On “getting the young people”

I’ve spent the last few evenings browsing through J. M. McCaleb’s Once Traveled Roads (Nashville: Gospel Advocate Co., 1934).

McCaleb during his student days

McCaleb during his student days

John Moody McCaleb (1862–1953), from Hickman County, Tenn., entered College of the Bible in Lexington, Ky., in 1888. Among tales of how he met his wife and reminiscences of the faculty, which in those days included J. W. McGarvey, I. B. Grubbs, and others, Once Traveled Roads includes the following account of church life during McCaleb’s student days in Lexington:

When I entered school in 1888, there were two large congregations in Lexington—Main Street, and Broadway. They each contained about a thousand members. Robert T. Mathews was preaching for the Main Street church, and John S. Shouse for Broadway. There was no organ in either church. During my stay, however, Brother Mathews installed a small organ at Main Street, putting it near the center of the house, and on a level with the seats. Professor White called for a letter and put in his membership at Broadway. When Main Street built a new house and called it “Central,” they put in a great pipe organ that almost filled the end of the building. Not so long after I had left school in 1891, I heard that Broadway had also introduced the instrument. Main Street was getting the young people from Broadway. Something must be done. It was left to a vote, and the young people put the organ in. This time, Brother McGarvey and Brother Grubbs called for letters and put in their membership at Chestnut Street, a mission church that we students had established. But it was not many years till Chestnut Street also had the organ. Seeing the trend of things prompted me to write the five articles [in the Gospel Advocate] on “Pride, a Growing Evil.” Its growth was very manifest when I was there and became all the more so as time went on till both the churches and the school went to the world and minded earthly things. And is it not true that all our churches and schools are today in danger of the same fate? Will another generation or two find our schools and churches where Lexington now is? Let us hope not. (pp. 38-39)

I was thinking about that as I did some googling the other day when this turned up:

“I do not want to give the rest of the fellowship the idea that I am trying to promote instrumental praise anywhere else,” Atchley told the Chronicle. “What we are doing is a missional decision for our congregation, and while we are not trying to hide our decision, neither do we wish to flaunt it.”
In the Dec. 3 [2006] Bible study, Atchley told Richland Hills members that “there has never been a moment’s discussion of changing the name of this church or our affiliation with Churches of Christ.”
But he said Richland Hills must put the kingdom of God and Christ’s mission above concerns that the change might hurt the congregation’s standing or influence among Churches of Christ.
At the same time, he suggested to members that Richland Hills’ decision might “inspire many other Churches of Christ to be courageous in their kingdom efforts, and it could help stem the tide of gifted young leaders who are leaving.”

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.

Housekeeping

A momentary break from historical posts for a bit of news.

1. In July, at the annual Lipscomb lectures, I will join John Mark Hicks, Jeremy Sweets, and Mac Ice for a second round of presentations and discussion about the history of the churches of Christ in Nashville. Last year’s presentations were well received (you can find mine here) and we look forward to a good session again this time around. I’ll be discussing the local and theological contexts of the 1938 Hardeman Tabernacle Meeting. Hope to see you there if you’re in town.

2. None of this means, of course, that I have abandoned John T. Lewis and Birmingham. Work continues there on several fronts. I’m currently digging more deeply into the origins of both First Christian Church and the Fox Hall congregation. Additionally, a big thanks is in order to Phillip Owens, of the Shannon church in Birmingham, for the opportunity to work with a large quantity of JTL’s personal papers and photographs in his possession.

3. Lastly, I want to mention what a privilege it has been over the past few weeks to help in the effort to preserve the congregational records of the Riverside Drive Church of Christ. As some of you know, Riverside Drive closed its doors at the end of March after 77 years of ministry in East Nashville. The congregation’s records are extensive: there is a lot of detailed information going back to the very beginning (February 1937), and a full run of bulletins starting in the early ’50s. I hope to share some of this material with you in the coming weeks as there is lots of interesting material vis-a-vis the larger history of the Nashville churches. UPDATE: I’ve posted some photos of the interior of the building over on my Tumblr.

That’s all for now. Thanks for reading.

