Feeds:
Posts
Comments

One of the reasons Chalmers advocated territorial city missions was to reunite the classes, particularly by the clergy’s concentrated evangelistic efforts in the slums.  It was ultimately a missionary policy, yet it had distinct advantages for the social fabric.  Here’s an interesting quote that helps illumine Chalmers’ rationale for the parish plan in urban context:

In a provincial capital, the great mass of the population are retained in kindly and immediate dependence on the wealthy residenters of the place. . . [which] brings the two extreme orders of society into that sort of relationship, which is highly favourable to the general blandness and tranquillity of the whole population. In a manufacturing town, on the other hand, the poor and the wealthy stand more disjoined from each other.  It is true they often meet, but they meet more on an arena of contest, than on a field where the patronage and custom of the one party are met by the gratitude and goodwill of the other (Thomas Chalmers, Christian and Civic Economy of Large Towns, Glasgow, 1821, p. 51).

As the clergy and benevolent Christian volunteers adopt mission districts in the cities and thoroughly work them, the net effect should be a re-harmonization of the upper- and middle-classes with the working class.

May the Lord imprint these truths, so well expressed by Charles Bridges, on the heart of every Gospel minister:

“The book of God is indeed the living voice of the Spirit. To be intent therefore upon the study of it, must result in a clear apprehension of the mind of God. Hence the maxim—’ Bonus textuarius, bonus Theologus.’ Most beautifully does Witsius set out the value of this primary Ministerial qualification—” mighty in the Scriptures.” ‘ Let the Theologian ascend from the lower school of natural study, to the higher department of Scripture, and, sitting at the feet of God as his teacher, learn from his mouth the hidden Old Dutch Family Bible (from flickr.com)mysteries of salvation, which ” eye hath not seen, nor ear heard; which none of the princes of this world knew;” which the most accurate reason cannot search out; which the heavenly chorus of angels, though always beholding the face of God, ” desire to look into.” In the hidden book of Scripture, and no where else, are opened the secrets of the more sacred wisdom. Whatever is not drawn from them—whatever is not built upon them—whatever does not most exactly accord with them—however it may recommend itself by the appearance of the most sublime wisdom, or rest upon ancient tradition, consent of learned men, or the weight of plausible argument—is vain, futile, and, in short, a very lie. ” To the law and to the testimony. If any one speak not according to this word, it is because there is no light in them.” Let the Theologian delight in these sacred oracles: let him exercise himself in them day and night; let him meditate on them; let him live in them ; let him derive all his wisdom from them; let him compare all his thoughts with them; let him embrace nothing in religion which he does not find here. Let him not bind his faith to a man— not to a Prophet—not to an Apostle—not even to an Angel himself, as if the dictum of either man or angel were to be the rule of faith. Let his whole ground of faith be in God alone. For it is a Divine, not a human faith, which we learn and teach; so pure that it can rest upon no ground but the authority of God, who is never false, and never can deceive. The attentive study of the Scriptures has a sort of constraining power. It fills the mind with the most splendid form of heavenly truth, which it teaches with purity, solidity, certainty, and without the least mixture of error. It soothes the mind with an inexpressible sweetness; it satisfies the sacred hunger and thirst for knowledge with flowing rivers of honey and butter; it penetrates into the innermost heart with irresistible influence; it imprints its own testimony so firmly upon the mind, that the believing soul rests upon it with the same security, as if it had been carried up into the third heaven, and heard it from God’s own mouth; it touches all the affections, and breathes the sweetest fragrance of holiness upon the pious reader, even though he may not perhaps comprehend the full extent of his reading. We can scarcely say, how strongly we are opposed to that preposterous method of study, which, alas ! too much prevails among us—of forming our views of Divine things from human writings, and afterwards supporting them by Scripture authorities, the result either of our own inquiry, or adduced by others too rashly, and without further examination or bearing upon the subject; when we ought to draw our views of Divine truths immediately from the Scriptures themselves, and to make no other use of human writings, than as indices marking those places in the chief points of Theology, from which we may be instructed in the mind of the Lord.’ This exquisite Master of Theology proceeds in the same strain to remark the importance of the Student giving himself up to the inward teaching of the Holy Spirit, as the only mean of obtaining a spiritual and saving acquaintance with the rule of faith; ‘ it being needful that he that is a disciple of Scripture should also be a disciple of the Spirit’ (Bridges, The Christian Ministry, pp. 58-60).

Richard Baxter of Kidderminster (from flickr.com)Baxter was an establishmentarian.  It is good that kings and queens should be nursing fathers and mothers to the Church.  He lamented in his Reformed Pastor that magistrates did not make adequate provision of Reformed pastors throughout the England of his day. 

