Plymouth Church—The New Building—Sabbath Service—Prayer-Meeting—Weekly Lecture—Socials—Church Polity—The Pastor’s Policy.

As we have stated, Plymouth Church took possession of its new building on the first Sabbath in January, 1850. Then, as on the Sabbaths of the nearly forty succeeding years in which Mr. Beecher ministered here, the crowd came and filled every available seat. Then began that sound, once heard never forgotten, and heard nowhere else so continuously, of the incoming multitude, the tread of hurrying feet like the sound of many waters, as the crowds, held back for a time until pew-holders have been in part accommodated, press in and take their places. Here, on this first Sabbath, arose that song of thanksgiving whose fulness and power were for so many years a marked feature of the religious service of this great congregation. Here began that long succession of sermons which opened to so many thousands, at first by the voice and then by the printing-press; the nearness, the righteousness, and the boundless love of God revealed in Jesus Christ. And here began on that day to ascend those prayers which drew hearts into the very presence of the Most High and left them gladdened, refreshed, and filled as with the fulness of God. Blessed old Plymouth Church! Its every memory, its very walls are dear unto multitudes.

It was plain even to bareness—unnecessarily so in the opinion of many—both without and within, with not the slightest effort at show or even ornament. None of those harmonies of color nor graces of form, such as are now shown or attempted in almost every church edifice, were here found. It was builded with the simple conscientious purpose of enabling as many as possible to hear the Gospel, of affording every advantage to such as wished to meet together in the prayer-meeting and sociable, and of instructing the young in the Sunday-school. Herein lay the beauty of the Plymouth Church building: its excellent adaptation to the great end in view. More than any church of that day, and, with all the progress of later times, excelled by but few, if any, at the present time, Plymouth Church building afforded superior accommodations for Gospel hearing and spiritual, educational, and social training. By placing the seats in a partial curve, by the admirable arrangement of the commodious galleries, and by pushing the pulpit well forward toward the centre of the circle, the vast audience of nearly three thousand people were brought near together and near to the speaker. While this enabled him to address them with great ease, it also afforded an opportunity for the cultivation of that feeling of homeness and fraternity that always characterized the gatherings of this church with its pastor.

The pulpit was then, as now, a plain platform, with no railing in front, and no other furniture than a set of chairs, a stand for notices, and an open table for the Bible; as far removed as possible from those boxes where the man must stand, cramped and stiff, while he delivers his message. An offering of flowers was also found there, the beginning of a custom which has been continued, we believe, without the failure of a single Sabbath, from that day to this.

Behind the pulpit was the organ and seats for a choir of fifty or more who should lead the great congregation in their songs of praise.

In the rear of the audience-room, opening back into another street, was the lecture and prayer-meeting room, and above this were the parlors and the Sunday-school rooms.

Such was the equipment that the pastor and Plymouth Church began to use on that first Sabbath in 1850. It seemed to many more than ample. The audience-room was more commodious than any in the land. Would the young minister be able to fill it? Would he hold out? The “six months” that one of Brooklyn’s most oracular of D.D.’s had given “that young man to run out in” had long since passed, and he gave, as yet, no signs of waning popularity; but perhaps he will, and a few possibly hoped, and some, it may be, feared, that it would be so; but by far the larger part of that great congregation praised God that day in joyful confidence without any fears or misgivings. They had faith in their pastor as well as in God; and he, conscious that he had builded sincerely, without sham or pretence, had no question but that He who had begun this good work would carry it prosperously forward to the end. All these appliances had been demanded by the thousands in attendance. Their necessity was of God, hence they could trust Him to vindicate His own plans. The young pastor neither feared nor was anxious. He was the Lord’s; let Him do with him as He pleased.

Of this feeling in connection with his preaching he himself says: “I had at that time almost a species of indifference as to means and measures. I cared little, and perhaps too little, whether I had or had not a church building. I thought of one thing—the love of Christ to men. This, to me, was a burning reality. Less clearly than now, perhaps, did I discern the whole circuit and orb of the nature of Christ; but with a burning intensity I realized the love of God in Jesus Christ. I believed it to be the one transcendent influence in this world by which men should be roused to a higher manhood and should be translated into another and better kingdom. My purpose was to preach Christ to men for the sake of bringing them to a higher life; and though I preferred the polity and economy of the Congregational churches, yet I also felt that God was in all the other churches, and that it was no part of my ministry to build up sectarian walls; that it was no part of my ministry to bombard and pull down sectarian structures; but that the work of my ministry was to find the way to the hearts of men, and to labor with them for their awakening and conversion and sanctification.

