Half a century ago, as a mere stripling out of college, it was my good fortune to become associated with the beginnings of a manufacturing company which now sells its products around the world. Although I have risen through the ranks to major responsibility, the nature of my work has remained essentially the same. For ten months of each year I have traveled among the main cities of the United States from the Atlantic to the Pacific and north of the Mason and Dixon Line. For only two months of each year have I ever had the chance to worship in my home church. On the majority of Sundays (some two thousand across the long span of time), I have attended Protestant public worship somewhere in the northern section of our country, always once, sometimes twice and, on occasion, three times. Out of what may well be a unique experience as a layman, I submit certain observations as I retire from active business.
If there has been a penalty in having spent such limited time in my own local church, there has been much advantage in worshipping with fellow Christians in different parts of our land. Never shall I forget, during the first year of my pilgrimage, the time I was in a suburban church listening to a young preacher who had been highly recommended to me by a friend. It was an electrifying experience. There have been many other inspiring experiences, sometimes in very unlikely areas, in which the power of the Christian fellowship has taken on light and meaning for the worshipper.
Sorting out the notes which I have preserved in my visitation of Protestant churches in the northern states across the years, I find five impressions, the first independent and the remaining four related to each other.
RISE OF THE FRINGE SECTS
The first impression concerns the rise of the fringe sects, those worshiping groups which have broken away or originated apart from the traditional churches in search for a greater simplicity of faith and worship. A half century ago these groups were hardly noticeable in the scene of the small, medium-sized, or large American city. Now they are conspicuous in the cities, and are purchasing and displacing churches of more familiar Christian tradition which have yielded to the suburban appeal. Members gather by the hundreds Sunday mornings, afternoons, and evenings, each frequently carrying a Bible. I was astonished recently to find this condition in a city of less than one hundred thousand and known for its world-famous university. These groups have little sense of formal worship. The leader is apt to wear a light grey suit and a loud tie: there are chatty announcements in the service, dance tune hymns, a crude sermon—all offensive to good taste. Yet in such groups of people, obviously comprising the lower income class, the atmosphere of devotion is very real, the sense of joyous faith highly apparent, and a radiancy of spirit unmistakable—much more so than in many of the historic denominational churches. In proportion to their means, the congregations of the sects provide generous offerings. They are “given to hospitality,” they surround the stranger with friendly greetings and ask him home to Sunday dinner. Furthermore, they faithfully send missionaries to many parts of the world.
It is difficult to measure the significance of the rapid rise of these sects in the last few decades. Does it imply more than a search for security in a century that has known terror and destruction in such a frightful degree? Or are these groups finding and expressing for everyday living a doctrine of our faith which organized Christianity as a whole has allowed to lapse?
LARGE LOCAL CHURCHES
The second significant development in the last half century has been the remarkable multiplication of local churches with large memberships. In 1910 the denomination in which I am enrolled had less than half a dozen churches with a membership of or above two thousand. In 1960 the same denomination contained more than one hundred such churches while the churches with a membership of around fifteen hundred had multiplied even faster. All the chief Protestant denominations have experienced the same speedy development of the large parish, particularly in suburban areas. There are, of course, obvious advantages in the larger units of membership, namely, more plentiful budgets, more widespread programs, and more adequate equipment. But there is one decided disadvantage: how can any preacher act as a pastor to a multitude?
In our Protestant tradition, it has been established as sound principle that the pastoral office and the preaching office are best expressed when blended in one individual. There are exceptions, as in the case of a gifted preacher who seldom calls and a gifted pastor who has obvious pulpit deficiencies; but, in general, the history of the local parish indicates that these exceptions prove the rule. With the swift increase in membership, a preacher becomes engulfed as a pastor. What is the answer? Have a multiple staff? That is doubtful. Just as the staff of a college or bank or business enterprise must have someone at the top to assume chief responsibility, so must the staff of the large parish. The man at the top has to be the preacher and when he cannot be the pastor also the whole parish loses. Indeed a good case can be made out for the relative ineffectiveness of the large church. It is better by far, and it means more active workers, more sacrificial giving, more adequate pastoral care, and no less effective preaching, when a church will found other churches rather than gather members to its own ranks. Four churches of 800 members each can offer a more significant witness than one church of 3,200 members. The fetish of size has damaged Protestantism because it has lessened the possibility of adequate pastoral work.