Yet, he did not lay the main blame at the feet of civic leaders.  The fault was with the laziness of the ministry.  “It is we who are to blame, even we, the ministers of the gospel, whom they should thus maintain.  For those ministers that have small parishes, and might do all this private part of the work [pastoral care, mainly through catechizing], yet do it not, or at least few of them.  And those in great towns and cities, that might do somewhat, though they cannot do dall, will do just nothing but what accidentally falls in their way, or next to nothing; so that the magistrate is not awakened to the observance or consideration of the weight of our work” (Reformed Pastor, pp. 184-85, emphasis mine).  Like Chalmers some 150 years after him, his establishmentarianism was no fawning dependence of the Church on the State.  Rather, the Church ought to rise to the calling of its own Master, with or without the aid of the magistrate.  Yet, both Baxter and Chalmers believed that the diligence of the ministry could induce the State to its duty of patronizing the heavenly Kingdom.

“It is easy to separate from the multitude, and to gather distinct churches, and to let the rest sink or swim; and if they will not be saved by public preaching, to let them be damned: but whether this be the most charitable and Christian course, one would think should be no hard question” (Reformed Pastor, p. 184). 

In Chalmers’ terms, we must operate on the principle of aggression and not attraction.

The following is an excellent quote from Thomas Chalmers in his Christian and Economic Polity of a Nation (1821).  In it, he demonstrates one particular viture of the locality principle, on which the parish system is built – it facilitates the zeal and perseverance of the Christian missionary:

” He, with a select and appropriate vineyard thus lying before him, will feel himself far more powerfully urged, than when under the common arrangement, to go forth among its families. However subtle an exercise it may require from another, faithfully to analyse the effect upon his mind, he himself has only to try it, and he will soon become sensible of the strong additional interest that he acquires, in virtue of having a small and specific locality assigned to him. When the subject on which he is to operate, thus offers Thomas Chalmers and his family (from flicker.com)itself to his contemplation, in the shape of one unbroken field, or of one entire and continuous body, it acts as a more distinct and imperative call upon him, to go out upon the enterprise. He will feel a kind of property in the families; and the very circumstance of a material limit uround their habitations, serves to strengthen this impression, by furnishing to his mind a sort of association with the hedges and the landmarks of property. At all events, the very visibility of the limit, by constantly leading him to perceive the length and the breadth of his task, holds out an inducement to his energies, which, however difficult to explain, will be powerfully felt and proceeded on. There is a very great difference, in respect of its practical influence, between a task that is indefinite, and a task that is clearly seen to be overtakeable. The one has the effect to paralyze; the other, to quicken exertion. It serves most essential!v to spirit on his undertaking, when, by every new movement, one feels himself to be drawing sensibly nearer to the accomplishmviit of it—when, by every one house that he enters, he can count the lessening number before him, through which he has yet to pass with his proposals for the attendance of their children—and when, by the distinct and definite portion, which is still untravelled, he is constantly reminded of what he has to do, ere that district, which he feels to be his own, is thoroughly pervaded. He can go over his families too, with far less expense of locomotion, than under the common system of sabbath schools ; and, for the same reason, can he more fully and frequently reiterate his attentions; and it will charm him onwards, to find that he is sensibly translating himself into a stricter and kinder relationship with the people of his district; and, if he have a taste for cordial intercourse with the fellows of his own nature, he will be gladdened and encouraged by his growing familiarity with them all; and thus will he turn the vicinity which he has chosen, into a home- walk of many charities ; and recognized as its moral benefactor, will lug kindness, and his judgment, and his Christianity, be put forth, with a well- earned and well-established influence, in behalf of a grateful population.”

Today, I was reading an article comparing Adam Smith’s argument in favor (!) of establishments furnishing religious instruction with that of Thomas Chalmers.  The essay concluded that, in light of their views, contemporary tax policies are warranted in exempting religious organizations from such standard civil obligations and in allowing deductions for contributions made to them.  This statement reminded me of a recent post in which the author I was treating  contended that such tax policies were not just warranted, but that they placed distinct obligations upon churches actively to work for the common good.  They are, in a way, post-establishmentarian state subsidies of religious organizations to improve the social order.  If that is the case, then ought we as Church to consider our tax benefits as advance payments from Caesar to perform our Christian mandate (Mat. 28:18)?

I recently read an article entitled “Thomas Chalmers and the Communal Ideal in Victorian Scotland” (1992) by Stewart J. Brown, a recognized Chalmers scholar.  In it, he traces the development of the territorial mission program from Chalmers into the Free Church and, even somewhat surprisingly, back in the established Church in the late 1800s.

Brown makes an observation about the waning of the Free Church of Scotland’s vigor for the territorial ideal in the 1870s and on.  According to him, after a renaissance of Chalmersian territorial missions in the Free Church during the 1850s and 60s, the body slowly moved away from the ‘godly commonwealth’ ideal.  Writes Brown, “It began ceasing to perceive itself as a national Church, with responsibility for the spiritual and social welfare of the whole people of Scotland, and increasingly viewed itself as a gathered Church of believers.  In part, this was the result of the passing away of the older Free Church leadership, especially Robert Candlish and Thomas Guthrie (strong supporters of the territorial ideal)” (73).