“The Man and the Building”

hardeman tabernacle mtg

W. E. Brightwell (1893–1957), “News and Notes” editor for the Advocate and minister of the Waverly-Belmont church in Nashville, contributed an introduction for the published volume of the 1938 Hardeman Tabernacle Meeting. In it, he says the following about N. B. Hardeman and the Ryman Auditorium:

“The affinity between the man and the building is interesting, if not unique. Possibly no other man has used this remarkable building more; certainly none has put it to a better use. On the other hand, the building has surely received the cream of the best thoughts of his life. He has received more from the building, and the building has received more from him, than from any other man or building. His every utterance there has been published.”

I was struck by Brightwell’s rhetoric. He almost gets carried away, it seems. We can follow his words out to the point where the Ryman takes a place alongside the Cane Ridge meetinghouse and the Bethany church in the pantheon of sacred spaces for the churches of Christ. In Brightwell’s rhetorical construct, the Ryman becomes not solely (as it would become later) “The Mother Church of Country Music,” but the Mother Church of the renewed and rebuilt Jerusalem of the churches of Christ.

I base that claim on a statement made by Leonard Jackson, minister for the Franklin church, in his introduction of Hardeman on the opening night of the meeting, October 16, 1938. Consider the analogy that Jackson makes to explain the place of the meeting in the history of the churches and of the city of Nashville:

“The church … needs constant admonition to ‘contend

J. Leonard Jackson

J. Leonard Jackson

earnestly for the faith.’ Christendom, my friends, needs more Nehemiahs to rebuild the walls around Jerusalem. She needs more Ezras to restore the law of God. Christendom needs more Zerubbabels to rebuild the temple of God. In your selection of a preacher to lead you in your gesture here toward these ends, you have chosen a man who has combined in himself the qualities of the afore-mentioned three. Like Nehemiah, he would rebuild Jerusalem’s fallen walls; as Ezra, he would uncover and restore the ‘law of grace'; like Zerubbabel, he would rebuild the temple of God. In this all important work, Nashville for the fourth time becomes the field of assertion.”

As with other writers among the churches, Nashville is Jerusalem. But Jerusalem has been allowed to crumble and it must be restored. Hardeman is the man—the only man—for the job. As we see here, expectations for the meeting were high and the rhetoric of the speakers rose to meet those expectations—and to stoke them even further.

Clippings from Recent Research

“The church must be free to be poor in order to minister among the poor.”

William Stringfellow (1928-1985)

William Stringfellow (1928-1985)

In the November 19, 1964 issue of the Gospel Guardian, editor Yater Tant reviewed a (then new) book by lawyer and Episcopal theologian William Stringfellow titled My People Is the Enemy. The review is a fascinating glimpse into the way that social and cultural issues of the day were addressed in the Guardian, and is (if I may be allowed to say so) worthy for our consideration today.

I give you here the review in its entirety, taken from Gospel Guardian 16.28 (November 19, 1964): 4, 9. Wording in bold is so in the original.

“My People is the Enemy”

This is the name of a most challenging book published last summer by Holt, Rinehart, and Winston. The author is William Stringfellow, one of the leading Episcopal laymen of the day, and a lawyer with an international reputation in his field. He articulates a question that is coming increasingly to trouble the minds of thoughtful denominational leaders—and which has most serious implications for the churches of Christ.

Mr. Stringfellow examines the whole idea of modern religion’s involvement in the ‘social’ questions that trouble our generation. The churches of our day, he opines, are engaged in everything from playgrounds to politics, and from rental housing to racial revolutions. But have they put their eggs in the wrong basket?

He thinks maybe they have.

This book clearly warns the churches against plunging into ‘all sorts of social work and social action’ and thereby neglecting their basic reason for existence, ‘the proclamation and celebration of the gospel.’ In their efforts to alleviate man’s physical distress, and to relieve his want and hunger, Stringfellow argues that the churches have so ‘watered down’ the gospel as to make it lose its power.

He writes:

‘If the gospel is so fragile that it may not be welcomed by a man who, say, he’s hungry, unless  he first be fed, then this is no Gospel with any saving power; this is no word of God which has authority over the power of death.

‘The Gospel, if it represents the power of God unto salvation, is a word which is exactly addressed to men in this world in their destitution and hunger and sickness and travail and perishing—addressed to them in a way which may be heard and embraced in any of these, or in any other, afflictions.’

Stringfellow, who left Harvard Law School several years ago to live and practice his profession in the Harlem ghetto of New York City is particularly critical of what he calls the ‘urban church concept’ of Christianity.

