After hours of scrubbing over a hot soapy tub, a certain Adventist lady in the village of Jackson, Michigan, was taking down her washing one day when a close neighbor, who had frequently vented her spleen against Sabbath keepers, hurled a bucket of water out of her window and splashed mud all over her nice clean clothes.
"You ... you witch!" cried the Adventist lady in a burst of tears, as she angrily yanked the clothes off the line for a second scrubbing.
Inevitably the word spread; or rather, a different word spread. In those simple days, when the good name of the church was a primary concern of every member, a meeting to consider her case was convened at the home of blacksmith Dan Palmer, the local Adventist leader. H.S. Case and C.P. Russell, two of the numerous more-or-less self-appointed ministers of the day, rebuked the woman severely and accused her of using a certain word. This word, she just as strongly insisted, she had not used.
Calmer minds soon suggested prayer. And while the group were on their knees, Ellen White, who was stopping by with her husband on their way west, received a vision. At Elder White's invitation, Russell and Case examined her carefully until they were convinced that her experience was authentic. When the vision closed, Mrs. White announced that God had unveiled the truth about the lady in question and that she had indeed done something wrong. Having revealed this much, however, Ellen found herself unable to recall any more.
Case and Russell were jubilant. Emphatically they declared themselves steadfastly confident in Sister White's divine gifts as a prophet, and demanded that the hapless woman confess!
On Friday night, during family worship in another Adventist home, the same vision was repeated. On Sabbath morning, during the sermon at Dan Palmer's house, Mrs. White returned once more to the situation. The woman did do wrong, she repeated--but the lord had also revealed, Ellen went on, that she had not used the specific word which Case and Russell had accused her of using. God had shown, moreover, that He was deeply displeased with the unkindness manifested by the two ministers and desired compassion instead.
The reaction was remarkable. The woman melted into tears, confessed what she had done, and begged forgiveness. Russell and Case, on the other hand, complained indignantly about Mrs. White's unwarranted criticism of themselves and condemned her visions as totally unreliable!
It was in this manner in June 1853 that the first "offshoot" from Sabbath-keeping Adventism was born. [1] The two men soon inaugurated a new publication with which to attack the Whites and other leaders, and from its title, Messenger of Truth, they and their followers came to be called "The Messenger Party."
At that very time James White was seriously ill from overwork. It seemed so likely that he would die that when in Battle Creek his first little house was built, he had the deed made out in the name of his wife. [2] The Messenger made merry over his malaise, citing it as crowning evidence that God would soon take him out of the way.
When James read the Messenger's uncharitable comments, his faith revived, and like Wycliffe of old he sat up in bed and exclaimed, "I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord, and may yet preach at their funeral." [3]
For two long years loyal ministers felt it their duty to defend the Whites and the truth from the Messenger's attacks. But after a vision on a Sabbath evening in Oswego, New York, in June 1855, Ellen White instructed them not to reply to the charges any longer, but to devote their time and energy to proclaiming "truth, present truth." [4] In the name of the Lord, she promised that if they would do this, the leaders of the offshoot would soon go to war among themselves; their paper would expire, and their movement vanish. She also promised that when that time came, Adventists (if they followed God's counsel) would find that their own ranks had doubled. [5]
For a while it must have seemed that her words could never be fulfilled, for late that same year a second group separated out under the leadership of J.M. Stephenson and D.P. Hall. Their burden was that man's opportunity for salvation continues on during the "age to come" (that is, during the millennium), a belief which earned them the name, "The Age-to-Come Party." Stephenson and Hall had been won to the Sabbath when J.H. Waggoner walked fifty miles specifically to teach it to them. At first they had condemned Russell and Case for the "egregious ... exposition" of doctrine in their "Messenger of Error." [6] But after a while Stephenson and Hall found that they agreed with Russell and Case in rejecting James White's leadership and Ellen White's visions, and so joined them. The Messenger Party appeared to be growing, not falling apart. But the brethren obeyed Ellen White's counsel, the Messenger Party (including its Age-to-Come auxiliary) did dissolve in due course, and on January 14, 1858, White reported in the Review that subscriptions had increased in three years from one thousand to two thousand.
