished, and that all pews shall be open freely to all worshipers. It is for you to act on the recommendation."
For a moment no one spoke. The proposition was too startling, too revolutionary, to be replied to at once. The parishioners of Christ Church had occupied exclusive pews for two generations and more. They had come to consider them as much their private property as were their own dining-rooms, or their front porches. How could this vestry shatter, in a night, the traditions of years? It was a foregone conclusion that the rector's recommendation would meet with disapproval—and it did. Mr. Hughes, capitalist, was the first to express his dissent.
"I, for one," he said, "am opposed to it. It would deprive us of a fixed income. It would revolutionize the policy and the customs of the church in this respect. I do not believe the bulk of our pewholders would ever consent to it. I, myself, would be entirely unwilling to relinquish my right to the exclusive use of a pew. I am ready to pay for one, and I do pay for it, and when I pay for it I propose to reserve the right to say who shall sit in it."
"I appreciate your point of view, Mr. Hughes," replied the rector; "but I feel that we must look at the matter from a broader standpoint. Do we want these people to worship with us or do we not? If we do, it is plain that we must provide for them. They, themselves, feel that it is something of an intrusion for them to occupy pews set apart for the exclusive use of others. Many of them cannot afford even to pay rentals for sittings; and, if they could, we have not the vacant sittings for them. What shall we do with them? Shall we give them to understand that they are unwelcome, or shall we admit them to the privileges of Christ Church on an equal footing with ourselves? The problem is yours, gentlemen."
"We might," suggested Rapalje, engaged in real estate and insurance, "provide a certain section of the church in the rear to accommodate them, moving our own people farther to the front, and doubling up in the occupancy of pews, if necessary."
"That, in my judgment," replied the rector, "would only be an affront to them. They would not accept discrimination of that kind. It would be equivalent to saying to them that the Church reserves the 'chief seats' for the rich; that the rear pews are good enough for the poor. If we say that to them they will leave us, without doubt. It is because of such an attitude on our part that the poor have been lost to us for so many years."
Then Colonel Boston, president of the S. E. & W. Railroad, his patience nearly exhausted, spoke up:
"Well, I, for one, am willing to lose them. I don't see why we should be called upon to house the rabble from Factory Hill. They have churches nearer their homes, run by their own kind, with preachers of their own sort. Let them go there. I don't propose, when I come to church, to hunt for a vacant seat somewhere, and push myself into it; and I'm utterly opposed to having my wife and daughter crowded and elbowed in their pew by all kinds of people. I simply won't stand for it."
The rector was still calm and deliberate, but tremendously in earnest, as he replied:
"You can close the doors of your church in the faces of God's poor if you wish, gentlemen. They will not come if they find they're not wanted; you can rest assured of that. But the moment you refuse to welcome them, the moment you make it openly manifest that ours is a church exclusively for the rich and the well-to-do, that moment you deprive the Church of its life and soul, you separate it wholly from Jesus Christ, whose message and whose mission was primarily to the humble and the poor."
Judge Bosworth sought to pour oil on the waters which were becoming dangerously troubled.
"Would not the proper solution of this whole question," he asked, "be the founding and support of a mission chapel for these people in their own neighborhood? We have such a chapel on the east side, why not establish one on Factory Hill? I would be glad to contribute for such a purpose."
"It would not solve the difficulty, Judge," responded the rector. "These people do not want missions and chapels when they are within walking distance of the church itself. The thing implies exactly the same sort of discrimination as would be implied by herding them in rear pews. They don't want to be accommodated, they don't want to be patronized, they want to be recognized as having equal rights with us in the House of God. And until we are willing to accord to them that recognition we may as well let them alone, for we shall never be able to hold them."
Again the railroad magnate broke in. His patience, which was already running low when he first spoke, appeared now to be entirely exhausted.
"Then I say let them alone!" he exclaimed. "I'm sick and tired of this everlasting kow-towing to a class of people who are never satisfied with what's being done for them."
To this last explosion the rector paid no heed. He looked around over the persons assembled in the room. "I would like to hear," he said, "from other gentlemen of the vestry. If most of you are opposed to the proposition, I will not press it at this time; but I will begin a campaign of education among the people of the parish, so that when it again comes before you, it will come backed by the force of public opinion. What is your thought in the matter, Mr. Cochran?"
"I quite agree with Mr. Hughes and Colonel Boston," replied Mr. Cochran. "I think it would be extremely unwise to abolish our system of rentals."
"And what is your opinion, Mr. Emberly?"
"I am heartily in favor of adopting the suggestion of the rector," was Emberly's answer.
Nobody was surprised at Emberly. He always sided with the rector. But his opinion carried no great weight. He contributed sparsely, from a lean purse, for the support of the Church. How could he be expected to have a leading voice in her councils?
Probably Mr. Hazzard, junior warden, and superintendent of the Sunday-school, would also have agreed with the rector if his opinion had been asked; but, before he could be interrogated, Westgate interrupted.
