The minister's everyday life

Front matter

PRINCETON. N. J.

BY/ LLOYD C. DOUGLAS

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Preface

No vocation has created a more voluminous literature concerning itself than ours. Most of these books, written for and by preachers, relative to our profession, may be read with profit.

Even when the author’s technic seems ill adapted to one’s own disposition and mental habits, it always makes one want to preach better sermons after a session with a book treating of practical homiletics; and many a jaded minister has been galvanized into a higher potentiality by some sincere colleague’s stirring summons to achieve more power in the pulpit.

His friendly counsel, too, concerning the solution of parish problems and the better performance of pastoral duties—perchance quite useless when considered as a method—invariably prods one to a surprising outlay of honest zeal to do these things more joyfully and industriously. We cannot have too many books of this sort, produced by active members of our profession.

It is to be observed, however, that a striking similarity of treatment distinguishes this type of literature. No matter how widely they may differ in temperament, training, and capacity, it seems that when ministers adventure upon

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Vill PREFACE fraternal admonition to their fellow craftsmen, they inevitably pursue the well-worn trail of their predecessors. ‘he first mistake they register is their attempt to cover entirely too much ground in the course of a single volume. This blunder is, of course, only a sign of their excellent intent. They are so eager to help their brethren to a fuller and happier ministry, that they canvass the whole field of this vocation, unable to pause very long at any single phase of it.

The conventional beginning of such a book is phrased in hortatory terms. Here we are, they say, dedicated to the holy ministry. It behooves us to be sincere. Not much good can come of our pulpit performances if we are mere actors. Let us make sure of our recommitment to our task. As pastors, our profession is so heavily charged with responsibility that it almost frightens one to consider its demands. And because this is, in very truth, the first and greatest fact at issue, the author customarily addresses himself to this part of his book with such vigor and at such length that by the time he has done reconsecrating us to the job, he has used up about a third of the paper his publisher has assigned to him for the recording of his ideas.

This much achieved, and when our adviser is satisfied that we are sufficiently repentant over our laziness and properly ashamed of our poor

PREFACE ee workmanship, he talks to us about the science and art of preaching.

Advices on homiletics, whatever their source, are so uncannily alike that the recipient may be pardoned for suspecting the authors of collusion. Much time is spent with the fundamentals of voice culture, respiration, and whether the sermon should be delivered with or without notes or manuscript. If the writer himself happens to pursue the method of walking the floor, talking to himself, on Saturday nights, with the expectation of speaking as he is moved by the Holy Ghost, next morning, he is apt to talk about the sermon that is read from a manuscript as if it must be delivered in the manner of one reading the minutes of the last meeting. If he is a manuscript preacher, he is likely to refer to the extemporaneous method in terms which fail to elevate the adherents of that practice to upper seats in the synagogue where the intelligentsia are wont to foregather.

Two-thirds of the book now having been written, the typical author of counsel to ministers turns his attention to the duties of the pastoral office. By this time he is growing weary. He remembers what he has been told by others, and feels safe in repeating it. ‘The minister should study all forenoon, and call all afternoon. He should visit the sick, console the sorrowing, and be on the alert for oppor-

< PREFACE tunities to be helpful to his fellow men. Not infrequently a daily programme is suggested, itemized by hours, which is about as useful as a crutch to a lame dog. What we need, apparently, is some technical literature, in our line, specializing on the details of the minister’s pastoral life and the everyday demands of his office.

The’ medical profession offers an excellent example in this matter. When doctors write to doctors, they restrict themselves to some narrow field which they till intensively. One man produces four hundred pages on the eccentricities of the thyroid gland; another compiles nine dollars’ worth of information on osteosarcoma; another limits himself to a discussion of the remedial agents used in the treatment of septic conditions. These men have nothing to say, in such works, concerning the honor, dignity, or ethical imperatives of their profession; not that these are negligible considerations, but because that phase of their calling deserves separate treatment.

A little while ago, in a brief series of essays, published in The Christian Century, I addressed myself to the younger members of our profession concerning some of the practical activities involved in our business. Judging from the voluminous correspondence which these articles produced, and the eager questions asked relative to other pastoral problems of equal im-

PREFACE xi portance to those under discussion, there is room for a book on this subject.

There will be a minimum of talk, in this volume, about the necessity of our being thoroughly consecrated to our task. It will be assumed that all this is fully understood and appreciated. There will be next to nothing said here about our pulpit ministry; although it will be quite impossible to avoid all mention of sermon-composition, seeing this is a weekday task.