‘The premise of most urban church work,’ he declares, ‘is that in order for the church to minister among the poor, the church has to be rich, that is, to have specially trained personnel, huge funds and many facilities, rummage to distribute and a whole battery of social services. Just the opposite is the case. The church must be free to be poor in order to minister among the poor.’

‘The church must trust the Gospel enough to come among the poor with nothing to offer the poor except the gospel.’

A church rich and affluent can hardly do that; a church poor and humble can. The gospel of Christ, as it is, is adapted to man as he is—miserable, hungry, frustrated, lonely, overburdened with grief, anxiety, and a sense of futility.

The churches of Christ have traditionally understood this. There has been very

Fanning Yater Tant (1908-1997)

Fanning Yater Tant (1908-1997)

little of the ‘social gospel’ emphasis among them. Not until lately. But now we are witnessing a significant change. A strong undercurrent of ‘social gospelism’ is becoming quite evident. A tremendous proliferation of ‘orphan homes,’ just when the denominational churches and social welfare agencies were turning from them to other and more acceptable forms of child care was but the beginning, and was but a symptom of the real trouble. Vast sums have been spent and are being spent in a wide variety of ‘social project’ efforts among the churches of Christ. They range all the way from summer camps to homes for unwed mothers to rehabilitation farms for wayward boys and hobby shops for restless housewives. There is a subtle (and probably unrecognized) loss of faith in the power of the gospel. These social projects are not the spontaneous fruit coming from the hearts of dedicated Christians; they are supervised ‘organizational projects’ of congregations. And they are frankly being promoted as ‘bait’ to intrigue the interest and soften up the resistance of the non-Christians! The ill-housed, ill-clad, and ill-fed are not going to be interested in the gospel; we must first see that they are well-housed, well-clothed, and well-fed!

Denominational churches have tried this approach. And now Stringfellow’s is only one thoughtful voice among many that are being raised to question the assumption. At the very time when our brethren are turning toward these social projects, the discerning ones in denominational circles are questioning the validity of this entire point of view. It is built on a false premise … or so Stringfellow contends.

We believe the conservative [i.e. non-institutional] congregations will not quickly adopt the ‘social gospel’ approach to win people to Christ. And it is quite possible that many even in the more liberal churches will question it. But for all of them, both conservative and liberal, this new book by William Stringfellow ought to be ‘required reading.’ It can be ordered from the Gospel Guardian. The price is $3.95.

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stringfellowicon

Icon of Stringfellow, hanging in the chapel of Bates College (ME), his alma mater.

A few comments about this piece. First, if it seems confusing that FYT would be reviewing a book such as this, we should recall the very open editorial policy that he pursued for the Guardian during this period. Side-by-side comparison with the Advocate from the same period is instructive. Tant and his writing staff from time to time dealt with topics—in the form of discussions of race and other social issues, book reviews, etc.—that would never have appeared in print in B. C. Goodpasture’s Advocate. We might not always agree with their conclusions, but the fact that the discussions ran at all is significant.

A couple of observations should be made about the content of the review. First, Tant quotes Stringfellow thus: “The church must be free to be poor in order to minister among the poor. The church must trust the Gospel enough to come among the poor with nothing to offer the poor except the gospel.” Tant then observes: “A church rich and affluent can hardly do that; a church poor and humble can.”

In a single sentence, Tant gets at the crux of the enduring socioeconomic divide in American Protestantism. Those of us who are well off (and well educated) may genuinely want to help the poor, but we rarely want to give up what we have (“be poor”) in order to do that. We want to be able to help while still enjoying all of the advantages that come with our class status. Tant and other non-institutional thinkers in the churches of Christ in the 1950s and ’60s saw in that truth the genesis of so many parachurch/institutional projects.

Moreover, they saw that these projects were born out of a certain awkwardness. It was the awkwardness that came when a group of people who were busy crossing the tracks socioeconomically looked back at the place and people from whom they had so recently come. Many genuinely felt bad for those they had left behind and wanted to help. In their response they ended up mimicking the behavior of members of other middle-class Protestant denominations. Institutional projects such as Childhaven and countless others allowed the affluent (or recently middle-class) church member to help, while simultaneously keeping his distance. In so doing, they completely missed the way in which they constructed a divide between themselves and the poor.

