THE DAILY MESSAGE

Hokitika Guardian, 29 September 1928, Page 1

THE DAILY MESSAGE

THE FRIENDLIEST CHURCH IN TOWN.

A church should be a sanctuary for the friendless, the fallen, and the hungry. I know a church which comes very near to my conception of what a church should be, and it is in our own city.

It is a, friendly church. It combines the offices of an employment bureau, a restaurant, a barbering establishment, a hoot-mending business, a mental workshop, a, Christian fellowship. This church somehow lias a personality. You would expect it to have. There is something living, warm, and human about it; it seems to hold out arms to all who pass, and. what this moans to the lonely, friendless, and hungry, only they can tell. You may pass it in the tram. You may be thinking of other tilings, but you just cannot pass it without a queer little formal acknowledgment of the friendliest church in town. The first thing which strikes ofie about that church is the definite question posted at the gate, “ l)o you want a job? You may find one here.” And immediately underneath these words the “positions, vacant” columns of the daily papers are posted, where evervbody who wants may see them. Another notice, too, stands out big and bold: “Are you lonely? Then come inside.” And many a drifting, rudderless derelict has responded to the ma&ic of that friendly church, and gone “ inside.” In that friendly church is a. friendly man, who does not care whether those who come inside are of his religion—or of none.

It is onouglv'that t-hev have stumbled, fallen, failed—that they are lonely, or that they have been mired. It is enough that they are in need—anv kind of need. Some are not in need of food or shelter, but in dire need, of the hand clasp of a radiant, friendly fellow. They are in need of the touch of a man whose ear is attuned to the sweet, sad music ol humanity -Aancl this strengthening touch, with all its re-vivifving power, they get from the friendly fellow at the friendliest church in town. He is the friend of prisoners, drunkards, clods, fools, misfits, scholars, and illiterates; they all belong to his church—if they are down—for liis church is the Church of Humanity. His religion is not a matter of painted windows, but of bound-up hearts and reconstructed lives. He does not show forth the piety of virtue, hut the virtue of piety. He believes that we are punished by our sins—not for them. He does not start bis work of rebuilding with a sermon; he starts with a clean handkerchief, a hair-cut, maybe a shaving brush, or a new pair of soles on an old pair of shoes. You see, he is wise, this friendly man, and he knows that a (lean pocket-handkerchief means recovered self-respect—the first step in reconstruction.

He knows that a man who is down at heel is also down at heart; that a new pair of heels on an old pair of boots makes all the difference. •

How many who have gone inside that church have expected that the man inside would begin the work or reformation with a prayer! Instead, he has begun with a hath. And only when that map’s hoots are mended, his shaggy heard trimmed, his untidy hair cut, a good hath negotiated, a good meal accommodated, does that wise and friendly iellow inside pi ay, and his prayer is that together they may he given strength, courage, and tenacity df purpose sufficient to make a good citizen out of the broken fabric of manhood who went inside. Thousands have gone inside—hopeless, helpless, human driftwood; thousands have come out beginning to be men.

Oh, the power of a friendly man ! The magic of a friendly church ! Ihe dynamic message of a friendly handclasp ! You may met them all—if you need them—at the ifriemlliest church in town. 3 M. PRESTON STANLEY.