Tag Archives: James A. Harding

On the Larimore-Spiegel Exchange — Part 2

1897 was a watershed year. While it has become canonical, following the national religious census, to assign 1906 as the official date of a split between progressive and conservative Disciples, a page-by-page examination of the Advocate and other papers suggests otherwise. If we want to assign a date, we could do worse than setting it at least a decade earlier.  1897 witnesses a sharp uptick in hostility between progressives and conservatives. We get defections on the missionary field in Japan; J. M. Barnes asserting that he wouldn’t be seen walking down the street beside progressive leaders in his state; Vine Street in Nashville introducing the organ into its worship assemblies.

We could go on, but for the purposes of this discussion, 1897 is significant because it is the year when O. P. Spiegel was radicalized.

In this post, I will examine this critical year in more detail in order to understand the immediate context of the Larimore-Spiegel open letter exchange. Whatever else we might say about it, their exchange did not occur out of the blue. In this post, I will argue that Spiegel’s open letter to Larimore in the Christian Standard was part of a larger effort on his part to neutralize the influence of both Larimore and J. M. Barnes, the two most prominent conservative leaders in Alabama.


Through the first years of his time as State Evangelist—up through 1896, let’s say—O. P. Spiegel pursued a more or less moderate course toward the emerging divide between conservative and progressive Disciples in Alabama. In this, he was far from unusual. As we’ve already said, this was a time of transition for Disciples across the nation. Ties between conservatives and progressives were frayed, but far from severed. Spiegel, along with most other leaders of any standing, still felt it to be in their interest to maintain ties and communication across the Disciple theological spectrum. There was conflict from time to time, to be sure. (For example, Spiegel and Lipscomb clashed in the pages of the Advocate again in 1895.) But there was also constant interaction, often positive, that counterbalanced such episodes of conflict.

Like other progressive leaders during this phase of the conflict, Spiegel believed that patience and gentle persuasion would bring conservative Disciples around to supporting the work of the Alabama Christian Missionary Cooperation. His evangelistic work during the years from 1894 to 1896 reflects this belief. Many years later, he would write, “Up to after I was state evangelist in 1894–97 I could preach in ANY church of our conservative brethren and they could preach in ours.” He was right. But Spiegel’s task as State Evangelist in Alabama was far more daunting than that of a State Evangelist in, say, Ohio or Illinois. In those places, the state society might face only small pockets of opposition to cooperative work or the use of the instrument, a congregation or two here and there. The situation was completely reversed in Alabama. Only a very small number of the Christian Churches in Alabama actively supported the work of the ACMC. The overwhelming majority of the churches did not. Spiegel held evangelistic meetings for churches across the state. In most places he was well received as a preacher. In a few places (Athens, for example) he established a Christian Church where one had not previously existed. But almost none of these churches changed their stance toward the state society as the result of a Spiegel meeting.

But something changed in 1897. Suddenly we see a man who is much more aggressive, more combative, toward his conservative opponents. Why? I think in large part it grows out of his frustration in the face of the sheer scale of his job, at not being able to convince more conservatives to come over to his side of the question. This frustration begat a change in Spiegel’s overall stance toward his conservative brethren.

It also begat a change in strategy. By 1897, Spiegel had come to believe that these churches did not support the society because they were in thrall to a handful of influential conservative leaders—”block-headed, would-be bosses,” he called them on one occasion—who had blinded them to the benefits of the society. As we will see, Spiegel really has two specific men in mind: J. M. Barnes and T. B. Larimore. His tactical approach to each man was quite different.

We might simplify it this way:

With Barnes, Spiegel used the stick. With Larimore, he used the carrot. 

Let’s consider a few episodes from 1897 to see this new stance in action.


First, a note about the geography of the progressive/conservative divide in Alabama around 1897. Alabama as a whole was politically and economically divided between its northern and southern regions. The divisions in the church reflect that same geography.

  • There was strong progressive representation in the churches of the Black Belt, a swath of territory in the southern part of the state, extending from Tuscaloosa through Selma to Montgomery.
  • Walker County, northwest of Birmingham, was the epicenter of a radical conservatism founded upon the doctrinal emphases of the Firm Foundation.
  • The conservatism that held sway in much of the state’s remaining congregations had about it more of the flavor of the Gospel Advocate: staunchly opposed to societies, instrumental music, and the located minister, but also opposed to the Firm Foundation’s hardline stance on rebaptism.