The final end of the editor of the Messenger was a somber one. Finding himself out of a job because he was out of readers, he went to teaching school to make a living. "But not having learned first to govern himself, he failed utterly in governing his pupils." Angry with an unruly student, he pulled a gun on him. To escape lynching he fled to parts unknown. [7]
Still another offshoot developed, in 1858, which, from its practice, might be designated "The Smoke and Chew Party." The use of tobacco, though not yet a test of fellowship, was disparaged by most Sabbath keepers. A few believers, however, in the vicinity of Otsego, Michigan, found a minister to their liking, a certain Gilbert Cranmer, who encouraged them to keep both the Sabbath and their tobacco. In common with the Messenger and Age-to-Come people, they published a paper (the Hope of Israel) and vehemently denied the inspiration of Ellen White. Like them, too, they soon faded off the scene. [8]
To avoid returning to offshoots for a while, it may be added here that in 1865 the remnants of these three groups received a few reinforcements when Elders B.F. Snook and W.H. Brinkerhoff were voted out of the leadership of the Iowa Conference. Snook and Brinkerhoff wanted a congregational, independent type of denominational structure and opposed Elder and Mrs. White with vigor. Because they made their headquarters in Marion, Iowa, they and their group came to be known as "The Marion Party." Brinkerhoff soon resumed his practice of law, and Snook turned Universalist. The movement still exists as the Church of God, Seventh Day (Denver, Colorado). [9]
Loughborough somewhere picked up the curious but not impossible legend that the four offshoots printed their papers on the same little handpress. According to the story, each successive group purchased it from its predecessor. [10]
The main body imposed no legal or economic sanctions on those who wished to leave. They could scarcely have done so even had they desired to. But there were some administrative implications involved which were hard to overlook. The defecting leaders of these various offshoots had become well-known through the Review during their loyal days, and they described themselves in distant communities as still being staunch supporters of the movement. Who was there to prove that they were not?
Further, in 1854 when a large evangelistic audience overflowed a school house to hear John Loughborough preach, the question arose, "Why not use a tent?" Local laymen promptly put up the money, and Merritt Cornell hopped on a train and returned with one in a matter of days. Soon believers in several states pooled their resources to purchase "state tents" to be used by itinerant preachers in their respective areas, and both attendance and baptisms rose encouragingly. In Wisconsin the disaffected Age-to-Come and Messenger ministers took the state tent for their own use. And who was there to say that they couldn't?
There were other problems too which required central organization. The only regularly dependable means of communication among the brethren was the Review. If a minister felt impressed to travel to a certain area, he announced his intention in the church paper. When subsequent issues came out, he borrowed copies from whatever believer he happened to be stopping with at the time and looked for published replies from people who lived in the area to which he was headed. These letters, if any, told him where his services were most needed and where there was the most likelihood of success.
Conversely, if the believers in an area desired the assistance of a certain minister, they let him know through the Review. The following notice, for instance, appeared in the issue for January 21, 1858:
"Cannot Bro. and Sr. White, or Brn. Loughborough and Waggoner, or somebody else make an appointment for a meeting at Gilboa [Ohio], and give notice of it in the Review? We have expected such an appointment at every mail for the last six weeks. Are there no bowels of compassion? T. J. B."
Not without reason were the ministers referred to as "traveling brethren." On riverboats and railroad cars, over corduroy (log) roads and icy trails, many of them rode, and often on foot they tramped back and forth, up and down, from Maine to Minnesota believing they were led by the Holy Spirit. Often no doubt they were so led. But "God is not the author of confusion." 1 Corinthians 14:33.
Eager to finish the work, men accepted one urgent call after another rushing from state to state without waiting to ascertain first whether their new converts were adequately grounded, or whether another minister, working nearby already, could attend to the need more efficiently. Then, too, along with the men who were truly called of God there were, as we have seen, other self-appointed ministers, whose labors were fruitless or worse. And there were inexperienced men who required special counsel to help them mature.
A central clearinghouse was needed where decisions could be made for the most efficient employment of the workers; or, to use a good Adventist expression, to attend to the most favorable "distribution of labor."
Another serious problem was that of providing ministers with a salary. In an essentially agricultural economy most members had little ready cash. Some selfless souls made disproportionate sacrifices. Sarah Harmon once gave five weeks' earnings at one dollar a week to help finance Joseph Bates. Kellogg sold a farm, while Edson at various times sold two farms and a flock of sheep to help spread the message. But most members were content to let the ministers make the sacrifices, and if they paid them anything, tended to do so in farm produce or, perhaps, with a half-worn-out coat.
Very often they gave nothing at all.