It will suit my mood to speak by the process of direct address, mostly. I am offering my remarks to the youth of our profession—seminary students in training for the ministry, and young preachers who are meeting many of their pastoral experiences for the first time. I shall assume that the reader knows very little about the practical solution of parish problems. All the venerable veterans in the service are therefore notified that the observations about to be vouchsafed are intended for the inexperienced youngsters of our profession. Our elders and betters will find very little here previously unknown to them; and it is cheerfully conceded that this thesis might easily be elaborated, to its vast improvement, by scores of them, in phrases more felicitous and in a tone of higher authority.

Having staked off my claim, I invite the novices of our vocation to drape themselves xii PREFACE about the old man’s knee, and turn an attentive ear. If the oldsters wish to stand by and observe the clinic, they may consider themselves welcome. The seat of the scornful, however, has been temporarily removed from the operating pit to make room for the class.

Advance notice is hereby posted that I do not propose to be hurried. Neither shall I feel under compulsion to lay out all of my remarks after the manner of a new real-estate allotment. This is not a class in engineering. If it pleases me to ramble from the motion before the house, at any time—lest I forget to mention some matter that bobs up, inadvertently—I shall do it without so much as a by-your-leave. I may thus face my task with greater freedom; and, anyway, it is an old man’s right.

Certain phases of the articles published in The Christian Century, to which reference has been made, are reproduced here, with the consent of the editor, to whom I acknowledge indebtedness for this favor.

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CHAPTER I THE MINISTRY AS A PROFESSION O take immediate advantage of the priv

ileges of senescence, let me speak of my

own feeling toward the ministry as a profession.

I have recently celebrated the twentieth anniversary of my ordination into the Christian ministry. I entered this profession, which was also my father’s, with both eyes open to most of its exactions, many of its sacrifices, and some of its rewards. Now that a score of years have been spent in it, were I again to choose a vocation, knowing all that I do to-day about its requirements and recompenses, I should unhesitatingly ratify my earlier decision.

I am not seeking to convey the impression that these twenty years have brought no problems. Many a sunset has found me disinclined to sit down at the piano and sing “‘A Perfect Day.”’ There have been hours when, if somebody had offered me a nice, fat part as a shovelwielder in a ditch, with the understanding that my immediate burdens would be lifted, I should have been disposed to follow him. To the best of my knowledge, this is the common lot of all

i men, regardless of the nature of their employment. They may expect an occasional dull day when life is something quite other than one grand sweet song.

But, by comparison and contrast, I am convinced that our profession is about as free of annoyances as any useful vocation. Casual observation will assure you that all of the professions, and every other sort of retail business involving personal, hand-to-hand contacts with the public, confront problems equally or more difficult to solve. Perhaps a certain amount of obstreperousness on the part of a small percentage of one’s clientéle only makes the job more interesting. At least, much aid and comfort may be had through that philosophy when things are going at sixes and sevens in one’s work.

Traditionally it is believed that the preacher suffers more than other men from the petty irritations of his office—annoyances put upon him by persons who, either in zealous ignorance or excessive overvaluation of their own administrative and advisory talents, burden his life until even the storied grasshopper of Ecclesiastes has naught on him in that respect.

If it is not positively immoral to seek solace by contrasting one’s portion with that of one’s less fortunate neighbors, the preacher may comfort himself by observing that his lot is no harder than many another whose actual rewards are not so abundant as his own. How, for example, would you like to be the “‘trouble clerk”? at the telephone exchange? Perhaps it would be a good thing for some of us if we might contrive to swap jobs with these people for a week. We might return to our ministry in a more contented state of mind—assuming we still had our minds. What manner of poise must be exacted of him who, all day long, listens to the whines and snarls addressed by the infuriated to the “‘adjuster’’ whom the gas company has appointed as its official goat! What must be the length, breadth, and depth of her tranquillity who conducts the “complaint bureau”? in the big department store! One marvels at her spiritual resources—or is she paralyzed on that side, so that she doesn’t feel the blows any more? What kind of patience must the ticket agent possess who, every day, must listen, respectfully, to queries conceived in ignorance and brought forth in stupidity! How must the workman suffer who dares not, for the sake of his children’s bread and butter, offer any back talk to an insolent and unjust foreman!

But these people, you say, are hardly to be compared to us. Their station in life is different. Very well; if that is the trouble, consider the case of the most prosperous merchant of your acquaintance; owner of his business, we will say. This man is obliged to deal, diplomatically as possible, with all manner of troubles from without and within his establishment. The problem of petty pilfering alone demands the services of an expensive staff of experts in detection in the larger shops. “These employees are not policemen, with clubs and badges and raucous voices. They are there to handle, as graciously and considerately as may be, the surprising delinquency of persons from whom much better things than larceny might have been expected. They are there to make theft look as innocuous as possible to the astounded husband who comes in, upon polite request, to pay for something that accidentally fell off the counter into the lady’s hand-bag.

