The spirit of this organization is peculiar15. It really does not ask anything of its adherents16 or attendants, or whatever they might be called, except that they come in. No dues are collected, no services exacted. There is even a free lunchroom and an employment bureau run in connection with it, where the hungry can get a cup of coffee and a roll at midnight and the jobless can sometimes hear of something to their advantage during the day. The whole spirit of the place is one of helpfulness,208 though the task is of necessity dispiriting and in some of its aspects gruesome.
For these individuals who frequent this place of worship are surely, of all the flotsam of the city, the most helpless and woebegone. There is something about the type of soul which turns to religion in extremis which is not pleasing. It appears to turn to religion about as a drowning man turns to a raft. There is the taint17 of personal advantage about it and not a little of the cant18 and whine19 of one who would curry20 favor with life or the Lord. Granting this, yet here they are, and here they come, out of the Bowery and the side streets of the Bowery, that wonderful ganglia of lodging21 houses; and in this place, and I presume others of its stripe, listen to presumably inspiring sermons. In all fairness, the speakers seem to realize that they have a difficult task to perform in awakening22 these men to a consciousness of their condition. They know that there is, if not cant, at least mental and physical lethargy to overcome. These bodies are poisoned by their own inactivity and sense of defeat. When one looks at them collectively the idea instinctively23 forces itself forward: “What is there to save?”
And yet, shabby and depressing as are these facts, there is a collective, coherent charm and color about the effort itself which to one who views it entirely24 disinterestedly25 is not to be scoffed26 at. The hall itself, a long deep store turned to a semblance27 of Gothic beauty by a series of colored windows set in the store-front facing the Bowery, and by a gallery of high-backed benches of Gothic design at the back, and by mottoes and traceries209 in dark blue and gold which harmonize fittingly with the walnut28 stain of the woodwork, is inviting29. Even the shabby greenish-brown and dusty gray coats of the audience blend well with the woodwork, and even the pale colorless faces of gray or ivory hue30 somehow add to what is unquestionably an artistic31 and ornamental32 effect.
The gospel of God the All-Forgiving is the only doctrine33 here thoroughly34 insisted upon. It is, in a way, a doctrine of inspiration. That it is really never too late to change, to come back and begin all over, is the basic idea. God, once appealed to, can do anything to restore the contrite35 heart to power and efficiency. Believe in God, believe that He really loves you, believe that He desires to make you all you should be, and you will be. Your fortunes will change. You will come into peace and decency36 and be respected once more. God will help you.
It is interesting to watch the effect of this inspirational doctrine, driven home as it is by imaginative address, oratorical37 fire, and sometimes physical vehemence38. The speakers, the ordinary religionists of an inspirational and moral turn, not infrequently possess real magnetism39, the power to attract and sway their hearers. These dismal40 wanderers, living largely in doubt and despair, can actually be seen to take on a pseudo-courage as they listen. You can see them stir and shift, the idea that possibly something can be done for them if only they can get this belief into their minds, actually influencing their bodies. And now and then some one who has got a soft job, a place, through the ministrations of the mission210 workers, or who has been pulled out of a state of absolute despair—or at least claims to have been—will arise and testify that such has been the case. His long wanderings in the dark will actually fascinate him by contrast and he will expatiate41 with shabby eloquence42 upon his present decency and comfort as contrasted with what he was. I remember one night hearing an old man tell what a curse he had been to a kind-hearted sister, and how he wanted but one thing, now that he was coming out of his dream of evil, and that was to let her see some day that he had really reformed. It was a pathetic wish, so little to hope for, but the wish was seemingly sincere and the speaker fairly recovered.
And they claim to recover a percentage, small though it is, to actual service and usefulness. The service may not be great, the usefulness not very important, but such as it is, there it is. And if one could but believe them, so dubious43 is all so-called reformation of this sort, there is something pleasing in the thought that out of the muck and waste of the slough44 of despond some of these might actually be brought to health and decency, a worthwhile living, say. Yet are they? Dirty, grimy, like flies immersed in glue, can they be—have they ever been—dragged to safety and set on their feet again, clean, hopeful, or even weakly so?
I remember listening one night to the story of the son of the man who founded the mission. It appears that the father was rich and the boy indulgently fostered, until at last he turned out to be a drunkard, rake and what not—all the nouns usually applied45 to those who do evil. His father had tried to retain a responsible211 position for him among his affairs but was finally compelled to cut him off. He ordered him out of his house, his business, had his will remade, cutting him off without a dollar, and declared vehemently46 and determinedly47 that he would never look upon him again.
The Bowery Mission
The boy disappeared. Some five years later a thin, shabby, down-hearted wastrel48 strolled into the mission and sat down, contenting himself with occupying a far corner and listening wearily to what was being said. After the services were over he came to the director in charge and confessed that he was the son of the man who had founded the mission, that he was actually at the end of his rope, hungry, and with no place to sleep—your prodigal49 son. The director, of course, at once took him in charge, gave him a meal and a bed, and set about considering whether anything could be done for him.
It appears that the youth, like his prototype of the parable50, had actually had his fill of the husks, but in addition he was sick and dispirited and willing to die. The director encouraged him to hope. He was young yet. There was still a chance for him. He first gave him odd jobs about the mission, then secured him a place as waiter in a small restaurant, and finally, figuring out a notable idea, took him to the foreman of the father’s own printing establishment and asked a place for him as a printer’s devil. The character of the mission director was sufficient guarantee and the place was given, though no one knew who the rundown assistant really was. Finally, after over eleven months of service, the director went to the owner of the business212 and said: “Would you like to know where your boy is?”