Now, I’m no expert on the history to judge whether in fact this was the case.  But if it was, then I think it certainly reflects on a connection between ‘gathered church’ ecclesiology and the dangerous tendency to retreatism.  The territorial – or parochial – ideal envisioned the Church as at its core a society of the faithful, but ever reaching out to the perishing community beyond itself.  Its best expression did not confuse believing congregation and unbelieving community.  Yet it heartily embraced the unbelieving community under the obligation of its ‘cure of souls’ mandate (evangelism).  Sadly, when the Church loses that perspective, it will subtly morph into a mere asylum for escapists.  That is both unfaithfulness to Christ and a sure path to spiritual extinction.

When recently reading Iain Murray’s Scottish Christian Heritage, I caught an interesting aside about Chalmers’ regard for Charles Bridges, the author of the classic The Christian Ministry (1829). It should not be surprising, I suppose, not only because they were contemporaries, but also because they were establishmentarians who both believed in and practiced the territorial principle of home missions.

Here is a quote from Chalmers’ The Right Ecclesiastical Economy of a Large Town:

My excellent friend, the Rev. Charles Bridges, of Old Newton, Suffolk, finds, I am sure, most ample occupation among those six hundred people whom he may be said to have domesticated into one parochial family; and, were it not for his still more important services to the Christian church at large, would show, by his incessant labours, how possible it were to make out a most beneficial expenditure of all his strength and all his time amongst them.

I’d love to explore this connection further, as well as that of Chalmers and Charles Simeon.

Victorian-era slums.  Image from http://mckaygardens.orgI recently came across a selection of a poem, originally written anonymously.  The poem, entitled Jonas Fisher, was thought to have been written by William Tasker, disciple of Thomas Chalmers and missionary to the slums of 19th century Edinburgh.  But apparently, later scholarship regarded it as the product of James Carnegie.

Whatever the origin, it is quite a stimulating read.  Quite illustrative of the dramas of evangelistic visitation among the underprivileged and useful as an example for similar work in the modern day.  Here’s a portion:

My mission day is Saturday,
For then at Two shop-work is o’er,
(On Sabbath, day of rest, I go
Three times to church, and prayers before),

And all the afternoon I give
To visiting the poor indeed;
Rich people scarce could even guess
The wretched life these creatures lead.

Each house is many stories high,
Each room a family contains;
And there they breed, and breathe foul air,
Like rats inhabiting the drains.

Though, when one comes to think of it,
The rats are far more clean and sweet;
These people neither comb nor wash,
Rats trim their fur and keep it neat.

O dear! O dear! the sights one sees!
In a close court the other day,
I saw some lean, large-stomached babes,
All busy at their childish play:

They dabbled in the thick black slime,
Stuck fish-heads in and drew them out,
Made pies of stuff much worse than mud,
While fat blue-bottles buzzed about. . .

I prayed an earnest prayer for them,
Then turned and climbed a winding stair
That smelt of cats, knocked at a door,
Half opened it, and looked in there.

Notions do differ. Some good folk
Are to the poor quite rough behaved:
Push into rooms, hat on, and cry-
“Well, how’s your soul? Friend, are you saved?”

Attention thus they hope to draw
By sudden pain or startling noise;
As pedlars shout to puff their wares,
Or teaches lash their careless boys.

But I have always liked to act
On ‘Do as you’d be done by’ rule,
And show the manners that I learned
At my dear native Berkshire school.

Well, as the opening door I paused,
Stood still and just put in my chin,
Took off my hat, half bowed, and said –
“Good afternoon. May I come in?”

An inner porch I then perceived;
The door that moment open burst,
Out rushed two angry Irish wives,
And shook their fists, and raged and cursed.

“Off with you, dirty Protestant!
You beast! you devil! get away.”
(I cannot write their curious brogue,
But tell the things they meant to say.)

On hearing this I breathed a prayer –
Which helps one much, and much protects –
“Don’t call me Protestant,” I said,
“All Christians don’t belong to sects.”

“You’re not a Christian, sure, at all;
You’re one that mocks God’s mother mild.”
“Blest above women she,” – says I.
I smiled, and then the woman smiled.

“This kind of wide-mouthed Irish folk,
Change like a swallow in its flight;
One, two, – they want to shed your blood,
Three, four, – they’re friendly and polite.

“Come in, Sir, come,” the women said,
And wiping clean their only chair,
They moved it tow’rds me; suddenly,
I heard a growl as from a bear,

And off his bed there leaped a man,
A huge, half-drunken, savage beast;
He seized a knife, and ran at me;
I stood, and did not budge the least….”

As for the rest, take up and read!

D. A. Carson has a great message recently placed on the Gospel Coalition’s website, entitled Is the Culture Shaping Us or are We Shaping the Culture?

Among other useful things he says, he gives a good caution to evangelical men concerned about balancing Word-ministry and Deed-ministry.  He simply says, makes sure that it is the Gospel that excites you.  If the Gospel becomes our ‘given,’ with social consciousness what excites us, then there is reason to be concerned.   As usual, Carson puts things quite well.