
[The following is from the fourth installment in Lloyd Douglas’s series, “Wanted—A Congregation!” in the summer and fall of 1920. This installment, dated 9/2/1920, is titled, “Fourth Phase—The Service of Worship.” The series is about the Reverend D. Preston Blue, who is on a campaign to enlarge his congregation. This episode takes place after he has begun to succeed in building his audience. He is taking a critical look at his order of worship and finding many things he doesn’t like, especially his tendency to announce the hymn over and over again, even though it’s listed in the bulletin…]
“Then there would ensue an awkward pause, during which the organist was guessing whether Brother Blue had said everything that was in his mind at that moment. Having finally determined that the preacher had said it all, the organ would pipe out a puny little combination of ‘solicional’ and ‘violin diapason’ wherewith to introduce the hymn, playing the entire score of it in this feeble manner until, by the time the congregation was actually turned loose to sing, it didn’t want to. There is a peculiar psychology back of this. When the minister has begged the congregation to sing, the man in the pew is reluctant to make the adventure. He fears his neighbor may think that he is going to cut loose and show these people that he, for one, is some singer. Again, when the organ introduces the hymn with a frail little prelude, everybody is afraid to begin, for fear there will be no support.
“But, just now, the thing that filled D. Preston Blue’s mind with misgivings was the thought that he had been talking too much during his ‘service of worship.’ When he had come to the point of announcing the responsive reading of the psalm, he always said something like this: ‘Shall we not now turn to selection one hundred and six, in the back of the hymnal, page one hundred and twenty, and read responsively?’ Then came another of those blighting delays, while people hunted for the page. Blue was conscious of the awkwardness of such moments, and his only remedy for them was to fill them up with talk – mere superfluous chatter. He would keep on repeating, dully, while they searched, ‘Selection one hundred and six – on the one hundred and twentieth page – in the back of the hymnal.’ Oh, how could he have been so exasperatingly stupid? Every time there arose the merest ghost of a chance for the congregation to have a little of blessed silence, here was Blue chattering like a magpie!
“Thus did he review, with burning cheeks, the specific defects in that cold and pulseless ‘order of service,’ searching for the cause of its failure; when, suddenly, the real secret of its hopelessness and dullness stood out, clear-cut as a cameo, and he shouted to Mrs. Blue, ‘I’ve got it! I know what ails Broad Street Church! She’s a-been gettin’ too much gas and not enough spark!'”
[Douglas’s story will continue in my next post…]








