Chapter 3: Launching Out.
Chapter 3: Launching Out.
"Whosoever may
Discern true ends here-shall grow pure enough
To love them, brave enough to strive for them,
And strong enough to reach them, though the roads be rough."
E. B. BROWNING.
LAUNCH OUT INTO the deep," the Master said, when his sermon was done. On the shore stood the eager crowds that had thronged and pressed Him. He felt unequal to go amongst them after the long strain imposed by his miracles and teaching. The calm lake, with its far stretches of tranquil water, in which mountain and sky were reflected, and from across whose surface the light fresh breeze came to fan his face, beckoned Him. Besides which He had probably already heard the story of the unsuccessful night. He knew something of the needs of a fisherman's home. He desired to pay amply for the use of the fishing-boat. And deeper than all there was the urgent necessity to give his followers in parabolic form a lesson in catching men.
Peter and the rest had to learn that the way to success in Christian work lay in obedience to the command of Christ, though apparently in collision with the results of human foresight and prudence.
No fisherman, of all that plied their craft around that lake, would have dreamed of launching forth at noontide for a haul of fish, knowing well that they would be lying in the deep water beyond the reach of his net. It was, therefore, a searching test of their willingness to obey the word of Christ. Our Lord also wished to teach his Church no longer to hug the shore, or to content herself with a work amongst the chosen people, and those who had an inclination towards good things; but to go forth where men congregated in the great deeps of human life, and there, even when experience and sagacity were at fault, to obey his command in letting down the Gospel net.
Our churches have been too slow in heeding the Master's command. They have been content with their own small circle, the members, the congregation, and the Sunday Schools, with their several coteries; but they have made too few attempts to deal with the great masses which seldom come within our places of worship. These need our care, they are the other sheep which the Good Shepherd said that He must seek; and they are really more susceptible to the appeals of the Gospel than those who have been reared in Christian homes, or within the silver notes of the Gospel.
I have sometimes described these reminiscences as "deep-sea fishing." A lecture, bearing that title, was once widely advertised in London, with the effect of attracting some sailors from the East End, who expected to hear something about their own calling. I am afraid they were a little disappointed when they discovered that my deep sea was not that of the ocean, but the great abyss of human life, with its teeming shoals, its countless multitudes.
These records of my own experiences in this direction are set down in the hope that I may encourage others to launch their fishing smack, and let down their nets where I have found so much interest and such rich spoils. One main secret of success in church life is the organization of its members and adherents for work amongst the masses of people. Only our nets should be both mended and clean, that we may be prepared at any time to obey the Master's summons.
I well remember my first walk through Leicester, up its long London Road, passing out from the station, and meeting the long stream of operatives hurrying down the street, from their brief dinner-hour, to the heart of the town, where the factories are situated. And as they passed me in the quick step of their busy life, I could not help saying to myself, "Shall I ever know these people, or understand them, or win their confidence and love?" And recollections arose before me of J. P. Mursell, and Edward Miall, and Nathaniel Haycroft, who had wielded a mighty influence over those same masses, by the force of an eloquence, a genius, a brilliance of thought and diction, a clear-headedness and directness of statement, of which I knew myself to be destitute. And my heart sank within me.
But I had yet to learn that the true way to the heart of a town is open to any man who will use the golden key of kindness, and concentrate his energies to doing those deeds of mercy, the opportunity for which lies around each one of us, however small our powers, however circumscribed our sphere.
In the earlier years of my Leicester ministry I failed in finding the path which led to the accomplishment of my cherished purpose. There were many reasons for this; the chief of which, perhaps, was a certain idea of the dignity of the ministerial office, which restrained me from entering freely into the life of the people, and hedged me around with a reserve that hid my real self. All this, however, in God's own time and way, came to an end when, having resigned my pastorate of Victoria Church, I undertook the work which developed into Melbourne Hall, and from the first was intended to reach those masses of the people who seemed altogether beyond the ordinary means of grace.
