CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 25
Three months of great excitement followed the Sunday morning when Dr. Bruce came into his pulpit with the message of the new discipleship. Rev. Calvin Bruce hadn’t realized how deep the feeling of his members flowed. He humbly confessed that the appeal he had made met with an unexpected response from men and women who were hungry for something in their lives that the conventional type of church membership and fellowship had failed to give them.
But Dr. Bruce was not yet satisfied for himself. One evening the bishop joined Dr. Bruce in his study.
They talked for some time about the results of the pledge with the Nazareth Avenue people before the bishop asked his friend, “You know why I’ve come to you this evening?”
Dr. Bruce shook his head.
“I have come to confess that I have not yet kept my promise to walk in His steps in the way that I believe I shall be obliged to if I satisfy my thought of what it means to walk in His steps.”
Dr. Bruce rose and paced his study. The bishop remained in the deep easy chair with his hands clasped, eyes glowing with determination.
“Edward”—Dr. Bruce spoke abruptly—“I have not yet been able to satisfy myself, either, in obeying my promise. But I have at last decided on my course. In order to follow it, I shall be obliged to resign from Nazareth Avenue Church.”
“I knew you would,” replied the bishop quietly. “And I came in this evening to say that I shall be obliged to do the same thing with my charge.”
Dr. Bruce turned and walked up to his friend. “Is it necessary in your case?” asked Bruce.
“Yes. Let me state my reasons. I’m sure they are the same as yours.” The bishop paused a moment, then went on with increasing feeling. “Calvin, you know how many years I have been doing the work of my position, and you know something of the responsibility and care of it. I do not mean to say that my life has been free from burden bearing or sorrow. But I have certainly led what the poor and desperate of this sinful city would call a very comfortable, yes, a very luxurious life. And I have been unable to silence the question of late: ‘What have I suffered for the sake of Christ?’ Maxwell’s position at Raymond is well taken when he insists that to walk in the steps of Christ means to suffer. Compared with Paul or any of the Christian martyrs or early disciples, I have lived a luxurious, sinful life, full of ease and pleasure. I cannot endure this any longer. I have not been walking in His steps. Under the present system of church and social life, I see no escape from this condemnation except to give the most of my life personally to the actual physical and soul needs of the wretched people in the worst part of this city.”
The bishop rose and walked over to the window. The street in front of the house was as light as day, and he looked out at the crowds passing, then turned, and with a passionate utterance that showed how deep the volcanic fire in him burned, he exclaimed, “Calvin, this is a terrible city in which we live! Its misery, its sin, its selfishness appall my heart. The awful conditions of the girls in some great business places, the fearful curse of the drink and gambling hall, the wail of the unemployed, the countless men who see in the church only great piles of costly stone and upholstered furniture and the minister as a luxurious idler—all this as a total fact in its contrast with the easy, comfortable life I have lived fills me more and more with a sense of mingled terror and self-accusation. What have I suffered for Jesus’ sake?” Dr. Bruce was very pale. Never had he seen the bishop or heard him when under the influence of such a passion. There was a sudden silence in the room. The bishop sat down again and bowed his head.
Dr. Bruce spoke at last: “Edward, I do not need to say that you have expressed my feelings also. I have been in a similar position for years. I cannot say that I have suffered any for Jesus. That verse in Peter constantly haunts me: ‘Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that ye should follow his steps.’ The sin and misery of this great city have beaten like waves against the stone wall of my church and of this house in which I live, and I have hardly heeded them, the walls have been so thick. I have reached a point where I cannot endure this any longer. I am not condemning the Church. I love her. I am not forsaking the Church. I believe in her mission and have no desire to destroy. Least of all in the step I am about to take do I desire to be charged with abandoning the Christian fellowship. But I feel that I must resign my place as pastor of Nazareth Church in order to satisfy myself that I am walking as I ought to walk in His steps. I must come personally into a close contact with the sin and shame and degradation of this great city. And I know that to do that I must sever my immediate connection with Nazareth Avenue Church.”
Again that sudden silence fell over those two men. It was no ordinary action they were deciding. “What is your plan?” The bishop at last spoke gently, looking with the smile that always beautified his face.
“My plan,” replied Dr. Bruce slowly, “is to put myself into the center of the greatest human need I can find in this city and live there. My wife is fully in accord with me. We have already decided to find a residence in that part of the city where we can make our personal lives count for the most.”
“Let me suggest a place.” He went on and unfolded a plan of such far-reaching power and possibility that Dr. Bruce, capable and experienced as he was, felt amazed at the vision of a greater soul than his own.
They sat up late working out the details. Their plan as it finally grew into a workable fact was in reality nothing more than renting a large building formerly used as a warehouse for a brewery, reconstructing it, and living in it in the very heart of a territory where the saloon ruled with power, where the tenement was its filthiest, where vice and ignorance and shame and poverty were congested into hideous forms. The two friends agreed to pool their money to finance the work, most of it going into the furnishing of the Settlement House.