Moreover, the merchant is obliged to deal, tactfully as he can, with the case of those who, while they do not. actually steal from him— fearing to be apprehended—perform the equivalent of it by taking his goods out on approval for a brief period, but long enough for them to break faith with him, and violate his confidence in them. The party gown is worn, that night, and returned to the store, next day, refused. The gloves are rendered unmarketable, but not unreturnable. Everybody has seen dull people handling dainty gift cards and de luxe editions, with dirty hands or grimy gloves, while the merchant stands by, helplessly, watching his good property depreciate to serve no better cause than to safeguard the sensitive feelings of ostensible customers who have learned a very great deal more about their privileges than their responsibilities.

The merchant, then, deals with the thief, the near-thief, the liar, and the fool every day! Not once in six months—every day! He has added to this the problem of laziness, incompetency, disloyalty, and dishonesty among his employees. ‘The most trusted man he has may turn up with a shortage. His best buyer may prove to be a grafter. The oldest clerk in the place may be operating a “fence”’ for crooks. He never expects to solve his problems. He only wants to keep them under fair control. For, while he is dealing, on the one hand, with a small percentage of thieves and half-wits, both in his patronage and his employ, the larger number, by far, are normal; and these he counts upon to provide him with his business prosperity.

The captain of industry, in the grip of economic conditions which, however he may deplore them, are problems he must accept, mostly as they stand, carries burdens not very well understood by the rank and file of the people. On one side, he deals with an increasingly large number of workmen to whom the amount in the Saturday pay envelope is of much more concern than the quality of the labor they perform or the volume of production. Back of them, and prodding them to acts of insubordination, are the professional trouble-makers whose positions depend upon their activity in the cause of industrial discontent. It is difficult for the big man in industry to ascertain exactly who is loyal and who is not. He may be disposed to deal generously with the loyal and efficient. Frequently he is disappointed and chagrined to find his trust violated. On the other hand, he is the servant of a directorate. Back of the directors are the stockholders. Both sides—the capitalistic forces and the laboring element—are out to get all they can, almost by any hook or crook. Add now to this his problems of competition with similar concerns whose management may be utterly unscrupulous—and you have dished up a mess that is far from palatable.

Consider the physician’s problems. Patients who quit him for another doctor never bother to explain their action. He does not know whether he unwittingly said something that caused offense, or was found unsuitable professionally. He is frequently called out at 3 A.M. to deal with the hysteria of somebody who needs only to be spanked; but he is expected to be gracious, attentive, and anxiously concerned. He may be doing his utmost at the critical stage of a pneumonia case, and return, after an hour’s absence, to find that upon the advice of Auntie McFudgeon, next door, his treatment has been abandoned for hers. He may be on the way toward success with some tedious convalescent demanding rigorous hygienic and dietary regulations, and learn, one day, that his patient has discarded the whole regimen to espouse Christian Science. The chances are that after he has spent many weary weeks toiling over a ten-year-old whose legs were shrivelled with infantile paralysis, and has just begun to notice the first faint signs of improvement, he discovers that the parents have decided to avail themselves of the services of some flashily advertised chiropractor who, six months earlier, was operating a jitney bus. He has been nursing a crippled back, with tireless devotion, and, maybe, no hope of material reward beyond the consciousness of good service rendered, and find, some day, that the patient’s silly parents have permitted an alleged divine healer to remove the brace, to the complete undoing of all his labor. Yet one does not hear him complain; because, while he is dealing with a certain element that lacks the judgment to co-operate with him to their own advantage, there are many more who can be depended upon to obey his orders and treat his counsel with respect.

How would you like to be the superintendent of the public schools, and spend a generous portion of each afternoon listening to fond mothers of impeccable small boys as they narrate the injustices their offspring have suffered at the hands of the gargoyles who pretend to teach, and irate ignoramuses who come to quarrel over the brand of biology taught in the high school ?

So, if you will calmly survey the trying problems of other lines of business than ours, you may reach the conclusion that our profession is about as free as any of them from the most disgusting irritations and annoyances.

