Moody: Mighty Reconciler

An editorial written by Dr. Philpott at the request of the Chicago Tribune for publication in its issue of February 5, 1928.

No more picturesque figure ever strode across the pages of American history than Dwight L. Moody, who was born just ninety-one years ago today. His amazing rise from obscurity to worldwide influence is one of the most inspiring stories in America’s Hall of Fame. Judged by the lasting results of his work, he shares honors with Lincoln as our greatest contribution to humanity in the nineteenth century. Thousands of men more talented than Moody, and with vastly greater advantages, have passed on “unwept, unhonored, and unsung.” H.G. Wells says the measure of a man’s greatness is not what he has done, but rather what proportion of his possibilities he accomplished. Never has a man made more of his talents than did D.L. Moody. Lacking eloquence, and with an unimposing platform presence, he became the greatest preacher of the age. Meagerly educated himself, he rose to be one of America’s foremost educators. Knowing nothing of business, he developed into a great executive, successfully administering a gigantic project. Born in poverty and dying a poor man, his philanthropy mounted into the millions.

Always Active

Perhaps it was the inexhaustible energy of the man that urged him on in such high gear until his death in December, 1899. It may have been a consuming passion to make people happy that inspired him, but the fact remains that his accomplishments would have done credit to five so-called famous men.

For forty years, his work was linked with the life of Chicago. Thousands of readers of this paper will remember his vivid personality. How well I recall the first time I saw him! At first sight, I was keenly disappointed. Could this be the great Moody—this heavy and stolid looking person? He weighed over two hundred pounds. A large head and no neck gave one the impression of mental as well as physical heaviness. But as he warmed to his theme, I forgot the thickness of his body and the crudeness of his speech, and was conscious only of a remarkable magnetism that drew out the best that was in me. He spoke not as a theologian, but as a divinely inspired messenger, telling his story simply but dramatically. “He knew only two books,” says Drummond, “the Bible and Human Nature. Out of these he spoke; and because both are books of life, his words were afire with life; and the people to whom he spoke, being real people, listened and understood.”

Overcoming Obstacles To Progress

The following little glimpses at incidents in his life show the many-sidedness of the man:

He was always a master salesman. He started out to seek his fortune at the age of seventeen as a shoe salesman in Boston. Later he moved to Chicago, and at the age of twenty-four was making five thousand dollars a year—in those days, a remarkable salary for so young a man. His selling instinct amounted to genius. If prospects didn’t come into the store, he went out on the street and brought them in. He followed the same methods in his later work. When he had given up shoe selling and began saving souls, if sinners didn’t come into his mission, he went out on the street and got them. It was his ability to sell himself and his work that made it possible for him to raise such huge sums for his philanthropies. He was “the most magnificent beggar Great Britain had ever known.” The miserly melted before him. The liberal givers gave more liberally. He never made the mistake of asking for too little. One time in Scotland, he was canvassing for a worthy cause in company with a Scotch minister. The Scotchman took the lead, asking for five or ten-pound pledges at each call. Finally, at the home of a wealthy woman, Moody stepped up and said, “Madam, I have come to ask you for two thousand pounds to help build a new mission.” Lyman Abbott, who tells the story, says the lady threw up her hands, exclaiming, “Mr. Moody, I cannot possibly give more than one thousand pounds!”

Discouragement was not in Moody’s vocabulary. When he first was converted, he immediately went at the business of being a Christian as seriously and wholeheartedly as he had gone into selling shoes. He rented four pews in a church and filled them each Sunday with young men. He tried to speak in church meetings, but was asked to desist because of his crude method of expression.

Balked in the conventional methods of church work, he invented unconventional ones. He went to the slums and docks, distributing tracts, comforting the sick, cheering the downhearted. When he volunteered to teach a class in the Sunday school, the superintendent said there was no class open. So next Sunday, young Moody walked into the little mission Sunday school, followed by eighteen dirty, barefooted children that he had picked upon the street. And it was thus that his public ministry began. The ragged urchins had to be talked to, and Moody plunged into the job with the tremendous enthusiasm that characterized all his later work. Drummond says it was here “he laid the foundations for that amazingly direct anecdotal style and explosive delivery which became such a splendid instrument of his future service.”

Humility And Power

Moody was deeply conscious of his limitations through lack of education. When Mr. Gladstone, admiring his great physique, said, “I wish I had your body,” Moody replied, “I wish I had your head.” Himself a man of action, he was quick to scent that which slowed up the swift tempo of his meetings. When a longwinded prayer threatened to put the congregation to sleep, he interrupted with, “While Brother Brown is finishing his prayer, we will sing hymn number—.” He hated hypocrisy and could lash it scathingly, just as Christ did the defilers of the temple. One young man, who was secretly trying to undermine his work, came to him at the close of a service, posing as a faithful worker, and wishing to shake hands. For a moment, Moody hesitated, then took the outstretched hand, saying, “I suppose if Jesus Christ could eat the Last Supper with Judas Iscariot, I ought to shake hands with you.”

It is difficult to appraise the results of Moody’s work in this short column. “He is probably responsible for more brick and stone than any other man of modern times.” Our own great Moody Memorial Church [The Moody Church] is only one of the thousands of institutions inspired by him. There is scarcely a city in England or America where he has not left a visible memorial. His great religious training schools in Chicago and Northfield are the largest of their kind in the world, and have made possible a mental and spiritual training for thousands of deserving men and women.

But I think Moody was greatest as a reconciler. He reconciled nations, churches, and men. Not until Lindbergh has an American so quickly captured international good will. His three triumphant tours of Britain had a tremendous influence in drawing England and America closer together. He worked prodigiously for reconciliation and unity among the Protestant churches. He had no patience with squabbles over non-essentials, and preached only the kingdom of heaven as Christ had preached it. His greatest work of reconciliation was between individual souls and their God.

Dwight L. Moody probably recruited more men for the kingdom of heaven than any other man since Christ. His whole object in life was to make good men and good women who would serve their God with all their heart, with all their mind and with all their strength. From his own mighty fervor he kindled fires that still blaze in the hearts of men. His was the spark that sent Grenfell to that far-reaching work among the Labrador fishermen. It was Moody who inspired the McCormick philanthropies and the great social service of the late Victor Lawson. These are the well-known fires, but in over a million lesser men and women, Moody lighted better lives, nobler ideas.

“When you read in the newspapers that I am dead, don’t believe it,” he wrote. We don’t. D.L. Moody lives forever.