DEVELOPMENT OF FORMAL WORSHIP
Another noticeable change across the decades has been the extensive development of formal, ritualistic worship. Today the village church has its vested choir, even its lighted candles. So far has this process been carried that here, there, and everywhere in the American scene, at least north of the Mason and Dixon Line, it is often difficult for occasional visitors like myself to tell whether he is worshiping in a Presbyterian, Congregational, Methodist or Episcopalian church. The architecture, chancel, lectern, pulpit, prayers, responses, order of service, robed choirs, stained glass, and all else are very much alike in all four. Whether this represents gain, one cannot be sure. Back of any ritual is the one who conducts it. The sons and daughters of John Calvin, John Robinson, and John Wesley inherited and passed on to us a freedom of thought and form which provide a constant challenge in expression. There are no prayers like the prayers that come out of a deep spiritual experience. In many a church I have received the blessing of such utterance. Ritual, too, is a challenge, when its words are read as though for the first time in mingled awe and gratitude, those wonderful words of the Gospel. But too often, alas, the one who reads the prayers does not invest them with any note of reality and authority. So I am not completely reconciled to the trend which has engulfed us.
ENLARGEMENT OF PARISH PROGRAMS
Parallel with the rise of size and ritual among our Protestant churches is the development of programs. In the early period of my itinerant worship across the country, a church with a seven-day program was so rare that it was almost unknown, and well-equipped church buildings now found by the hundred had scarcely appeared. Morning and evening worship services, the Sunday School, and young peoples’ societies—that was Sunday’s program, and the remaining days of the week seldom included more than Wednesday night prayer meeting and the meeting of the women’s organization. The preacher-pastor was supposed to produce two sermons a week, consecrate his mornings to study and preparation, his afternoons and evenings to calling on parish families in a steady annual round which included all the sick and shut-ins. His occasional committee meetings did not take up much of his time. One never heard of nervous breakdowns among the clergy in 1910. How the picture has changed! Consider the printed program the ushers distribute to those who enter for worship at any well-organized church today! What a list of activities through the week! What an appeal for every age group! The beginnings of this can be traced to the period immediately after World War I which revealed on a convincing scale the power of mass appeal based on psychological principles. Ecclesiastical chieftains swiftly learned from the advertising experts, and blueprints began to flow to the parish minister’s desk in increasing volume. Quotas and pamphlets for membership gain, benevolence budgets, more modern teaching methods in the church school, this approach and that approach in the community, youth work, men’s work, women’s work, work among the sick, the preaching of sermons and the offering of prayers—all present a confusing multitude of directions and suggestions from central headquarters to the preacher-pastor of today. If the large parish prevents a pastor from being a pastor because of the sheer weight of numbers, I submit that this deluge prevents a preacher from being a preacher for the same reason. How can a preacher find time for proper sermon preparation when he must carry so many duties?
DECLINE OF EXPOSITORY PREACHING
The multiplicity of demand upon the minister of the local church, be it small or large, means that there is not sufficient time for preparation of sermons that are fruitful and edifying. In the decades of listening to thousands of sermons, I have detected several strata of influence much like the various civilizations an archaeologist uncovers in his excavating. The first decade was dominated by the denunciations of the so-called social gospel. Having read my Bible daily through a lifetime, I am aware of the messages of the prophets; but through those opening years I rarely heard a pulpit message based upon them which ministered to my own need. I was gaining promotion after promotion until I was supervising the work of several thousand men and women of varied creed and color. But there was little that I heard from any pulpit which helped me in my terrific responsibility. During the last decade I have had to listen to many sermons which assure me that if I think enough about success I will be a success, I will rid myself of my tensions, I will overcome my fears, and I will achieve self-mastery. The source of this frightful travesty of the Christian Gospel can be easily traced.
