SOME CHAPTERS OF MY LIFE STORY
By H. C. Morrison
CHAPTER 11
At this conference in Danville we had a young preacher named Hudson, unusually handsome and devout. While a local preacher supplying a circuit I had lived on a circuit adjoining his and had heard him preach. He was a man of marked ability. He made a very fine appearance in the pulpit. He spoke well. His face shone with a glow of love. He was greatly appreciated by his people. In those "good old days" salaries were very small, parsonages were not furnished, moving was expensive and wasteful. For some reason at the conference before this one where I was received, Brother Hudson was moved quite a distance. He was so short on finances that he had to sell his horse to make the trip, buy some additional furniture, as well as being careful to see there were no open accounts left behind.
Looking back, I have wondered how preachers and their families managed to live. A man with a wife and two or three children was doing fairly well if he received a salary of $600, and frequently, it was the promise of such salary which the preacher did not receive. His removal canceled the $25,
$50, $75, or $100 which the stewards had carelessly neglected, and was not paid. It was because of conditions in these times that Brother Hudson had to sell his horse.
When he read his report, which was a good one from a poor circuit, he, being on probation, was asked to retire. His presiding elder spoke of him in highest terms. He said, "Bishop, he is a very promising young preacher. He is industrious. He doesn't get much money, but he knows how to work. He went into the woods, chopped his winter wood and borrowed a team from a neighbor and hauled it to his parsonage. His churches are scattered wide apart. He had to sell his horse to settle up accounts and make his move, but he is a good walker. He never misses an appointment. He has stepped off many a mile reaching his churches on time. He is a promising young man."
The presiding elder's talk made a fine impression on preachers and visitors. Bishop Keener stood up and said, "It is no sort of commendation of a young preacher to me to say he walks his circuit.
There are too many good horses in Kentucky for a preacher to have to walk in order to fill his appointments. He is improvident." A pain shot through my heart. I could hardly believe the words I had heard. Was it possible that a Methodist bishop would speak in that way about a consecrated, earnest young man who was carrying the message of the Lord?
Jesus Christ walked His circuit and it was a large one. The only time we hear of His riding was when He rode into Jerusalem on an ass's colt. If He had come in with splendid regalia on a magnificent horse the ecclesiastics would have been much more ready to receive Him, but they were utterly disgusted and outraged when the people were proclaiming a man king who came riding into Jerusalem on a long-eared donkey. St. Paul walked his circuit. I sat there thinking of how my heart burned within me when walking three, four, five, and six miles as a young preacher. I took the short cut, stopped for prayer in the woods, strode across the fields, the Lord making my feet like hinds' feet as I went with a message to the people. The memory of those walks is precious to me today. I have ridden good horses since then; I have swept through the country in swift automobiles; I have ridden fast trains; I have sailed the seas in many great ships, but I have never enjoyed any mode of travel more than when I was a young local preacher, my soul on fire, walking over the hills, through the fields and a skirt of woodland, to preach to the good people of dear old Shiloh Church, Glenmary, and Wesley's Chapel. I was poor in this world's goods. Silver and gold had I none, but I had a great
Saviour and a glad message, perhaps poorly delivered. Somehow, in those long walks I never seemed to get tired.
I have no words with which to express the pain I felt, and the pity and love I had for my Brother Hudson accused of being "improvident," when he was being moved about from place to place paying heavily for the movement of his furniture, practicing the closest economy to support his family, loving his Lord, his bishops, and his people with a fervent heart, and then to come up from his field of service to be publicly and severely criticized, and called improvident before a multitude of people.
It hurt me so keenly and deeply I have never gotten over it.
The thing that amazed and grieved me the more was that none of the old preachers had the courage to stand up with a few words of explanation and defense, but a dead silence fell over the place; no one spoke; the report of the next young preacher was called. I meditated and asked myself if, in joining the conference, I was prepared, if occasion should arise, to meekly submit to such a public attack upon myself from a presiding bishop.
From that day to this, everything that's good and true and manly within me rises in protest and indignation when I hear a bishop, receiving a large salary, living in an elegant home, being hauled about in the finest cars, entertained in the wealthiest homes, and fed at the most sumptuous tables, utter any rebuke or discourteous and unkind remarks to a devout preacher who is struggling on some poor circuit, to carry the Gospel message, hardly receiving money enough to supply his family with nutritious food. I have frequently heard such sharp criticism from the chair that pained me more for the man who uttered the criticism than for the humble preacher who received it, and went humiliated and wounded back to his hard task with meager support. It is this sort of thing that is creating strong sentiment against life tenure of that high office in our Church.
I have always been opposed to short-term bishops. The Church should elect men it can trust, and give them years for development in their office, for traveling extensively throughout the Church and about the world, for enlarging their views of the needs of humanity and their sympathies for the struggling masses as they fight their way through the world in need of consecrated, Spirit-filled leadership. Good bishops cannot be made; they must grow; it takes time for a man to become a great shepherd and leader in the Church of God among men; however, it appears to me, as I travel among Methodists, that the short-term is coming; life tenure in that high office will soon be a thing of the past.
Personally, I have no right or occasion to complain of unkind treatment received from a Methodist bishop. I have found in them some of the greatest men and truest friends I have ever known. To me, Bishop McTyeire, from whom I received in my young days, most encouraging words along with my appointment to my first station, was the tallest tree in the Methodist forest, strong as a mighty oak, with a breadth of sympathy and kindness which made him, not only a great bishop, but a Father in Israel. I frequently heard the eloquent Galloway and had close personal touch with him, which was a benediction and a blessing. I could say the same of Bishop Hendrix and of Bishop Kavanaugh. To me, Bishops Candler and Denny are men of towering intellect and kindly souls. Bishop Kilgo was one of the truest and best friends I ever had. Bishop Robert McIntyre, of the M. E. Church, was my warm friend, before and after his elevation to his high office. I have never known truer men or had
kinder friends than Bishops Joyce, McCabe, Mallalieu, Oldham, and Warne. Bishop McCabe asked me to travel with him and preach at five of the conferences he was to hold one year. My time was engaged. I have since regretted that I did not cancel the engagements and go with him. It was his last year of service. He died in the full bloom of a beautiful loving ministry. When Bishop Joyce was stricken while preaching to a congregation of many thousands of people at Red Rock, Minn., camp meeting, at the close of his sermon, he fell into my arms, never to utter another sentence in this world, but to go straight home to his Christ. We had talked together that morning for hours about the great and blessed things of the kingdom of God among men, and the things that concerned us deeply in Methodism. There was no need for any sort of legal union between me and those saints of the Church who have gone home to God. We were one in heart.
SOME CHAPTERS OF MY LIFE STORY
By H. C. Morrison
CHAPTER 12