By the 1890s there were influential urban congregations:

  • Herron Street in Montgomery and Poplar Street in Florence were among the larger congregations in the state. Herron Street, established by J. M. Barnes in 1879, reported a membership of some two hundred, but it was not of one mind on the issues of the day. Poplar Street, established by G. A. Reynolds and T. B. Larimore in 1886, was a fairly young church. After the departure of Reynolds in December 1896, the congregation moved in a more purposefully conservative direction.
  • The Birmingham church, (re)established in 1885, reported 350 members in 1896, making it the largest congregation in the state. It was firmly in the progressive camp. J. M. Watson, a co-editor of the Gospel Messenger and close personal friend of Spiegel, was the minister at this point. Larimore, we mentioned in a previous post, held a meeting for the Birmingham church in January 1896 that was very well received. However, I. B. Bradley, preacher for the church in Russellville (and a recent graduate of the Nashville Bible School) held an independent meeting in Birmingham in November of 1896 that led to the establishment of a small, but feisty, conservative congregation in the city (eventually known as Fox’s Hall). There was great antagonism in those early years between First Christian and Fox’s Hall.
  • The Selma church, one of the the few surviving antebellum churches in the state (est. 1852), was also a progressive stronghold. It had hosted the November 1886 organizational meeting of the Alabama Christian Missionary Cooperation. By the mid to late 1890s it was arguably more progressive than the Birmingham church. During the ministerial tenures of E. V. Spicer and Jesse Caldwell, Selma took on many of the classic characteristics of late 19th century Disciples liberalism. (Incidentally, J. E. Spiegel, one of O. P.’s younger brothers, was a member of the Selma church at this time.)


At any rate, Spiegel opened his work for the year 1897 in Montgomery.

There were, at this point, three churches in the capital of Alabama. The Herron Street church, alluded to above; the West End church, a mission point that was begun through Barnes’s preaching efforts in the early 1890s; and a small African-American mission point begun by S. W. Womack, with the help of the Herron Street elders, in 1896.

As alluded to above, in 1897 Herron Street was, to a significant degree, still straddling the fence regarding the issues dividing conservative and progressive Disciples.

N. B.: Much of the chronology that follows comes from Barnes. It must be acknowledged that, when it comes to O. P. Spiegel, Barnes is a hostile source, to say the least. We’ll see that clearly in the extracts I’ve given below. Spiegel’s own self-reflection in both words and actions, however, often bear out Barnes’s estimate of him.

In March 1896, Spiegel had held a meeting for the Herron Street church that was very well received. Barnes himself later wrote that he “found him very, very nice.” But he was suspicious, nonetheless. He confided in another of the Herron Street elders, C. A. Allen:

“Charley, I do not feel right to be seen walking the streets with Spiegel.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Well,” I said, “I am just encouraging a man who would destroy the work I have done  here for years.”
“O pshaw!” he replied, “he cannot do anything here. I’m not afraid of him. Let him go on.”
“Charley Allen,” I continued, “Spiegel could vote you out of your house right now, and the only thing that will save your house will be the mortgage that is on it.”
This and the following excerpts come from J. M. Barnes, “The State Evangelist at Montgomery, Ala.” Gospel Advocate 39.49 (December 9, 1897): 770.

Spiegel’s youth (he was 30 years old at this time) and charisma, in addition to his preaching style, resonated with a significant portion of the Herron Street congregation. Barnes understood this and expressed his concerns. Spiegel understood it as well, and sought to exploit the opening that a successful meeting had given him.

A few months later, Larimore came to the city for the first time. He was assisted by Barnes and W. J. Haynes in a meeting that lasted nearly a month. According to Barnes,

“The brethren at Montgomery determined to get Brother Larimore to hold their meeting. Spiegel began fishing to get into that meeting as helper to Brother Larimore. He worked all whom he had cajoled while he was in the city [in March]. At last the brethren wrote him without reserve that they did not wish him, and that they were not going to have him. He replied tartly.”

No further detail on this incident is available, but we can read between the lines a bit. There seems to have been real jealousy of Larimore on Spiegel’s part. (Larimore, as we will see, seems to have been oblivious to all of this.)