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A final word: I would be remiss not to note the at-first-glance odd pairing of Stringfellow and Tant. These days, Stringfellow is read admiringly among certain, but not all, progressives in the churches of Christ. I dare say that he is largely unknown among conservatives. That’s interesting, though, because Tant clearly saw an affinity between Stringfellow’s argument in My People Is the Enemy and the non-institutional argument that he and his writers were making in the Guardian in the ’60s, so much so that he could call it “required reading.” I have to wonder: how might one of our editors evaluate Stringfellow’s book today?

 

“May We Have More Modest Reports?”

I’ve written here in recent months about some of the more moving stories to be encountered through a careful reading of the “News and Notes” column in the Gospel Advocate. It’s an unlikely source, to be sure, but I’ve been edified by my encounter with such stories.

By the 1940s, one can detect an unmistakeable shift of atmosphere in “News and Notes.” What had once been the place where a small, committed band of evangelists shared news and prayer concerns, marriage announcements and jokes, pleas for help and so on, gradually became a bloated vehicle for self-promotion and career-building.

This shift can be seen in at least a couple of ways. First, there is the fact that “News and Notes” ballooned in size during this period. By the 1940s, “News and Notes” typically took up a third or more of the total weekly page count. Most everyone wanted to appear on the page. (Incidentally, John T. Lewis was a notable exception; you’ll only find him there if he’s being mentioned by someone else.) In part, this was because such appearances, especially regular ones, were the currency of a career in preaching. It was a way to get your name out there, to break into the brotherhood of preachers, especially if you were young.

A. E. Emmons, Jr. (1913-1980)

A. E. Emmons, Jr. (1911-1980)

Consider the example of Birmingham preacher A. E. Emmons, Jr., preacher for the new Central Church of Christ from 1942 to 1948. During his time in Birmingham, Emmons became a regular contributor to “News and Notes.” Whether the news was significant or not, Emmons kept the statistical reports coming. These reports, whatever their intrinsic value, served to keep Central — and, just as importantly, Emmons himself — before the brotherhood as an active and growing congregation. Thus it could be seen as a kind of resume-padding.

But that is to be perhaps a bit too cynical. These sorts of reports served another, equally important function. They allowed Emmons to extend the favor of good publicity to young preachers with whom he was acquainted. As was common in those days, Emmons would leave Birmingham during gospel meeting season (i.e., the summer) to hold meetings across the country. While he was gone a young man, usually from one of the colleges affiliated with the Churches of Christ, would fill in for him. For example, Jack Duncan filled in at Central during the summers of 1943 and 1944; Joe F. Watson, a student at Freed-Hardeman College, filled in for the summer of 1945; Bob Crawley, then a student at David Lipscomb College, filled in during the summer of 1946. (Some of you will recall that Crawley later preached at Belview Heights in Birmingham.)

In each case, Emmons repeatedly mentions the young man’s name and compliments him on the work he did for the Central church. Such mentions in “News and Notes” functioned as a brief letter of recommendation for young preachers and songleaders from all over the country who were looking for meeting work or for a position with an established congregation.

A second way in which we can see how “News and Notes” was changing is that the content of entries became more formulaic, more laconic. Individual entries came to consist largely of a tally of meeting locations, numbers baptized, numbers restored. Such information has its uses for the historian, of course. But even the detail-obsessed among us (like myself) can see that something important was lost. Gone is the personal feel of earlier reports: the request for prayers for a dying church member, the wedding and birth announcements, the family news, jokes — in short all of the little gems that one might have found there thirty years earlier.

The Advocate itself, it should be noted, encouraged this change: “News and Notes” editor W. E. Brightwell (1893-1957) frequently exhorted those who sent in reports to strip out all “extraneous” details from their reports. To make clear what it was he was looking for in a good “News and Notes” entry, Brightwell ran a feature called “The Sum Total,” a context-free tally of the number of baptisms and restorations reported in a given issue. At various times, similar tallies were given for the Nashville churches. Brightwell wanted the stats; the personal stories were, it would seem, nice but unnecessary.

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These changes had their critics, none more pointed than Birmingham preacher

Pryde E. Hinton (1897-1978)

Pryde E. Hinton (1897-1978)

Pryde Hinton. Hinton, after spending time in Atlanta and Selma in the ’20s and ’30s, settled for the bulk of his preaching career in northern Jefferson County, Alabama, around Warrior and Oneonta. He was a frequent contributor of articles to the Advocate and a close associate of the Birmingham churches and of John T. Lewis, even though they had their differences from time to time. As was true of Lewis, Hinton was hardly one to shy away from speaking his mind.