"It seems to me," he said, "to be quite futile to discuss this question at this time. Our pews are rented until Easter Monday of next year, and it is now only September. We cannot abrogate the contracts already made. I suggest, therefore, that we postpone discussion of the matter until some future meeting. In the meantime, the parish as a whole will have opportunity to consider it, and we can take it up later if it should be deemed advisable to do so."
"An excellent suggestion!" exclaimed Mr. Hughes.
"I am quite willing to yield to Mr. Westgate's judgment," said the rector.
"But," added Mr. Hughes, "there is another matter closely related to the one just under discussion, about which I desire to speak. I mean no disrespect, and I have no ill-will toward Mr. Farrar. But there has been much criticism in the parish concerning the sermons he has been preaching to us of late, especially the one of last Sunday morning. It is needless for me to specify in what manner it was objectionable. We feel that a continuance of such sermons will seriously affect, if not entirely disrupt, the church. It has occurred to me, therefore, that if the vestry, as a body, should inform the rector of the feeling in the parish, and request him to discontinue the advocacy of his favorite sociological doctrines from the pulpit, he would probably heed the request, and thus save the church from possible disaster."
The rector looked into the eyes of his critic without flinching. Moreover, there was in his own eyes a light that might or might not have been a signal of contempt and defiance.
"Do you really mean that, Mr. Hughes?" he asked.
"I am very much in earnest," was the reply. "And I believe I express the feeling of a majority of the members of the vestry. How is it, gentlemen? Am I right?"
He looked around on the men in the room, and all save two of them nodded their heads or spoke in approval. The rector noted their attitude, but neither in his voice nor manner did he display surprise, disappointment or resentment.
"Then let me tell you," he said quietly, "that any backward movement on my part is entirely out of the question. I feel that I am preaching Christ's gospel, and that His message is to the poor as well as to the rich. To-day, so far as material things are concerned, the poor are poor because they are not receiving their just share of the wealth which they produce. Some day all this will be changed. There will be economic justice, and with economic justice will come social equality. There will be no rich, no poor, no aristocracy, no proletariat. I shall welcome that day. But, so far as things spiritual are concerned, that day dawned when Jesus Christ was born. In His religion there is no room for distinction between the classes. The Church which He founded, and its house of worship, should be open, freely and always, without distinction of any kind, to 'all sorts and conditions of men.'"
"Good!" exclaimed Emberly.
The rector paid no heed to the interruption, but went on:
"And so long as I am rector of Christ Church I shall endeavor to break down, and to keep down within it, all distinctions between rich and poor, and between class and class. That is why I have been urging you gentlemen of wealth to blot out social differences in the House of God. I want the humblest parishioner to feel that he has an equal right with any of us to the use and benefit and enjoyment of Christ Church. It is only because you stand aloof and will not welcome him on equal terms that he does not feel so now. I hope that, eventually, your attitude will be changed; and, in that hope, I shall keep on inviting the poor to come to us, and I shall continue to preach the abolition of social distinctions in the Church."
It is not probable that the Reverend Mr. Farrar had any expectation of bringing the members of the vestry, offhand, to the acceptance of his views. If he had, it needed only a glance at their faces to show him that his words had had no convincing effect. Of course Emberly and Hazzard, both of whom had been with him from the beginning, showed marked signs of approval; but as to the others, their opposition to his theories appeared only to have become accentuated by his speech.
"That sounds to me," said the capitalist, "very much like socialism. I hope we are not going to have that fallacious and sinister doctrine preached to us, also, from the pulpit of Christ Church. Do I understand, Mr. Farrar, that you are a socialist?"
"A Christian socialist, yes," was the answer. "So far as socialism is in accord with the articles of our religion, with the canons of our Church, and with the message of Jesus Christ, I am a socialist. I believe, gentlemen, that socialism is coming, and that eventually it will be the policy of the state. It is foolish to blind our eyes to it. As it exists to-day there is much in its theory and propaganda that is anti-Christian. Some of its leaders are distinctly irreligious. Some of them are bitterly antagonistic to the Church. If such men as these are permitted to dominate the socialism of the future, religion and Christian morals will be in jeopardy. There is only one power on earth that can rescue society from such an evil, and that is the power of the Church. If the Church will but recognize socialism for the good that is in it; help to conserve its vital principles and to rob it of its evil excrescences, it will, in my judgment, have performed a mighty service for humanity. If, then, the Church will go still farther, and help it on, thus reformed, to political and economic victory, we shall carry out the principles for which Christ contended. I shall make it my business, gentlemen, both in the pulpit and out of it, to urge that policy upon the Church, and upon all Christian people. I believe, Mr. Hughes, that I have answered your question."
He had answered it, indeed. But his answer was anything but comforting or satisfying to the greater part of the gentlemen who sat around him. Colonel Boston was especially indignant.