Spiegel was undeterred, though. Barnes continues,

In the spring of this year [1897] he returned to Montgomery, and brought with him Patton, a singer. A hall was hired, or the Recorder’s court room was secured, and Spiegel and Patton opened up with organ, a young lady educated at Highland Home, at that time a member in Montgomery, organist. By the time this meeting closed all who were unflinchingly on the Lord’s side were known, and those who went with the tide were full sectarians. Spiegel was approached on the subject of the organ. He claimed not to favor the organ at one time; at another he told a sister that he intended to have a fine church down town, and an organ in it. He studiously and wilily left with the women of the church a burlesque on a church difficulty, in which the elders, unlearned men, tried to put the organ out of a church, could not do it, separated from the church, tried to establish another church, failed, and showed themselves ridiculous creatures in everything. The stoop-low pamphlet was a fair index to the heart of the stoop-low man who circulated it.

Spiegel at Montgomery 1897

Montgomery Advertiser January 26, 1897, pg. 7

This was Spiegel’s first openly hostile action toward the Herron Street church. Notice Barnes’s strong language in the passage just quoted: “By the time this meeting closed all who were unflinchingly on the Lord’s side were known, and those who went with the tide were full sectarians.” (The clear choice that Barnes sets forth between those “on the Lord’s side” and “full sectarians” shows us just how tenuous progressive-conservative relations were by 1897.) The “burlesque” that Barnes refers to may well be the widely reprinted “Troubles of the Beanville Church.” (The series originally ran in six installments in the Christian-Evangelist and the Gospel Messenger in early 1894. It was reprinted in pamphlet form several times over at least a decade by Christian Publishing Company of St. Louis. The book editor of the Evangelist enthusiastically called it “the funniest thing in all our literature,” noting that it “has done a great deal to laugh ‘anti-ism’ out of existence.”)


The spring of 1897 also saw activity in North Alabama. Spiegel, it appears, had been in

Patton music school

Marion County News (Hamilton, Ala.), October 11, 1900, pg. 8

talks with the elders of the Huntsville church to hold a meeting for them. Spiegel, as seen in the excerpts quoted above, frequently travelled with J. D. Patton (1868–1936), “singing evangelist” (songleader, in other words). Patton is interesting in his own right, but that’s a subject for another post. At any rate, Spiegel set certain conditions for the proposed Huntsville meeting, conditions that he seems to have insisted upon in other places. He writes,

I have a very fine singer who usually goes with me. We have some great meetings. Of course some at first do not like our methods, not understanding us; but no one who hears us through fails to indorse us. Our only contract for a meeting is that we be allowed to run it as seems best to us, with the co-operation and advice of the church, that entertainment be furnished us, and then for our support we take voluntary contributions of members and friends of the church of Christ …. If we want one, two, three, or a dozen songs before the sermon, we have them; if I want Professor [Patton] to sing a fine solo to impress a truth, I have it; if I want to have one stanza in the middle of my sermon to impress in song what I am teaching, I have it. Professor [Patton] uses an organ to fill up weak places and hold all voices steady….

Quoted in F. D. Srygley. “From the Papers.” Gospel Advocate 39.43 (October 28, 1897): 673.

The meeting did not come to fruition. Indeed, we might know nothing of the proposed meeting today had copies of the correspondence between Spiegel and the Huntsville elders not been anonymously sent to the offices of the Gospel Advocate in Nashville. In the Market Street offices of the Advocate, F. D. Srygley was carrying on a journalistic dispute with J. W. McGarvey. The issue was this: Srygley asserted that the state societies were actively pushing the organ onto local congregations. McGarvey denied this. (McGarvey, you will recall, supported the work of the societies, but opposed the use of the instrument in worship.) Srygley promptly published the correspondence. With Spiegel’s Huntsville correspondence in hand, Srygley had all the proof he needed that State Evangelists like O. P. Spiegel were actively trying to introduce the organ into local churches.


Larimore is, of course, conspicuously absent in all of this public back-and-forth in the papers. We do have one suggestive piece of evidence, though. In a letter of recommendation that Larimore wrote scarcely three months prior to the publication of Spiegel’s open letter in the Standard, Larimore gushed about his former student:

“Oscar P. Spiegel was my pupil during the three years he spent at Mars Hill College. . . . Oscar Spiegel was ONE of the PUREST, BRIGHTEST and BEST boys ever matriculated at Mars Hill . . . . I knew him and the family of which he was a member before he became my pupil. I have never heard it intimated, and have no reason to believe, that there has ever been blot, blur or blemish on the Spiegel family’s name or record. The Spiegels are, I believe—and we have long lived in the same section of the same state—above suspicion and without reproach. Oscar is scarcely more than a brilliant, well educated boy yet; but—pure, energetic, well balanced, healthy, prudent, free from all bad habits, possessing great power of both head, heart and hand—he is destined, as surely as he lives, to wield a wonderful influence in this wonderful world.”