It was a little after the commencement of the services in the Museum Buildings, that the work at the prison-gate began in the following way. A young girl who attended our services came to me one day in great distress about her father, who was in gaol, and likely to come out on the following morning. She wished me to meet him as he was discharged, and do my best to save him from his bad companions, who would be probably waiting for him. This I readily undertook to do; and it was out of this trivial incident that all the work of which I am to write arose. How often it is that, when we are looking for some great work to do, a little child, as in the old legend of St. Christopher, asks us to carry it across the rushing stream; or a tiny act of ministry is required by some servant or neighbour; and this is the rill which broadens, widens, and deepens into the mighty river on which navies float and merchant vessels pass far up into the land.
On the following morning I left my home at a quarter to nine, not without considerable misgivings. It was a cold and dreary winter morning; a heavy mist was hanging over the town, and dripping heavily from the bare branches of the trees in the gardens and public walks. At nine I reached the gaol, and asked through the grating if a man bearing the given name was about to be discharged. Almost to my relief I discovered that he had been transferred to another prison, and that therefore, so far as he was concerned, my errand was in vain. However, I retired across the road, and waited quietly to see the usual method of discharge.
In a few moments more the little door in the great nail-studded gates opened, and a man stepped out, looking nervously around him, as if anxious about the welcome which he would receive from the world of men, which had been compelled to banish him from its midst. However, he was not left long in doubt; for from the side of the street where I stood, an interested spectator, two women sped across the road to greet him, one of whom-the elder-bore a long coat, into which she helped him, enveloping him from head to foot; whilst the other, slenderer and younger, perhaps wife or sweetheart, encircled his neck in a scarlet cloth, and so the two led him away into the public-house close by, and the door swung heavily behind them. Meanwhile, another man had emerged from the prison door, but there was no one to welcome him; and apparently not knowing what else to do, he followed in the wake of the others, across the road, to the public-house.
I have been credibly informed that the value of the custom of discharged prisoners had greatly enhanced the purchase-money of that public-house; and I cannot but be glad if my efforts did something to lessen the yearly revenue, because so often the whole of a man's good resolutions have been dissipated by a glass of beer, to which he has been treated, with the well-intentioned good-will of his companions and friends. And as we shall see presently, the Government mark-money may be put to better use than to be squandered in a drunken revel at the expense of the man who has earned it by months of industry and good behaviour. I have no ill-will against publicans as a body; but I have learned vehemently to hate the trade, and the facilities which abound so plentifully for the sale of intoxicants. What might not England be if only this accursed traffic were stayed! When will the Church of God in our land arouse herself for one great determined effort, to break the thraldom by which myriads are being continually dragged down to perdition?
There were standing near me some men of the lower artisan class, pipe in mouth, either waiting to go into their shops, or with nothing particular to do. These, too, had eyed the proceedings with a vague interest, and turning to them I said-
"Lads, is this the style of thing that goes on here most mornings?"
"Yes, sir," they said; "mostly."
"But," said I, "if a man comes out at yonder gaol door, and goes into the door of the public-house, he appears to me to come out of the gaol by the front door and go into it again by the back one; for I reckon that the public-house is the back door to the gaol."
"Well," said they, "what's a chap to do? When he comes out of that 'ere place, there's nowhere else for him to go to but the public."
It was perfectly true; and I felt that the time had come when it should be true no longer. So I crossed the road, rang the bell, asked to see the Governor, Miles Walker, Esq.-at whose hands from that moment I was to receive the most unwavering kindness and co-operation-and laid before him my request to be permitted to come each morning to escort the discharged prisoners to one of the splendid Leicester coffee-houses, which was within three minutes' walk.
He at once assented to my request, told me that he would put every facility in my way, and invited me to come there within the gates each morning that I might learn something of the prisoners with whom I should have to deal. And so I paid my first visit to the place, into whose gloomy doors I was to be admitted each morning for several happy following years, as I hope to tell.