The London Pulpit. James Ewing Ritchie
we do more than take a very hasty glance at them.
The Moravian Brethren, who date from 1772, with Count Zinzendorf at their head (and who have no reason for their separate existence save the fact that, when they appealed to the lot as to whether they should join the Lutherans or not, the lot was against the junction), have 2 chapels and 1100 sittings.
The Jews have 11 synagogues and 3692 sittings.
The remaining congregations, with the exception of the Mormonites, who have now 33 places of worship, are almost exclusively isolated.
There are 94 chapels that thus defy classification; nor can we be surprised that such is the case. Our boast is, that every man is free to worship God according to the dictates of his own heart – that religious inquiry is unfettered amongst us – that every man who chooses may form a sect for himself. The advantages of this state of things preponderate over its disadvantages. The philosopher may despise, and the Christian of a generous heart and catholic aspirations may regret, that such should be the case – may think it better that men had wider views – better that we should stand on a broader platform than a sectarian one: but we may not quarrel with the conditions of religious existence. We must feel that these sects and schisms denote religious life and thought – that their absence would be death – and that, as the world grows and the truth becomes clearer, they will, one by one, disappear.
‘Thus star by star departs,
Till all have pass’d away;
And daylight high and higher shines,
Till pure and perfect day.
Nor sink those stars in empty night,
But hide themselves in heaven’s own light.’
The 94 chapels we have referred to, belonging to the New Church, the Brethren, the Irvingites, the Latter-Day Saints, Sandemanians, Lutherans, French Protestants, Greeks, Germans, Italians, have accommodation for 18,833. Of course some of these people have but little reason to give for the faith that is in them. Actually, in this age of intelligence – in these days of cheap literature and cheap schools – there are men and women so sunk in ignorance as to credit the absurd pretensions of Joanna Southcote or Joe Smith; but these people we must include. We sit in judgment on none; and thus we give the church and chapel goers, as follows:
According to the last returns, we have the following population: Finsbury, 323,772; Lambeth, 251,345; London (City), 127,869; Marylebone, 370,957; Southwark, 172,863; Tower Hamlets, 539,111; Westminster, 241, 611; and with other places not classified, in all, 2,362,236. If we compare this with the figures I have given, we shall see that, if all the accommodation that exists were used, rather more than a quarter of the London population frequented public worship. In reality, the number is less. Yet, perhaps, the returns show as much religious observance as we could expect.
By way of contrast, let us see how the London world that is not religious spends its Sabbaths. A very large and complicated organization would be required to collect the statistics of the habits of the population of London on a Sunday, but an attempt was made on August 16, of the present year, to throw some light upon the subject by a few gentlemen accustomed to observe and estimate large numbers of people. The outward passenger-traffic by the railways during the morning appeared to be about as follows: —
The steam-boats above and below bridge were crowded, and the various public gardens, &c, on the sides of the river, were also crowded. About 14,000 persons passed down the river, and about 6000 upwards, beyond the ordinary river traffic. In Greenwich Park there were about 80,000 persons, and Gravesend and Woolwich were also crowded by visitors, estimated at 10,000, including the patrons of Rosherville gardens, &c. At 5 o’clock there were nearly 2000 persons in Cremorne Gardens, and at 8 o’clock fully four times that number. Hampton Court was scarcely as crowded by visitors as on some previous days, but the numbers there and the excursionists to Kew have been already estimated by the boat and train. In the Regent’s Park the numbers have not been counted at any time during the summer, though some of the “penny-a-liners” have given the exact number. There was an immense crowd listening to the people’s subscription band in the Regent’s Park, and at a low estimate the numbers considerably exceeded a hundred thousand. In the Victoria Park, where another people’s band played from five till seven o’clock, there were about 60,000 persons present at one time. The aristocracy had a very large number of carriages in the Hyde Park, and about 8000 entered Kensington Gardens during the afternoon. From these estimates, intended to be free from all exaggeration, it would appear that out of the population of London, about one quarter of a million were engaged in what has been characterized as the “public desecration of the Sabbath.” If we include servants, omnibus-drivers, cabmen, &c. – persons who follow on the Sunday the usual avocations of the week, of course this number is considerably increased.
It is cheering to think that the pulpit has advanced; and to feel, if it have not its lights, such as Chalmers, or Irving, or Hall, it has become almost freed from the buffooneries by which at one time it was disgraced.
‘’T is pitiful
To court a grin when you should win a soul;
To break a jest when pity should inspire
Pathetic exhortation; and to address
The skittish fancy with facetious tales
When sent with God’s commission to the heart!’
Huntington, the S. S., or Sinner Saved, used to stop in the middle of his sermons with exclamations such as – ‘There, take care of your pockets!’ ‘Wake that snoring sinner!’ ‘Silence that noisy numskull!’ ‘Turn out that drunken dog!’ Rowland Hill once preached as follows:
‘The mere professor reminds me of a sow that I saw an hour since luxuriating in her stye, when almost over head and ears in the mire. Now suppose any of you were to take Bess (the sow), and wash her; and suppose, after having dressed her in a silk gown and put a smart cap upon her head, you were to take her into any of your parlours, and were to set her down to tea in company: she might look very demure for a time, and might not give even a single grunt; but you would observe that she occasionally gave a sly look towards the door, which showed that she felt herself in an uncomfortable position; and the moment she perceived that the door was open, she would give you another proof of the fact by running out of the room as fast as she could. Follow the sow with her silk gown and her fancy cap, and in a few seconds you will find that she has returned to the stye, and is again wallowing in the mire. Just so it is with the unrenewed man. Sin is his element.’
Could anything be weaker or in worse taste than that?
The pulpit has ceased to offend by any such exhibitions. The men in the pews have advanced, and the men in the pulpit have had to do the same. Men of science and of intellect and literature must have men of science and of intellect and literature to preach to them. It is power the ministry lacks. It fails because it is of the past – uses the language of the past – prays the prayers of the past. Instead of seeking a revival in the churches, it had better seek its own revival. We have some twelve hundred clergy (Church and Dissent) in this great Babylon, and yet the devoutest worshipper can scarce name a dozen as superior men. Yet preaching is not the difficult thing ministers affirm. Literary men, enterprising merchants, sharp attorneys, aspiring barristers, honourable M.P.s, work infinitely harder, though professing infinitely inferior aims. A popular actor certainly seeks no richer reward than a popular parson; but the former will throw into his performance a life of which the latter appears to have no idea. For the men who care not for the manner but the matter, the pulpit has still less to offer. Where, then, is the wonder that in London, where men are not driven to church or chapel – where they do not lose caste because they do not observe the required customs of respectable society – the mass are beyond the reach of the preacher’s voice, listening, it may be, to the sermons on our stones and in our streets – the sermons the world’s great ones and illustrious leaders preach, when they worship railway kings, or erect statues to royal debauchees? What wonder is it then that in