Quoted in George and Mildred Watson, History of the Christian Churches in the Alabama Area (St. Louis: Bethany Press, 1965), 71–72.

In light of this letter, Spiegel’s open letter to Larimore in the Christian Standard comes as something of a surprise. Larimore still thinks fondly of Spiegel, but Spiegel has clearly moved on. He is no longer willing to give his former teacher a pass.

Again, Spiegel is trying to neutralize the influence of Barnes and Larimore in the churches of Alabama. With Barnes, he undertook a frontal assault on the Herron Street church, apparently believing that would suffice.

Larimore, however, was a man with a national platform. Spiegel had to use a national platform, the Standard, in order to call Larimore out. He believed he could do it, though, because he had the institutional weight of the church (“the great bulk of the disciples”) behind him: the state and national societies, the major colleges (specifically, College of the Bible), and the major journals (the Christian Standard and the Christian-Evangelist).

Did it work? No. At least not in the way that Spiegel likely intended.

Accolades for Larimore’s statement poured in from conservatives all across the South. Indeed, nearly every issue of the Gospel Advocate for a couple months following the open letter exchange was filled with praise for Larimore.


As the new year of 1898 dawned, O. P. Spiegel had taken a new job, leaving behind the office of State Evangelist to become the new minister of First Christian Church in Birmingham. Once there, he continued the fight he had begun as State Evangelist, in short succession starting new progressive congregations in Woodlawn and Bessemer. He continued to seek a national platform for his mission. In October 1898, at the annual meeting of the American Christian Missionary Society held in Chattanooga, Tennessee, Spiegel delivered a keynote address, “The South as a Mission Field.” The text of the speech doesn’t survive, but the title alone gives us some insight into Spiegel’s mind. The South, indeed, was a mission field–but a specific kind of mission field. It was filled with churches that were not cooperating with the work of the ACMS. Because of that, it was ripe for attention from society-supported missionaries.

M. F. Harmon

Atlanta Constitution February 5, 1899, pg. 18

1898 also saw a new, but equally aggressive, approach to the problem of J. M. Barnes and the Herron Street church. At the beginning of year, M. F. Harmon, prominent Mississippi progressive and co-editor with Spiegel of the Gospel Messenger, came to Montgomery to establish the “Central Christian Church.” Harmon explicitly avowed that he had not come to town to sow division: “I want any work in this city to be characterized by love, zeal, intelligence, devotion to the cause of Christ, and a patient persistency. I am not here to ‘sow seeds of discord,’ nor any other kind of seeds, except the seed of the Kingdom.” It was clear, though, that instead of flipping Herron Street to the pro-society column, Spiegel had decided to establish a rival congregation in the city. Church leaders in Montgomery understood this. In the summer of 1898, James A. Harding came to Montgomery. On this occasion, Barnes and Harding co-signed the following piece that appeared in the pages of the Montgomery Advertiser:

There is something in God’s book called “the Church of God,” “the Church of Christ.” There is nothing named “Christian Church.” Those who “speak as the oracles of God speak,” can call nothing on earth “the Christian Church.” The people that worship at the corner of Hanrick and Herron Streets, and that are now carrying on the tent meeting at Wilson’s Grove, conscientiously believe that it is the duty of Christians to “speak as the oracles of God speak.” They are not “the Christian Church,” they are “the Church of God, the Church of Christ,” or they are nothing. The public are hereby notified that they are not “the Christian Church,” or any part or parcel of it. We invite all who love a pure speech to help us to hold fast the form of sacred words, and make a complete return to the language of the spirit of God.

“The Church of God, The Church of Christ, Not the Christian.” Montgomery Advertiser, July 3, 1898, pg. 2

Harmon’s Central Christian Church began its work with 14 members drawn away from Herron Street by Spiegel and Harmon. It only lasted a few months, however. Harmon left for Atlanta in September 1898, and the church withered.

In our final post, we will turn back to today.