However, every now and then, and sometimes in inconspicuous pulpits, I have heard messages that meant much to me and my need. Invariably they were of the expository type. The preacher selected a text or passage from the Bible, related it to a fundamental human need in his opening sentences, and enlarged upon it in all its helpful suggestions throughout his sermon. Always I left such a church on Sunday wearing seven-league boots. Is that not the test of effective preaching! Why are such sermons so rarely heard? Sooner or later they cover the whole range of human need. But why are they neglected? I believe the reason lies in the multiplied demands made upon the present-day minister which rob him of time for adequate pastoral visitation and uninterrupted sermon preparation.
From time to time some veteran of the cloth will assert that the average level of preaching today is higher than it was yesterday. I would challenge that verdict. There were few mighty men in the pulpit a half a century ago, and there are few mighty men today. Such preachers are exceptional in any decade. The Christian fellowship is obliged to depend upon preachers of ordinary rather than extraordinary capacity. Were those preachers granted the time to become acquainted with human nature in their parish calling and learn the message of the Bible in their study and apply one to the other, there would be great reward for those who worship and listen. It is good to know that there are preachers who, in spite of the obstacles in their way, have achieved this combination. Across the last 50 years, two of them have never failed me whenever I have heard them. The first preacher served a small church just off one of the main highways of our largest city. There, Sunday after Sunday, he gave marvelously uplifting expositions of the Bible to a tiny congregation. Why was his church never crowded? I could never solve that mystery, for it seemed to me that the whole world should have been seeking him out. Now he has passed away. The other preacher served for almost three decades in a famous suburb in the Middle West. His church was always crowded. Today he lives in retirement in a university town and still carries on his ministry as a supply. It happens that one of my business associates was a member of his congregation for many years, and as we left the church together one Sunday morning he turned to me and said, “I have never needed a psychiatrist when I can hear such messages once a week.” As a Christian layman who has faced many problems in our industrial order, I understood and agreed with my associate’s remark.
SALESMANSHIP LAY AND CLERICAL
Throughout my lengthy career in industry, my work has had to do mainly with salesmen, sales methods, and sales conventions. Week by week and month by month, for over half a century, I have had the responsibility of directing an enterprise which now has vast proportions. In the earlier days when I compared the salesmanship that I listened to on Sundays with the salesmanship I dealt with on weekdays, I was able to mediate many hints and suggestions for the latter from the former. Preachers of an earlier period had learned how to present the claims of the Christian Gospel in simple, effective style, relate that Gospel to the needs and problems of human experience, and strive for a verdict. Indeed I gladly admit that what professional success I have had in directing salesmanship I owe mainly to studying the techniques of the preachers of my youth. Today I would say that the situation is reversed. Most preachers, particularly men younger than 50 years of age, would benefit if they studied the techniques of the speakers at a sales convention.
INFLUENCE ON THE FUTURE
The late John Foster Dulles, addressing a graduating class at a leading theological seminary in 1944, put this question: ‘What can the churches do to influence the pattern of the future?” His reply was, “My judgment is that their influence can be decisive.” These were the words of the most powerful and prominent Christian layman of our time. His judgment will be echoed by anyone who has had the chance, as I have had, to study the local Protestant churches across the areas of our own land. Now, as I cease my rather extensive itineracy and sit Sunday by Sunday in my home church, I give thanks for the countless fellowships of faith across our land and for those who guide and minister unto them. If I have written in criticism I write also in affection. Even in the world of the atom bomb, the message of Christianity abides. The influence of the churches can be decisive.
Samuel M. Shoemaker is the author of a number of popular books and the gifted Rector of Calvary Episcopal Church in Pittsburgh. He is known for his effective leadership of laymen and his deeply spiritual approach to all vital issues.