Sometimes I like to think of myself as an employee and the church as my employer. Considering our relation to be that, I am only fair and honest when I say that, as an employer, the church has treated me squarely. Frequently I hear of ministers whose experiences are not so pleasant, and I have no occasion to doubt their word. Sometimes it happens that a sleepy congregation will permit itself to be controlled by a small lay leadership whose judgment is poor. Out of a situation like that there may arise a great deal of bother for the minister. It is possible for a very self-conscious official board to make things hard for their spiritual adviser. Sometimes the prudential committee is disgustingly frugal; made so, however, by long struggle to stretch an insignificant total of receipts over an alarming bill of expenses. And if it seems imperative that the minister must be cautioned about preaching on_ this-that-or-the-other subject which infuriates our wealthiest contributor, let the preacher bear the fact in mind, however indignant he may be, that the fiscal problems of the church are very real to the men who have become custodians of them. ‘Thirty pieces of silver loomed up rather impressively to the man of Kerioth, after he had been squeezing mites and farthings for three years in an effort to preserve the solvency of the Apostolic College. Don’t misunderstand me. I am _ not trying to apply the soft pedal to any pulpit utterance which needs to be made in the cause of pure and undefiled religion. When a thing simply has to be said, it has to be said, even if the whole Board of Trustees walks out in a body, and the wealthy contributor has a fit! But, sometimes it is something that really could go very well without saying. At all events, do not forget that the prudential committee has its troubles. I am informed that it is at this point that many ministers experience their chief annoyance.

My memory goes back to some of the trying events in the ministry of my father. Entering the profession after fifty, and by way of circumstances which, while they constitute the most interesting story I know, were not conducive to the receipt of calls to city churches, his pastorates were rural charges. He never aspired to any other fields than these. His salaries were small, which did not matter greatly, for his own wants were simple, and my mother was an excellent manager. I never once heard him complain about the size of his income. An unfailing sense of humor sustained him, sometimes, in moments when, but for his ability to recall some petty performance on the part of his official boards as a screaming farce, he might have been completely overwhelmed with disgust. Having left an honorable and lucrative law practice to become minister to a group of struggling little churches, at a salary of four hundred dollars per annum, plus a house, it is doubtful if he could have endured the slow grind of voluntary poverty with any other attitude than the ability to see its humorous aspects.

Uncle Noah S., superintendent of the Bethel Sunday-school, when approached by a member of the Bethel church, shortly before Christmas, soliciting a contribution toward a gift for the minister, replied that inasmuch as he had been their Sunday-school superintendent for twenty years (which was all of fifteen years too long for any man to be in that position), he thought it would be pleasant if the gift were made to him instead of the preacher. Said Noah: “Make me the present, and I shall give the minister the equivalent of it.” And because he was the most important man in the congregation, subscribing twenty dollars a year to the church, and superintendent, and Deacon for Life, they complied with his request, hurrying to the parsonage, however, to report the incident.

Having already discovered the exact dimensions of Uncle Noah’s microscopic soul, my father waited, with eager curiosity, the promised dénouement. Holidays were long passed, and it had begun to seem as if Noah had forgotten, when, one Sunday, our family was invited to drive home with the old fellow for dinner. After the feast had been properly disposed of, and his populous household had been called into the big living-room where the guests waited, impatiently, the bestowal of an equivalent of the gold watch he had received from the Bethel Christmas-tree, Uncle Noah strode majestically into the foreground, his hands behind him, evidently holding the gift. He made a little address, in which he expressed his loyalty, admiration, and friendship for his pastor; expected to make him a present; couldn’t think of anything he valued more highly than the product of his own pet bees, which he had come to love as tenderly as a father loves his children; and, with a flourish, brought forth a quart jar of strained honey!

My father replied, gravely and graciously, with words which I would give much to be able to recite verbatim. As nearly as I can recall, he told Uncle Noah that while the gift was far too precious to use in any ordinary manner, due to its sentimental value, it would henceforth occupy an honored place upon the mantel at the parsonage; and it would be our delight, pursued my father, to tell the beautiful story to all the friends from Bethel who, from time to time, sat with us about our grate. I don’t know what the watch was worth, but I am very sure my father, through the years that passed thereafter, had a great deal more fun with that jar of honey than he ever could have had with the watch.

In another parish it was customary for the “joint council’’—representatives of all the offcial boards of the six churches in that “charge” —to assemble at the parsonage on a certain Saturday afternoon at the close of the church year, to settle up. There was a deacon at the Mount Hope church (I have changed the name of that institution because a few of Philip’s heirs and assigns still reside in the neighborhood, and I bear them no grudge) who, for many years, had hauled the last load of clover-hay to the preacher as a gift. On the occasion of the annual meeting of the “joint council” to which I refer, the Mount Hope congregation was found to be four dollars and seventy-five cents short of meeting its not excessive pledge toward my father’s salary. Philip was probably worth fifty thousand dollars, and there were three or four other farmers in that church who rated as highly in this world’s goods. The deputation from Mount Hope tugged at their whiskers, at a complete loss to solve the problem of their deficit. Presently a light broke in the eyes of Philip. ‘“‘Parson,”’ he said © shyly, “I reckon I'll hev t’ charge yuh fer that | air clover-hay, this time.” My father smiled and replied: “Very well, Philip; how much was it worth?” “About five dollars, I cal’late,” Philip answered. “Then I owe you a quarter, don’t I?’ Philip chuckled and “’lowed” that was so. Father handed Philip the coin, and Philip put it into his pocket. There were eighteen men present, and not one voice was raised in protest. [hese men loved my father in their dumb, stupid, cloddish way, and he knew it. Doubtless, they all wished this transaction might have eventuated in some other manner; but they had no remedy to offer.

