Readings for such a time as this(1): - from: Wingspread, by A.W. Tozer _____________ The humble hear a voice Whatever others might do Mr. Simpson could not settle back to follow the prescribed duties of a pastor, and nothing more. He must evangelize. It was in his blood now and nothing could stop him. He suggested to the pastors of Louisville that work which had started under Major Whittle be continued every winter by the churches of the city uniting in a great: Sunday evening evangelistic campaign to be held in Public Library Hall. They were sympathetic with his zeal but they were not prepared to give up the security of the regular Sunday evening services to which they had been so long accustomed. for one campaign of a few weeks yes, but every year, and for long periods, well, you see, it would interfere with the habits of good church people and work a hardship on the local treasuries. Then it did smack of religious excitement, of enthusiasm a little out of hand; everything should be done decently and in order. On the whole they felt it would not be wise to agree to such a proposal, so they voted no, and the proposition was rejected. Rev. A. B. Simpson, pastor of Chestnut Street Church, would not be stopped by the cautious, if kindly, arguments of his brethren in the ministry. There was a lot in what they said, to be sure, but what was it all and what did it amount to when set over against the terrible fact that thousands walked the streets of Louisville who were without any hope of salvation, and who would be forever without that hope if the churches continued on in their regular groove? They had not reached these thousands, and just now they had voted not even to try to reach them. Mr. Simpson called his people together and laid the matter before them. The new blood circulating through their veins had come like a transfusion. They had come to like the sight of new converts and the sound of fresh testimonies. They were ready to hear their pastor. In a few weeks the Sunday evening meetings were discontinued at Chestnut Street Church, and the whole congregation went in a body to Public Library Hall for their evening services. The news spread like fire, and soon the auditorium was packed with men and women of every sort from all Louisville and vicinity. Simpson preached the Gospel to lost sinners with a tender grace unknown to him before, and unknown to most of the church people who heard him. He appealed directly to the hearts of the people and made no bones about it. They were lost, God loved them, Christ had died for them and now invited them to come home. They ought to come at once, no delaying, no waiting. He accepted as a foregone conclusion the truth of Christianity and refused to turn from his ministry of reconciliation to engage in argument with the half-persuaded or the unbelieving. What mattered one objection to the seven-day creation period, or a dozen objections to the inspiration of the Scriptures for that matter, or any other objections, when one hundred people were waiting to turn to God as soon as the way was explained to them? He was familiar with religious polemics, but he was too wise to engage in it before a congregation of lost men. So he went directly to the peoples hearts and sought to win them to Christ by any means that lay within his power. The daily papers took up the story of the Sunday evening evangelistic effort and gave it first page publicity. It may be that they were fed up on church dignity and relished a glimpse of simple humanity in the pulpit, or it may be that as newsmen they recognized a good story, but whatever the reason, they adopted Mr. Simpson and his Sunday evening meetings as an object of particular attention. Every Monday his sermon of the day before—at least a large part of it—appeared in the Louisville papers. No amount of paid advertising could have done as much as this did to boost the attendance. Indeed the attendance was no problem; frequently the problem was to find room for the crowds that flocked to the services. Mr. Simpson had learned from Whittle and Bliss the value of good gospel music. The crowds that came each Sunday night to Public Library Hall heard music, lots of it, the best that could be obtained; they enjoyed vocal combinations of every sort from solos to a chorus choir, and they joined in mass singing of old time church favorites and the more recent Gospel songs, composed by Sankey, Bliss, Crosby and others of the gospel musicians of the day. Popular? Sure it was popular, and it was frowned on by many of the sterile scribes of the synagogues, but to Mr. Simpson the word popular carried no terrors. It meant of the people, and it was people he was interested in. The dignity of the clergy could take care of itself; it would never lack defenders, but the people, the sinful, friendly, seeking multitudes: they mattered more than the opinion of some austere guardian of decadent orthodoxy. So the singing went on and the crowds loved it and kept coming back week after week to enjoy it. The heart of A. B. Simpson was delighted with what his eyes were beholding. He felt more than ever that this was to be his work. The scales were falling away and he was beginning to see clearly. The old idea of a little flock fed and comforted and bedded down for the night without a thought of the lost ones out of the wilds became unbearable to him. He must evangelize. His church must be an evangelistic church first and everything else only after it had done its work of evangelization. And now he comes forward with a brand new plan and lays it before his people. It is to build in the center of the city a plain but commodious tabernacle, built not after conventional church lines, but for utility, and located where the crowded ways cross each other, where the rag tag and the outcast, the poor and him that hath no helper may feel free to come and never worry because their clothes are ragged and out of fashion; where the common man with his middle-class wife and large family can come and not be uneasy if the baby makes a bit of a disturbance during the service. In short he proposes that his church become a center of evangelism for the whole city; that it change its psychology and think no more of its reputation, but rather of the lost of Louisville. Chestnut Street Church was already well out along that path and needed little prodding. With the exception of a few who could not see it, and left the fellowship, the members agreed to the radical step. A lot was purchased and the work of building begun. The winter