“I have said that I had no theory; but I had a very strong impression on my mind that the first five years in the life of a church would determine the history of that church and give to it its position and genius; that if the earliest years of a church were controversial or barren it would take scores of years to right it; but that if a church were consecrated, active, and energetic during the first five years of its life, it would probably go on through generations developing the same features. My supreme anxiety, therefore, in gathering a church, was to have all of its members united in a fervent, loving disposition; to have them all in sympathy with men; and to have all of them desirous of bringing to bear the glorious truths of the Gospel upon the hearts and consciences of those about them.

“Consequently I went into this work with all my soul, preaching night and day, visiting incessantly, and developing as fast and as far as might be that social, contagious spirit which we call a revival of religion.”

The services in the church were then, as ever since, in harmony with the building—simple and without ostentation, differing from those of other Congregational churches only in the spirit of unusual heartiness and the impression of unusual power.

When the bell ceased tolling the organ began its work of preparing the hearts of the great multitude for worship. Then followed the invocation by the pastor, always devout, always joyful and trustful, uniformly sincere, and always varied. No set phrase ever took possession and held in its formal grasp the expression of his praise and expectant prayer:

“Thou that dost hold the sun, and pour forth therefrom the light and glory of the day, from Thine own self let there come, streaming as the daylight, those influences that shall awake in us all hope and all gladness of love. For we sleep except when Thy beams are upon us. Only when we are in God are we alive. Let us in, O our Father! and may all that is within us rise up to worship Thee. Accept our service according to what we would do and according to what Thou wouldst have us do. Bless the word and the reading thereof. Bless our songs of praise and our fellowship therein. Bless our communion one with another and with Thee. Bless us in our meditation, in the services of the day, at home, and everywhere. Make this a golden day to our souls, through Jesus Christ our Redeemer. Amen.”

Then followed, in those early days—in later years he often omitted it—the reading of the hymn, simply, with no straining after effect, but so as to give the full meaning of the words to be sung, and in a measure to interpret their spirit. The singing which followed, so full and appreciative, was something to remember. It was the voices of the multitude joining and blending in one great, full song of adoration and thanksgiving.

The reading of the Scripture was usually without comment, but so vivid to his thought were the great truths uttered, and so flexible was his voice in giving them expression, and so natural the adaptation of his whole manner to their import, that his simple reading gave a better understanding of Scripture than the explanations of most other men.

The prayer that followed the hymn was very marked in its general characteristics, comprehensive, and adapted to the occasion and the needs of the people before him. It invariably gave expression to a thankful spirit, lamented sins and failures, was permeated with a yearning desire for communion with God and with great sympathy with men, class after class of whom he brought before the Heavenly Father for deliverance, comfort, and blessing.

The sermon was long, consuming from three-quarters of an hour to an hour, and sometimes more, in delivery, and usually combined in a very marked degree the three elements, the exegetical, the philosophic, and the hortatory. He delighted in giving a full and broad opening of Scripture, that all might be quickened and fed; in showing the relation and harmony of the truths thus presented to other truths already admitted, making their bearings clear by frequent illustrations, and pressing them in the progress of the sermon, and especially at the close, upon the acceptance of his hearers. His preaching informed, convinced, inspired, and moved men to decisive action Godward, or it was, in his view, a failure.

The benediction with which the services closed was as if he saw the hands of the living Saviour stretched out over His beloved people, and he became but a mouthpiece for the solemn and tender expression of His beneficence.

Then followed the informal after-meeting, unadvertised and unarranged—the pressing forward to the pulpit, or the waiting in the aisles until he should pass out, of some who perhaps had a word of thanks for help received in the sermon, of others asking questions or bearing messages, of strangers who wished to press his hand, or of troubled ones who wanted a word of cheer. The meeting continued down the aisle, out into the porch, out on to the street, as friends still walked along with him, talking as they went.

The weekly meetings of the church, besides Sabbath services and the Sunday-school, at this early period, were three: a “Lecture,” Tuesday evening; a “Sociable,” Thursday evening; and a Prayer-meeting, Friday evening.

The weekly lecture was a familiar meeting of the church family and their friends, where, in simple and colloquial speech, the pastor instructed them in the things that pertain to the spiritual life. It was always spoken of, not as a sermon, but as a “Lecture-Room Talk.” The subjects chosen were practical, like these, given in the order in which he delivered them: “Groping after God,” “Praying for Others,” “Fervency of Religious Feeling,” “Conversing with the Impenitent,” picked up in his intercourse with his people, selected with direct reference to solving doubts, removing difficulties, and securing spiritual growth and activity. In these, perhaps more than anywhere else, he displayed the resources of his great common sense, revealed the depth of his spiritual life, and drew most largely on the wealth of his own Christian experience.