“The most distinctly southern city I ever saw”: Nashville, 1897

Morrison Meade Davis (1850–1926)

Morrison Meade Davis (1850–1926)

To follow up on J. A. Lord’s comments about Nashville in my last post, here’s an excerpt from an account of a visit that M. M. Davis, then pastor of the Central Christian Church in Dallas, paid to Nashville in the summer of 1897:

Nashville is a splendid city of 100,000 people, and is the most distinctly southern city I ever saw; much more so than Dallas. It is strange but true that I traveled 400 miles north and found myself in the midst of a typical southern people; incomparably more so than those I left. That it is full of thrift and enterprise is evidenced by the Centennial Exposition, the best state show ever seen in this country. So good is it that in the estimation of competent judges it compares favorably in many respects with the Columbian Exposition at Chicago. The grounds are spacious and beautiful, the buildings are massive and artistic, and the exhibits are one perpetual and pleasing surprise, and I feel it my duty to urge every one to visit it.

We have about 3,500 people here, with fourteen organizations and twelve places of worship. I had the honor and pleasure of preaching at the Vine St. church, the oldest and largest of them all. They have a $40,000 house in the very heart of the city, and 600 members. R. Lin Cave has been pastor for more than sixteen years, and I never knew a man more universally loved. His recent resignation and call to the presidency of Kentucky University have cast a gloom over the whole church and city, for he is popular with everybody. He has a son, R. Lord Cave, who bids fair to become as great a preacher as his father. And why not? If there is anything in heredity, and we all believe there is, then the grandson of the peerless Dr. Hopson, and the son of R. Lin Cave, two of our strongest men, ought to be a man of power. The Woodland St. Church on the east side of the river, under the pastoral care of T. A. Reynolds, has a good house, with 300 members, and is doing a great work. This church boasts the proud honor of being the mother of the state mission work. A. I. Myhr, the leader of the missionary hosts, has his membership here. C. A. Moore, late of Missouri, is pastor of the South Nashville Church, with David Lipscomb as one of his elders. The other churches have preaching, but no regular pastors.

The Gospel Messenger, late of Mississippi, is now in this city. M. F. Harmon, filled with energy and aglow with hope, a young man of much promise, is its founder, proprietor, and editor. For some time, however, O. P. Spiegel has shared with him his editorial honors and labors, and just recently J. M. Watson has been added to the editorial staff. Bro. Watson will have charge of the office, thus giving Harmon time for outside work when necessary and Spiegel will continue to push its claims in Mississippi. This is the place for the Messenger, and I will be surprised if these three young men do not make it a success. They have wisely inaugurated a publishing house in connection with the paper.

Here also is the Gospel Advocate, edited by David Lipscomb, E. G. Sewell, and F. D. Srygley. This is one of our oldest papers, and is regarded as the representative of the anti-organ and anti-society sentiment. It has a publishing house, and supplies its constituency with much of their literature.

Nashville is pre-eminently a city of schools. Vanderbilt University, Peabody Normal, Belmont, Ward’s and Price’s are well-known institutions. Fisk University and Roger Williams Institute are large schools for the colored people. H. L. Surber is just beginning the second year of Southern Christian College, and he is hopeful for the future. Fanning Academy, founded by Tolbert Fanning, another one of our church schools for girls, is near the city. J. A. Harding’s Bible School for the training of young preachers, is here also. The very atmosphere of the place is charged with the educational idea, making it a most desirable place to live. This is not strange when it is remembered that there are not less than 3,50o students here every year…

(Excerpted from “Texas Letter,” Christian-Evangelist 34.38 [September 23, 1897]: 600.)

So here we have a progressive’s view of events on the ground in Nashville at the turn of the century. Harmon’s Gospel Messenger ran strong for a few years in the mid 1890s, but never approached the circulation of the Advocate. It would close up shop in Nashville about a year after Davis wrote these words. O. P. Spiegel briefly tried to revive it in Birmingham as a periodical voice for the Alabama Christian Missionary Cooperation, but he too had abandoned it by the end of 1902.

In 1897, division between progressives and conservatives was becoming clearer. Even so, Davis can still say that “we have about 3,500 people here, with fourteen organizations and twelve places of worship” and refer to the Gospel Advocate as “one of our oldest papers.” Wishful thinking? Perhaps.