"Socialism," he declared, growing red in the face, "is a pernicious doctrine; and it doesn't help it any to tack the word Christian to it. There always have been class distinctions in the world, and there always will be. It's human nature. There always have been men of brains and energy and principle who have outraced and outranked their fellows, and there always will be. You can no more reduce living men to a dead level of equality in everything, or in anything, than you can make every blade of grass to grow exactly like every other blade. The thing is simply abhorrent to nature. I'm opposed to socialism in any form, under any name. And, so far as I have any influence, it shall not be preached from the pulpit of Christ Church."
Before the rector could reply, or any one else could break into the discussion, Mr. Claybank, a retired merchant, rose to his feet and drew a folded paper from his pocket.
"Apropos of Colonel Boston's remarks," he said, "and in line with the thought so well expressed by Mr. Hughes in opening the discussion, and after consultation with one or two of my fellow-vestrymen, I have prepared a resolution which I desire to offer."
He adjusted his eye-glasses with nervous haste, unfolded the paper with trembling fingers, cleared his throat and began to read.
"Resolved that the vestry of Christ Church view with disapproval and alarm the tendency toward socialism and its dangerous theories as manifested in the recent sermons of our rector, the Reverend Mr. Farrar. We regard those theories as harmful to religion and destructive to society; and it is our request that our rector discontinue the preaching of such sermons, and confine himself hereafter to such doctrines as are commonly accepted by the Church, and taught in the Christian religion."
Before Claybank had scarcely finished reading, Mr. Hughes was on his feet.
"If the senior warden will take the chair," he said, "I will move the adoption of this resolution."
But, before the senior warden could put the question, or even assume charge of the meeting, Westgate broke in:
"Gentlemen," he exclaimed, "I hope this resolution will not be adopted nor put to vote. I was not consulted in its preparation or I should have disapproved of it. I am as heartily opposed to socialism as any man here. I have no sympathy even with Christian socialism. I regret that our rector sees fit to advocate it. But we should not be hasty in putting on him the indignity implied in that resolution. There is a better way out. We should approach him in a friendly, not in a hostile spirit. We should first reason together. I, myself, will undertake, in a half hour's friendly talk with him, to show him the utter fallacy of the whole socialistic creed. It is a mistake to pounce upon him suddenly in this fashion. I beg that the gentleman will withdraw his resolution."
But the Reverend Mr. Farrar did not wait for the resolution to be withdrawn. Westgate's last word was hardly out of his mouth before the rector was on his feet.
"I very deeply appreciate," he said, "the kind thought of Mr. Westgate. I shall be glad to discuss with him, at any time, the questions that have been raised here to-night. But I do not ask for the withdrawal of the resolution. If there is to be a breach between my vestry and me, it may as well come now as later. If my appeals to the rich and my concern for the poor have brought me into disrepute with this body, the situation is not likely to grow less acute. For I say to you plainly that, even if you were to adopt this resolution by unanimous vote, I should continue to preach not only the straight, but the whole gospel of Christ. And it is a gospel that demands the abolition of classes, the recognition of the humble, the placing of the toiler, no matter what the character of his toil, on the same social plane with you in every phase of the life of the Church. If you knew these people as I do, if you understood them as I do, if you loved them as I do, you would bid me Godspeed in my work. And it is because I want you to know them and love them and honor them that I shall not cease to preach as I have done, to you and to them, until my object in so preaching shall have been fully accomplished. So, gentlemen, if you choose to throw down the gauntlet, I shall pick it up; and God shall stand as judge between us."
Claybank, who was still on his feet, and who was still holding his eye-glasses in one trembling hand, and his resolution in the other, broke in immediately.
"In deference to Mr. Westgate," he said, "for whose judgment I have great respect, I will withdraw my resolution. But I want to give notice now, that if there is a continuance, as has been threatened, of the kind of sermons we have been having of late, I shall, at the next meeting of the vestry, offer a resolution demanding the immediate resignation of the Reverend Mr. Farrar as rector of Christ Church."
"Mr. Chairman, I protest against this attempt to muzzle a true servant of Christ!"
It was Hazzard who spoke. He was indignant to the core.
"Then let him preach Christianity and not socialism," retorted Mr. Claybank.
"You—you don't know what Christianity is!" shouted Emberly.
"I know what it isn't!" roared Colonel Boston. "It isn't the deification of the rabble!"
By this time every man in the room was on his feet. A half-dozen voices were struggling to be heard. A most unchristian scene was on the verge of enactment. It was then that Westgate, quick-witted and masterful, saved the day for decency.
"Mr. Chairman," he shouted, "if there is no further proper business to come before the meeting, I move you, in the name of Christian charity, that we do now adjourn."
The motion was put and carried. The wrangling ceased. The gentlemen of the vestry said good-night to the rector, and passed out into the street. But the fires of opposition had not been quenched. They only awaited encouragement from the first hostile breeze to blaze up anew.