A characteristic example of Hinton’s criticism of “News and Notes” can be found in the May 23, 1946 issue of the Advocate, which I transcribe here unedited:

“And thence sailed to Antioch, from whence they had been recommended to the grace of God for the work which they fulfilled. And when they were come, and had gathered the church together, they rehearsed all that God had done with them, and how he had opened the door of faith unto the Gentiles. And there they abode long time with the disciples.” (Acts 14: 26-28.)

Some things in the above are more obvious than the identity of a colored parson.

1. God’s grace was considered a major factor.

2. They were responsible to the church which sent them. (Acts 13.)

3. They reported to the church which sent them–not to the “brotherhood.”

4. They did not tell what they had done, but “all that God had done with them.” They seemed only humble tools in God’s hand.

5. They gave God the credit for their success. He opened the door of faith unto the Gentiles. In the words of one of these preachers: “Neither is he that planteth any thing, neither he that watereth; but God that giveth the increase.” How time changes things–sometimes!

If a Christian moves from Bugtussle to Peepcrack (there are such names in Alabama — well, nicknames, anyway), he should make himself known to the elders, if they are to look after his soul. But it does seem that the elders might notice that a stranger is present, talk with him, and then announce his coming to work and worship with the congregation — not that evening, for then precious few would ever know it, but next Lord’s-day morning. Or Brother Jones could come forward in “response” to the invitation.

But what I still want to know is this: Why is such a change of address of any importance to Christians in Tennessee or Texas? If Bugtussle is a better church, having a stronger group of elders than Peepcrack, is not Brother Jones worse off for the move? Too, granting that Brother Jones is an asset, has not Bugtussle lost a fellow worker? Is that good news?

But it does make good padding for the preacher’s report, and he must create the impression that things are happening like fighting fire, since he has moved to Peepcrack. Perhaps Brother Jones would have been left out in the cold, cold world if the preacher had not been there to grasp his hand when he came down the aisle in “response” to the invitation (either aisle).

May we have more modest reports? Also I suggest that we give God credit for opening the door of faith unto people, anyway. Surely it was not altogether our irresistible personalities that won the people to Christ! God must have had some part in the meeting.

– “An Interesting Report,” Gospel Advocate 88.21 (May 23, 1946): 499.

Hinton wrote several of these blistering meta-level criticisms of the self-promoting fare to be found in “News and Notes.” This isn’t even the harshest one. More amazing to me is that the Advocate printed them.

Anniversary

I’m not much for this sort of thing, but it seems appropriate now. I was just reminded that 2014 is the tenth year of this blog’s existence. Doubtless, it’s difficult to back up from your own work and look at it critically. Moreover, how does one discern a narrative arc in a blog? Bear with me for a moment, though, while I give it a try.

Ten years ago, I was teaching Latin in suburban Atlanta and finishing up an M.A. Some of you, my longsuffering readers, remember those days: my preoccupation with ephemeral news items, shallow engagements with evangelical theology, and all of that classics-related miscellanea. The flirtation with emergent stuff, the interaction with ‘progressive’ CofC bloggers, the casual flirtation with the politics of the Evangelical Left — it’s all there fossilized forever on the Internet. Regrettable? Perhaps. None of it’s terribly compelling, a lot of it is more than a little embarrassing. At the same time, though, the permanence that the Internet bestows on our digital lives has its uses. It’s probably a good exercise for every blogger to go back and cringe for a moment at some clumsily expressed opinion or ill-considered book recommendation that sounded good at the time. It helps to nurture a humble spirit, if nothing else.

A lot has happened since then. I myself have changed. My wife and I recently passed twelve years of marriage. Our two girls are growing up: they started kindergarten this past fall. I’ve been through a seminary degree program and completed another thesis. A job in publishing that started out as a way to generate income with two babies on the way has turned into something that kind of resembles a career. There have been professional successes. I’ve benefited greatly from some close friendships.

There are roses in life and there are thorns, of course. The past few years have seen dreams pursued and thwarted. I’ve had occasion to see how cruel people can be. But I’ve also been the recipient of incredible kindness. I’ve been given gifts of support and friendship that I do not deserve, gifts that I can only attribute to work of a God who cares.