Conservatives in Nashville would certainly have disagreed with Davis’

Vine Street Christian Church

Vine Street Christian Church

assessment of R. Lin Cave and the Vine Street church. Twelve of those fourteen churches to which Davis alludes were conservative in sympathy. That said, none of them could claim the social standing, the respect, or the wealth that Vine Street and Woodland Street held. This comes through in some of David Lipscomb’s most scathing comments about Vine Street: “The Vine Street church, in Nashville, is a strong church numerically, pecuniarily, socially. It is surpassed by no such church in Nashville of any denomination in social and intellectual and pecuniary ability. It is the weakest church claiming to be Christian in the city. I have known its work for fifty years past. During that time it has not planted a church or sent out a preacher” (Gospel Advocate 1907, pg. 681, emphasis added).

It would be difficult to miss the point: Vine Street’s pride in its social standing—and its apparent lack of interest in evangelization—tarnished its faithfulness.

Still, though, I wonder what Lord was getting at in his comments about Nashville? Is social standing all he sees? Did he expect Vine Street and Woodland Street to start planting churches in numbers that would stem the conservative tide? Did he expect the conservatives to shoot themselves in the foot with their own dogmatism or their own “inadequate theory of church expansion”? We will never know.


I’ll be back to the Birmingham materials soon. My trek through the Firm Foundation has yielded some interesting results that I intend to share here.

New Book

Foy Short coverGardner Hall, Foy Short: A Life in Southern Africa  (Port Murray, NJ: Mount Bethel Publishing, 2012).

Without a doubt, there has been a sea change in the historiography of the Churches of Christ in recent decades. The hagiography (and, in some cases, posturing) of the early 20th century has largely been left behind. What has replaced it is a much more sophisticated kind of historical and theological analysis.

But there is still some room for improvement. Some writers, for example, have continued to view the first half of the 20th century as something of a theological wasteland or as an embarrassing chapter in the family history to be hastily passed over, a regrettable period marked by debates, sectarianism, and fractiousness. To some extent, this is an understandable reaction. Many people in mainline Churches of Christ have had trouble owning this history (assuming that they are even aware of it) because of those traits. They have preferred, instead, to jettison what they understand to be an unsavory past in favor of the perceived promise that a (de facto) merger into American evangelicalism might bring with it.

But I digress.

Fortunately, this state of neglect has begun to abate. The past few years have witnessed renewed interest and a number of fruitful projects. Among these, we should certainly mention the publication of John Mark Hicks’ and Bobby Valentine’s Kingdom Come (2006), a book to be noted for the fact that it takes David Lipscomb and James A. Harding’s ideas seriously. (I should also call attention to Hicks and Valentine’s continuing work on K. C. Moser and R. L. Whiteside.) Interest is blossoming in other quarters as well. The folks at the Alabama Restoration Journal have been doing good work directing attention to significant figures in that state (including a very helpful issue devoted to John T. Lewis). At this year’s CSC, one presenter made two very nice presentations on noted missionary and Foy Wallace bugaboo Don Carlos Janes, and another entire panel was devoted to the Lipscomb-McGary rebaptism controversy.

But even with this renewed interest, other problems remain. The general histories, for as thorough as some of them are, have tended to (with the exception of Hughes and Harrell) overlook and have otherwise failed to take seriously the various “wings” of the Churches of Christ — premillennial, non-institutional, one cup, mutual edification, etc. — that arose during that period. In this regard, there is still much work to be done if the history of these smaller fellowships is ever to be seen as more than a footnote to the history of mainline Churches of Christ.

That brings me to the present work, Gardner Hall’s Foy Short: A Life in Southern Africa (2012). The book, of course, is a biography of Harold Foy Short (1921-2012), longtime missionary among the Churches of Christ in what is now Zimbabwe.

In 1921, Will and Delia Short, along with their infant son Foy, left Harper, Kansas, and Cordell Christian College, for Rhodesia, a British colony in southern Africa. Once there, they joined the ongoing mission work of John Sherriff, a New Zealand native who came to Rhodesia to preach in 1896. Once in Africa, Sherriff underwent a change in his convictions regarding instrumental music in worship and gradually came into affiliation with the Churches of Christ in the United States.

The book proceeds briskly through Will Short’s early mission work in the

Bennie Lee Fudge (1914-1972)

northern part of the country, the hardships of raising a family in the bush, and the complexities of navigating changing affiliations among stateside churches. Turning to the childhood of young Foy, we pick up with his departure for the United States in December 1940 to enter college. Gardner Hall does a fine job of describing key influences on Foy’s thought in the six years he was stateside: his professors at Abilene Christian College — R. C. Bell, Homer Hailey, and others; his developing friendship with Bennie Lee Fudge; and his work alongside Fudge on the faculty of the newly created North Alabama Bible School in Athens, Alabama. After narrating Short’s return to Africa in 1947, the book enters a rhythm in which his work at various mission points in Rhodesia alternates with accounts of periodic return trips to the States. Interspersed are discussions of various controversies that Short had to deal with in his work (both those specific to Africa and those imported from the United States), profiles of his native coworkers, discussions of his continuing educational work both in Rhodesia/Zimbabwe and in the States, and some notice of how his work was affected by deteriorating political conditions in Zimbabwe after the nation gained independence in 1980.