The prayer-meetings did not differ in form from those that are common in Congregational churches. A moment before the hour for the meeting Mr. Beecher came upon the platform, threw his hat upon the floor by the side of his chair, sat down, and, throwing back his cloak, took up the “Plymouth Collection,” and, the instant the bell ceased tolling, without rising, gave out in a clear, firm voice the number of some familiar hymn, usually of thanksgiving. The pianist wasted no time in playing the tune through, but struck the opening note firmly, the audience joined without delay and sang without dragging, and the meeting gained that most important advantage—a good send-off. No sooner had the hymn ceased than the pastor arose and read a passage from a Bible which he held in his hand. He then led in a prayer, simple, confiding, hopeful, tender, that helped all weary and waiting souls to realize that they were in the presence of their very best Friend, and gave them needed help. Another hymn, given out in the same manner and sung with the same spirit, followed. Then, that there might be no break in the movement of the service, looking at the individual addressed, usually some one of the old warriors upon the front seats, he would say, “Will Brother ——— lead us in prayer?” When this prayer was finished his eye seemed to take a broader range and search out some of the younger and less experienced to bring them into the work. Woe be to you then if you have come in late, taken a back seat, and tried to keep out of sight! He seemed to know instinctively where you were, and how you felt, and how essential, if you would enjoy the meeting, that this ice should be broken; and on this second call for leaders you would be very likely to hear your name pronounced with that same kind but authoritative intonation that you could neither pretend not to hear nor refuse to obey. Another hymn increases the kindly warmth of Christian feeling that has begun to pervade the audience like an atmosphere, and under its inspiration other prayers are offered, at this stage by volunteers; experiences are related, often by the pastor; questions are asked upon some practical difficulty, and answers are given; failures and sins are confessed and lamented, and prayers are requested and offered, until the hour was passed all too quickly. Another hymn, and then the benediction closes the meeting.

The social meetings, for the accommodation of which Mr. Beecher added the parlors—at that time an unusual feature of a church—were a very earnest attempt made by him in the meridian of his social power and enthusiasm, and in a church more than ordinarily inspired by his loving spirit, to overcome the separations which different conditions and dissimilar social training and surroundings bring about in the Church of Christ, and to realize as nearly as possible the family ideal. A sewing-meeting was held in the afternoon for some benevolent enterprise, followed by a plain tea to which all were invited. Friends dropped in, pleasant conversation ensued, and perhaps a few selections of reading or song, prepared for the occasion, were given. “Mr. Beecher then took his stand in the centre of the large room, rapped with his pencil and called his flock around him, and gave them ten minutes of appreciative, kindly, witty, helpful talk. ‘Plymouth Collection of Hymns’ was then handed round, and everybody sang, or tried to. After this, prayer and ‘good-night.’” This was about the outline, and for several years it was moderately successful; but busy times crowded in upon it, unregulated elements worked into it, getting and doing more harm than good, and at length it was given up, and the members of Plymouth Church chose their companions according to social affinities, similarity of position, and circumstances, like other people.

Such preaching and labors, with such appliances, under the blessing of God were sure to bring abundant results, and revivals followed each other in quick succession all through those early years; in fact, Plymouth Church thus far during its whole history may be called a revival church.

Its polity was Congregational, as we find in its manual of 1850:

“This church is an independent ecclesiastical body, and in matters of doctrine, order, and discipline is amenable to no other organization. This church will extend to other evangelical churches and receive from them that fellowship, advice, and assistance which the laws of Christ require.”

His own policy toward the church is given in these words:

“I have never managed. I have never employed management. I have tried to inspire kind feelings and thus lead men to take up their crosses. I have never sought to exert my authority, but to promote the utmost freedom of thought and action.... I have maintained from the beginning the most profound desire that there should be a church-life among you quite independent of me, and that as the pulpit was independent, so should the pews be also. I have scrupulously avoided meddling with the liberties of this church, except to enforce them. My simple aim from the beginning has been to develop among you as high a standard of manhood, and of Christian manhood, as the infirmity of human nature would permit; and for that—the exaltation of manhood in Christ Jesus—I have labored in season and out of season: not without flaw, not without fault, not without sin, but, as God is my witness, with every power of my soul and body and understanding, from year to year.”

Such was Plymouth Church as she stood a score and a half and more years ago, and as she still remains.

“Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth is this our Mount Zion” well expresses the feelings of multitudes as they recall these years and remember these places. Her streets of Sabbath service and work-day conference and prayer were continually trodden by eager crowds, and were made beautiful and attractive by the Christian fellowship that grew up and blossomed here on every side under the inspiration and culture of one who himself so trustfully, hopefully, and exultingly walked with God.