following, Chestnut Street Church sought again to obtain Public Library Hall for their Sunday evening meetings, but found the way blocked. There was a little politician in the wood pile somewhere and the city authorities would not rent the hall. The new tabernacle was still in process of building; the Sunday evening mass meetings must go on. Result, the daring Mr. Simpson went straight to the owner of Macauleys Theatre and requested the use of the theatre (one of the largest and most popular amusement centers in downtown Louisville at that time) for Sunday evening services. It must have been a bit of a surprise to the gentleman who owned the theatre, for he was too painfully aware of the low esteem in which he and his worldly business were held by the church people. But business is business and the deal was made. When opening night rolled around and the multitudes flocked to the theatre to a religious service, there was a rending and splintering sound heard throughout all the churches: it was the wholesale smashing of religious precedents by Chestnut Street Church and her lovable but over zealous pastor! Many a stiff and proper saint that night drew his robes close to him and wondered in hollow tones what Christianity was coming to. This was carrying things too far! Nothing good could come of it! We who live nearly three-quarters of a century removed from those times may find it hard to understand why there should have been any objection to the holding of gospel meetings in a theatre. The explanation is simply that we have had two generations to get used to such meetings and it was new to them. We are no broader, no brighter than they were; we merely have custom on our side, and they had custom against them. We have seen it done before, and they had not. On such a matter as this, religious people do not think anyway, they merely react. Their emotions decide the verdict, and any thinking they may do is of very low wattage, and is brought in mostly to support their prejudices. Now, after we have discounted the objectors reasons ninety-five percent as pure rationalization of religious taboo-reaction, there still remains something to be said in favor of his position. Worldly plays are given in the theatre every night; irreligious and unwashed actors and actresses speak their profane lines, sing their spicy songs and dance their suggestive dances to the great delight of the graceless mobs that attend. The place, then, must be bad, altogether bad, and no child of God should go in the theatre. It cheapens the Gospel to take it to a theatre; it lowers the prestige of the Christian religion to go to a place of worldly amusement to pray. This was the line of attack on the meetings, and it sounded pretty convincing to the staid church people who wanted to be convinced. The newspapers (which had no inhibitions about the matter) defended Mr. Simpson against these critical attacks, and a few church leaders came to his side of the controversy, but the best people remained irrevocably opposed to such low-brow goings on. As for the pastor and his people, they smiled and went their way. They knew the answers. A place is good or bad, said they, depending upon who is in it and what they are doing. Things are never bad in themselves; they are merely neutral, becoming bad or good only as they are used for purposes either right or wrong, The theatre itself—the floors and walls and seats—is not bad per se, and when a crowd of people enters it bound on a holy errand, it becomes good, better than any consecrated shrine could be where men approach it in loveless duty or unbelief. And as for the prestige of the church: they had never heard that a shepherd loses prestige by going out into the mountains to bring the wandering sheep back to the fold again. The new tabernacle went up slowly and—as is often true—the cost went up rapidly. What had started out to be a modest building costing about $65,000 was blown up by the mounting ambitions of the trustees into a magnificent edifice running well over $100,000. About half of this was subscribed; the rest was church debt. Mr. Simpson fought this to a standstill, but the people won. He had fired their zeal, and now he was unable to direct it. He had wanted a plain building, tailor-made for the uses of mass evangelism, but low in cost and out of debt. They had given him a beautiful and imposing structure comparing favorably in appearance with the finest buildings in the country, but in debt to the tune of nearly $50,000. The new building—to be called Broadway Tabernacle—was at last ready for occupancy, and the Chestnut Street Church people moved in and went to work. But there was no dedication. Mr. Simpson flatly refused to dedicate debt. He made no effort to hide his feelings. Church debts, he told the people grimly at the opening service, are properly called church bonds, and a church with bonds is not free. At the conclusion of his sermon he called upon his people to rise in one brave, final sacrifice and clear off the debt then and there. This morning, he cried dramatically, I desire to place on this pulpit the simple standard, Broadway Tabernacle Free! free from debt, free to God, free to all. But the good people of the congregation were not equal to the occasion. They just could not muster heroism enough to meet the challenge, and the debt was allowed to remain for the two years that Mr. Simpson remained in Louisville after the erection of Broadway Tabernacle he continued to preach to the multitudes that crowded in to hear the message of salvation. The dream of his heart was being fulfilled; Louisville was hearing the Gospel and hundreds were turning to God. But a shadow remained over the tabernacle and over the heart of the pastor—the ugly shadow of debt—and he was not completely happy even though there were unmistakable evidences of Gods favor upon the work for those who like to toy with the riddles of history we record the following fact: A year after Mr. Simpson had left Broadway Tabernacle, and only about three years after the structure was built, the indebtedness was suddenly and unexpectedly paid out in full. Two months later the building went up in a roaring fire that destroyed it completely! All this presents a tangle of divine providence and inscrutable purpose too badly snarled for me to unravel. Anyone can work on it who has the time. - via WORDsearch10 #readingsforsuchatimeasthis #christjesus #theword #studyscripture #god #biblestudy #bible #jesus #faith #awtozer #vineofchristministries
Posted on: Mon, 12 Jan 2015 22:50:30 +0000