“No,” the father replied sharply, “I would not.”
“If you knew he had reformed and had been working for at least a year and a half steadily51 in one place—wouldn’t that make any difference?”
“Well,” he replied, looking at him quizzically, “it might. Where is he?”
“Right here in your own establishment.”
The old man got up. “What’s he doing? Let me look at him.”
The two traversed the halls of a great business establishment and finally came to the department where the youth was working. The father, eager but cautious, scanned the room and saw his son, himself unnoticed. He was sticking type, a green shade over his eyes.
For a moment the parent hesitated, then went over.
“Harry,” he called.
The boy jumped.
“Father!” he cried.
It was described as a moment of intense emotion. The boy broke down and wept and the father shed tears over him. Finally he sobered himself and said: “Now you come with me. I guess you’re all right enough to be my son again. You can set more type to-morrow.” And he led him away.
Truth? Or Romance? I do not know.
The final answer to this form of service, however, is in the mission itself. Nightly you may see them rise and hear them testify. One night the speaker, pouring forth52 a fiery53 description of God’s power, stopped in the213 midst of his address and said: “Is that you, Tommy Wilson, up there in the gallery?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tommy, I’m glad to see you. Won’t you get up and sing ‘My Lord and I’? I know there isn’t any one here who wouldn’t rather hear you sing than me preach any time. Will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Up in the gallery, three rows back, there arose a shabby little man, his dusty suit showing the well-worn marks of age. He was clean and docile54, however, and seemed to be some one whom the mission had reclaimed in times past. In fact, the speaker made it clear that Tommy was a great card, for out of the gutter55 he had come to contribute a beautiful voice to the mission, a voice that was now missing because he had a job in a faraway part of the city.
Tommy sang. He put his hands in his coat pockets, stood perfectly56 erect57, and with his head thrown back gave vent58 to such a sweet, clear melody that it moved every heart. It was not a strong voice, not showy, but pure and lovely, like a limpid59 stream. The song he sang was this:
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I have a Friend so precious,
So very dear to me;
He loves me with such tender love,
He loves me faithfully.
I could not live apart from Him,
I love to feel Him nigh;
And so we dwell together,
My Lord and I.
Sometimes I’m faint and weary,
He knows that I am weak,
And as He bids me lean on Him
His help I gladly seek;
He leads me in the paths of light,
Beneath a sunny sky;
And so we walk together,
My Lord and I.
I tell Him all my sorrows,
I tell Him all my joys,
I tell Him all that pleases me,
I tell Him what annoys;
He tells me what I ought to do,
He tells me how to try;
And so we walk together,
My Lord and I.
Some weary soul to win,
And so He bids me go and speak
The loving word for Him;
And why He came to die;
And so we work together
My Lord and I.
As he sang I could not help thinking of this imaginatively personified Lord of the Universe in all His power and wisdom taking note of this singing, shabby ant—of the faith that it required to believe that He would. Then I thought of the vast forces that shift and turn in their mighty62 inscrutability. I thought of suns and planets that die, not knowing why they are born. Of the vast machinery63, the vast chemistry, of things dark, ruthless, brutal64, and then of love, and mercy and tenderness that is somehow present along with cruelty and savagery65. And then I thought of this little, shabby215 reclaimed water-rat, this scraping of the mud crawled to the bank, who yet could stand there in his shabby coat and sing! What if, after all, as the Christian12 Scientists believe, the Lord was not distant from things but here, now, everywhere, divine goodness speaking in and through matter and man. What if evil and weakness and failure were dreams only, evil dreams, from which we wake to something different, better—Omnipotence, to essential unity66 with life and love? For a moment, so mysterious a thing is emotion and romance, the thought carried me with the singer, and I sang with him:
“And so we walk together,
My Lord and I.”
But outside in the cold, hard street, with its trucks and cars, I knew the informing spirit is not quite like that, neither so kind nor helpful—at least not to all.
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1
sprightliness
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| n.愉快，快活 | |
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humdrum
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| adj.单调的，乏味的 | |
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pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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4
reclaiming
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| v.开拓( reclaim的现在分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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6
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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reclaimed
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| adj.再生的；翻造的；收复的；回收的v.开拓( reclaim的过去式和过去分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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9
enticing
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| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
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10
quota
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| n.（生产、进出口等的）配额，（移民的）限额 | |
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11
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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13
heralding
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| v.预示( herald的现在分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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14
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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15
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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16
adherents
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| n.支持者，拥护者( adherent的名词复数 )；党羽；徒子徒孙 | |
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17
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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18
cant
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| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
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19
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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20
curry
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| n.咖哩粉，咖哩饭菜；v.用咖哩粉调味，用马栉梳，制革 | |
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21
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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22
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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23
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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24
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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disinterestedly
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26
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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28
walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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29
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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30
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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31
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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32
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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33
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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34
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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35
contrite
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| adj.悔悟了的，后悔的，痛悔的 | |
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36
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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37
oratorical
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| adj.演说的，雄辩的 | |
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38
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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39
magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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40
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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41
expatiate
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| v.细说，详述 | |
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42
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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43
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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44
slough
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| v.蜕皮，脱落，抛弃 | |
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45
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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46
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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47
determinedly
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| adv.决意地；坚决地，坚定地 | |
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48
wastrel
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| n.浪费者；废物 | |
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49
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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50
parable
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| n.寓言，比喻 | |
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51
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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52
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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53
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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54
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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55
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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56
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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57
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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58
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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59
limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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60
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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61
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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62
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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63
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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64
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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65
savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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66
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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