Of course a situation like that is the preacher’s own fault. I do not presume to pass censure upon my father. If he blundered, it was an error of his tremendously big heart. He permitted people to impose upon him in this way. But, practically considered, I do not believe it was very good for their souls to be allowed to conduct themselves so. It would have been in the interest of their salvation to have heard a few remarks, occasionally, on the fine virtue of being decent to their minister as an employee.

In my own experience, there has been no meanness shown toward me by the officers of the churches I have served. I trust it may not sound too bumptiously impertinent when I say that I would not have permitted it, in any case; but it never became necessary for me to clamor for my rights. As to my wages, I have always been paid, promptly, all that was due me. My income, through the years, has compared very favorably with that of the majority of those who subscribed toward it. Moreover, I am disposed to believe that it always came pretty close to being my earning capacity, for if I had been worth very much more I would have had bids for my services in larger amounts.

In these days when so very much is being said about ‘‘an underpaid ministry,” I often wonder if we have not talked more than necessary on that subject. It has never been my right or duty to inquire how many of my confessedly underpaid colleagues might have increased their wages by donning some other uniform, but I have some private opinions on that matter locked in my desk to be published posthumously when I am safe from the remarks which verily would be their reward.

If one may take the risk of being irritatingly candid, the less talking you do about “an underpaid ministry”’ the brighter will be your own chances to refute that statement as it might apply to your case. Most people are too much occupied with their own affairs to make a meticulous invoice of their neighbors’

actual value. They accept others at their own self-rating, just as the fire-insurance agent takes your word for it that you have a thousand dollars’ worth of furniture in your house. Only when there has been a fire does he come around with a pencil and tablet to investigate the exact state of your worldly effects. Likewise, it is only when your personal value to society is in question that the public goes to the bother of making a serious inventory of you. Ordinarily, it rates you at your own appraisal of yourself. If, therefore, you go about saying to a generation that estimates one’s worth mostly in terms of money that you are underpaid, most people will catalogue you with all the other underpaid persons of their acquaintance—an estimate which will not only do you no credit but actually jeopardize your chances to improve upon your condition.

It is one thing for a man voluntarily to assume a life-work inadequately remunerated, preferring to derive his happiness from his opportunities to serve than from pleasures purchasable with a large income. It is quite another thing when, having entered upon that profession, open-eyed and fully informed as to its financial limitations, he sourly frets and complains. Doubtless, if I were speaking to laymen, I would add another paragraph or two, relative to this matter; but I am not now talking to them, but to you. If your people are behaving meanly toward you in this matter, refusing to give you as much as you are rightfully entitled to, you would better leave them; for it is a clear case that you are doing them a bad turn by remaining to be treated in a manner that militates against their own sense of honor. Resign, and let some other man come in and do for them something that you have apparently been unable to do. Accept the call to that other church which has offered you the larger salary representing your present earning capacity. Very brutally—if no other church has indicated that you possess a higher earning capacity than you now have—what makes you think you are getting less than you are worth? Let me repeat: if I were speaking to laymen, I might approach this subject from another angle.

You will find, if you have not already discovered it, that there are many subtle temptations in our profession. If some ministers are full of whine and whimper about their hard lot, their exacting duties, the heavy burdens put upon their time and strength, it is largely the fault of a well-meaning laity. One of the popular delusions about our business is that it overworks us. Of course this is a pet American obsession. Seven persons out of every nine, in this country, are indulging in such foolish talk about themselves, obviously to create the impression that their services are in great demand. You will do well to avoid contracting this silly habit of chattering about how busy you are. Beware of beginning it; for it is as dangerous as a drug addiction. Once you get your little piece down pat, and find yourself repeating it, on all occasions—too busy to eat, too busy to sleep, too busy to study, too busy to do much but talk about how busy you are— you'll never get over it! It becomes an obsession, a mania, a psychoneurosis! If you've begun it, stop it, while it is yet day!