The book concludes with two helpful appendices: one which gives the reader an orientation to the history of Rhodesia/Zimbabwe and another which provides short biographical sketches of a number of American evangelists who have worked in the country since the time of John Sherriff.


As I thought about this book and this review, I was reminded of some words of Iain Provan I read recently:

“All testimony about the past is also interpretation of the past. It has its ideology or theology; it has its presuppositions and its point of view; it has its narrative structure; and (if at all interesting to read or listen to) it has its narrative art, its rhetoric. It is intrinsically embroiled in advocacy, even if it may go out of its way to try to disguise this fact and appear neutral. There is no true neutrality, however; no dispassionate, unbiased, and presuppositionless presentation of the facts is possible. People always write about the past because they wish to communicate some kind of truth to their readers or to advocate some kind of virtue. It has always been so; it will always remain so.”

This might strike some as a controversial statement. Consider this, though. “Objective” histories of the Stone-Campbell Movement written by Disciple scholars in the early 20th century often failed to even mention the existence of a cappella Churches of Christ. The Church of Christ was a small splinter group in their eyes, the redneck cousins they were embarrassed to claim. (A more contemporary version of the same phenomenon can be seen in the attitude of many mainline outlets among Churches of Christ toward their separated brethren in one cup, non-institutional, and non-class churches.) What’s the lesson to be learned from reading DeGroot and other Disciple historians from that period? They teach us, quite inadvertently, that sweeping claims to objectivity rarely ensure that no agenda in fact exists. Often, such claims simply mean that the agenda is masked – masked, often enough, to the eyes of the author himself. Better, then, to be honest about one’s presuppositions up front.

It seems to me that much of the value of the newer historiography among Churches of Christ comes from how it embodies that point. It holds in tension two seemingly contradictory impulses.

First, it is no longer a priori beholden to maintaining walls between groups. It’s our historians — not our churches or news outlets — that are in the forefront of this development. The Alabama Restoration Journal, for example, brings together historians from non-institutional and mainline conservative backgrounds — two groups that have less in common than might appear at first blush. ACU Press’ series of histories of the three major streams of the Movement is a cooperative project across traditional lines. The World History Project (set to be released soon) does the same thing on a much larger — and international — scale.

At the same time, most of this work — and this is key — respects the real differences that exist among the various wings of the Movement. The cooperative projects just described make no attempt to carry the banners of their respective parties or to fall back on the kind of lazy ecumenism that has descended on so many quarters, the ecumenism that attempts to bypass our differences by pretending that they don’t really matter or by claiming that they are merely matters of preference. (This is not, by the way, a swipe at serious ecumenical dialogue.) That’s true of the ACU Press and World History projects and of the Alabama Restoration Journal. Because of this, they have the freedom to tell the story in all of its messiness and humanity.

This gives me hope for more of the kind of historical work done by Gardner Hall in Foy Short. Hall forgoes any kind of programmatic claim to objectivity — and that’s a good thing. This is a personal story for him. He knows (or knew, in the case of the late Foy Short) many of the people about whom he writes. He was raised and educated in the North Alabama non-institutional milieu about which he writes. But that’s not to say that Hall has no concern for the ‘facts.’ He has clearly done due diligence in his research, digging up archival documents and interviewing participants spread out over two continents. Moreover, he doesn’t feel the need to hide facts that might be inconvenient in some quarters (e. g., Will Short’s close association with Don Carlos Janes and the Word and Work).

At the same time, he is up front about his assumptions. He understands that Foy Short’s life tells a story, makes a point, that he believes needs sharing. He is concerned to position the nature of Short’s work in Rhodesia/Zimbabwe independently of mainline parachurch mission efforts in the same region. Yet, at the same time, his work is not harsh or argumentative in tone.