But back to the blog-iversary.

The nature of this blog has changed over time. After 2010 or so, it seemed best to take this thing in a more substantive direction. I didn’t exactly know what that would look like then, but in years since then I’ve given much more space to my research, and correspondingly less to the news of the day, internet disputes, and things of that sort. I can say without hesitation that that was a good decision. One of the unanticipated ironies of that decision is that the narrower my focus has become the wider the readership here has grown. I’m still processing exactly what that means. Growing my readership has never been the highest of my priorities. I can say, though, that I’m extremely grateful for all of your insights and comments on what I’ve written and posted here.

At the center of my shift as a blogger has been my research on John T. Lewis and on the Nashville churches. A reflection of this sort wouldn’t be complete without some attempt to take stock of that. In  large part, I have Mac Ice and John Mark Hicks to thank for my focus on these two topics: Mac for countless long conversations about Nashville and the chance to hang around the Historical Society; John Mark for historical and systematic theology classes that helped me put some things in broader perspective, for Kingdom Come, and for helping me see Lewis’ life and thought as a needed area of research.

I’ve been reading and thinking and writing about Lewis in particular with some regularity since 2010. That summer, I was invited to give two lectures at the Lafayette Church of Christ in Lafayette, Tennessee, one on Daniel Sommer and the other on Lewis. It was then that I began to think there might be room for a detailed study of Lewis’ life and work. It was not until 2012 that I had read and thought enough to begin to put together a proposal for a thesis on Lewis.

I think I’ve come to see, as I’ve lived with Lewis and his writings for the past year and a half that this project has always been about more than an indulgence in my love of research. It’s personal: it’s very much about who I am, who I was raised to be, and who I, for better or worse, have become. Constant interaction with Lewis’ thought has challenged and changed me. He’s given me many an opportunity for self-reflection, for reflection on my family and my religious inheritance. He’s been the starting point of some important friendships over the past few years, and the source of some courage in the midst of conflict and uncertainty. For all of that I’m thankful: to him, in a way, and also to all of you who have been here with me to help me process it here.

To be sure, I’ve never been the world’s most consistent blogger. It would be rash of me to promise that 2014 will be any different. That said, there are several exciting things on the horizon. Look for more details here in the coming months.

“Synagogues of Satan”

Tolbert Fanning

Tolbert Fanning, 1810-1874 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve been reading J. E. Scobey’s Franklin College and its Influences (1904) of late. Scobey’s book is part biography of Tolbert Fanning, part history of Franklin College, Fanning’s short-lived school.

Reading this morning, I came across this bit from Fanning’s pen that seemed worth sharing:

“It is an indisputable fact that even churches formed of the wealthy, speculative, and idle are little more than synagogues of Satan. I pretend not to account for the mystery; but if there be truth in existence, there is something in labor which controls and subdues man’s animal appetites–reconciles him to his Maker and renders him contented with his lot. If it be an object to have honest society, the proper plan is to form it of a working population; if we wish good morals, we must find people who live by industry; and if we wish to live with the pious, we must find an association in which the rule is adopted and carried out punctiliously that ‘he that will not work shall not eat.’ All the sermons, lectures, and papers of Christendom will fail to make an idle, luxurious, and sport-seeking community either wise, virtuous, or happy. The best and happiest beings of earth are such as ‘do their own work, laboring with their own hands,’ and love to have it so. The working classes are admitted to be the most charitable of all others.”

Christian Review (1846), quoted in Scobey, pp. 24-25.

Snippets from the pens of Fanning and David Lipscomb along these lines could easily be multiplied. Fanning’s writings frequently feature attacks on wealth in the Church and push through the lines we usually draw in contemporary American society (and American Christianity) about wealth and poverty, socioeconomic and educational status. Franklin College — and its institutional descendants, the Nashville Bible School (1891) and Alabama Christian College (1912-1922) — were characterized by a deep commitment to the value of manual labor and of education of the poor.

In Nashville, these commitments are what set NBS in its early years apart from schools like Vanderbilt University and Ward-Belmont College, schools that indeed were open, but open for those who could afford to pay. As time went on, the pedagogical vision of Fanning and Lipscomb was forgotten in the quest of college administrators to conform their institutions to the prevailing standards of American higher education in the twentieth century, a quest that was paralleled in churches in the same period as Fanning himself suggests in this excerpt.