For my own purposes, I was especially interested in how Hall’s book would interact with John Mark Hicks and Bobby Valentine’s thesis in Kingdom Come. As I’ve indicated here before — even though this was not their primary purpose — Hicks and Valentine’s Tennessee-Texas paradigm has been beneficial for many in non-institutional circles in coming to terms with a number of questions. One of the most important of those questions is this: was the non-institutional movement of the 1950s entirely de novo or did it have a clear lineage in the history of Churches of Christ and in the history of the 19th century Stone-Campbell Movement? The work of Hicks and Valentine (along with the earlier work of Richard Hughes) has shown that the non-institutional protest did not arise out of the blue. It had a clear and demonstrable lineage.

That said, it was a lineage that drew on many different theological threads in the Movement’s history. It was not, in other words, an uncomplicated lineage coming out of one source (e. g., the writings of Daniel Sommer), as some hostile observers have suggested. The discussion arising out of the work of Hicks and Valentine has helped to show that we can point to at least two (but probably three) varieties of non-institutional thought. Hall’s primary interest in his discussion of Hicks and Valentine is in the demonstrable continuities in the thought of NI leaders like Short and Bennie Lee Fudge with the “Tennessee” thought of David Lipscomb and James A. Harding. These continuities are readily seen in his parents (who were themselves educated at J. N. Armstrong’s school in Harper, Kansas) and in his time at ACC and in North Alabama. Hall’s own take on the Tennessee tradition is worth quoting at length:

“[Harding and Lipscomb’s] approach to the scriptures emphasized God’s grace, separation from the world, trust in God’s providence, and strict construction in the interpretation of the scriptures. Some who today claim the Lipscomb-Harding heritage as their own do not emphasize that latter characteristic. Historian Richard Hughes believes that Barton W. Stone’s teachings had a strong influence on Lipscomb and Harding. Lipscomb and Harding’s grace-plus-convictions approach heavily influenced churches in North Alabama in the early part of the twentieth century … Bennie Lee Fudge would pass on these values to his protégé, Foy Short, although Foy had probably already received a good dose from his parents who in turn had received them from J. N. Armstrong, a student of Lipscomb’s.” (pp. 50-51)

Hall’s four-point interpretation of Hicks and Valentine’s Tennessee Tradition gets a lot of things right. It emphasizes something critical to Lipscomb’s thought – “strict construction” in the interpretation of the Bible – that Hicks and Valentine largely pass over. Worth adding, in this reviewer’s opinion, would be some discussion of how Short exemplified (especially in some of his editorial decisions discussed on pp. 135-138) the value placed on open discussion in the Tennessee tradition and the more expansive views of fellowship that also characterized that tradition. (This last point is also exemplified in the life of John T. Lewis. That’s another blog post, though.) Overall, though, Foy Short is a real and valuable contribution to an ongoing discussion about the validity of Hicks and Valentine’s categories.


Going forward, I think there are several points that bear further discussion.

  • This book, to my knowledge, constitutes the first serious historical work on mission work among non-institutional churches and the significant ways in which those missions differ from mainline mission efforts. (Indeed, the book is worth every penny for showing that the phrase “non-institutional missionary” is not an oxymoron.) There are other mission efforts that, it occurs to me, might bear out a similarly detailed investigation. What about the now three-decades-old effort by NI missionaries (and native preachers) in the Philippines?
  • This book does much to (helpfully) complicate the neat and tidy taxonomies that dominate mainline discussions of all of the “wings” of Churches of Christ: premillennial, non-institutional, etc. It steadfastly disallows the tendency to see the wings as the province of fringe radicals who have nothing to say to — and are totally disconnected from — the “mainstream.” To cite one example, I was intrigued to read about Will Short’s connections with Don Carlos Janes and the Word and Work. Foy, as we learn in the book, did not share his father’s “Bollite” (to borrow a phrase) sympathies. But it is still interesting to think about how fluid the theological spectrum in the churches was in the early 20th century, especially on the mission field.
  • This book, as we have said, carries the Tennessee-Texas-Indiana paradigm forward, recognizing some important ways how the Tennessee-Texas dispute played out in non-institutional circles in the middle of the 20th century. But how does that paradigm hold up as an interpretation of the later history of the non-institutional communion? I especially have in mind here the disputes of the 1980s and 1990s. If, in other words, we grant the existence of a Tennessee stream of thought in NI circles (concentrated primarily in North Alabama), then — to creatively paraphrase Tertullian — what does Athens have to do with Bowling Green (or Tampa or Nashville)?