A subtle, selfish notion masqueraded in those days as scriptural. Because Jesus had contrasted the true shepherd, who gives his life for the sheep, with the hired shepherd; or "hireling," who flees when the wolf comes, many Christians in the various denominations justified their ungenerosity by declaring that the church could not be served well by a "hireling ministry."
The consequence was that most ministers had to work for their living in addition to preaching and visiting. Some relied on such day labor as they could pick up from place to place. Others farmed, traveling short distances to preach when free and then, tied to their chores, hurrying home again--a situation which Loughborough likened contemptuously to being a tethered horse. [11]
In 1855 John Andrews, still in his twenties, found himself so nearly exhausted by laboring for a living while preaching and writing that he was nearly blind, his voice was almost gone, and his loved ones were predicting for him an early grave. He retired to Waukon, Iowa, where a community of first while Eastern Adventists were busily developing the rich soil of the prairie. John Loughborough, his convert and dose colaborer, also became discouraged about a year later, moved out to the same location, and to his own surprise turned himself into a tethered horse. John Loughborough and Mary his wife deserve our sympathy. [12] They counted the cost before they entered the ministry. Shortly after they accepted the Sabbath, John sensed an insistent call to preach. But he clearly knew the hard times that implied and at the time he was doing rather well selling window locks, "Arnold's Patent Sash Locks." His savings amounted to $35.00, the equivalent--at the going rate for laborers (a dollar a day)--to wages for six or seven weeks. But, resisting the call, he saw his sales decline precipitously until in a few weeks he was reduced to a single coin. Falling on his knees, he pledged his future to the will of God and stood up at peace.
Not long after, when Mary requested money to buy some thread and matches, John asked her to purchase only one cent's worth of each and bring him back the change so that he would not be completely out of cash--and thereupon presented her with a silver three-cent piece. (Such coins were minted from 1851 to 1873.) "What are we going to do, John?" the poor girl wailed."
Enter the ministry and trust the Lord," her husband replied; where at Mrs. Loughborough, like Mrs. Bates a few years earlier in a similar situation, went off to enjoy a cry.
Soon John heard his wife steal out of the house. And while she was gone a stranger came by, introduced himself at the door, and asked if Mr. Loughborough could supply him with $80.00 worth of Arnolds Patent Sash Locks.
Could he, indeed!
When Mary returned she found her husband singing. His net worth, on a 33 percent commission, had soared to $26.00, and she was ready to go with him anywhere and trust the Lord.
Or almost ready. The minister's wife who stays at home while her husband travels for weeks on end and does not, as her husband does, see souls in danger saved from sin, often finds that it's not easy to match his consecration. Mary was loyal all right, but < increasingly the lot of a preacher's wife appeared difficult to bear. And when, after particularly pinching times, they heard about the Adventist families who had moved to Waukon to witness by example while they earned big money to give to the cause, she readily encouraged John's yearning to join them.
But winter came early that year (1856), making farming impossible by the time they arrived. And when John found that there were almost no nearby sinners to witness to on the lonely prairie and that even the saints, turning their backs on sacrifice, had gone to squabbling with each other, he took up carpentry to meet expenses and began to pray, conscience smitten, for a decent way out.
Elder and Mrs. White were in Round Grove, Illinois, some two hundred miles to the south, when in vision she was shown the plight of the folk in Waukon. Their reaction was to leave at once and go to help. But the unseasonable cold that limited cultivation in Iowa had also frozen northern Illinois, followed by a thaw. Hard rains had turned unpaved highways into quagmires. In faith they prayed for guidance. Soon the rain changed to snow, freezing the mushy roads and surfacing them for sleighing. "Here is our sign," Ellen exclaimed. "God wills us to go."
Through falling and drifting snow they set out, accompanied by Josiah Hartand Elon Everts, two other ministers whom, it happens, White had ordained along with Andrews three years before in the Everts home. The snow changed to rain. A new thaw set in. Ice on the rivers softened. Repeatedly they heard the warning, "Don't attempt the Mississippi!"
On the bank of the Father of Waters, Brother Hart drew up the horses, stood high in the sleigh, lifted his whip hand toward heaven, and cried, "Is it on to Iowa, or back to Illinois? We have come to the Red Sea. Shall we cross?"
Mrs. White replied, "Go forward, trusting Israel's God."
James White seconded her. "Yes, yes, go on!"
All the way over they prayed. Icy waters swirled around them, a foot deep above the uncertain ice below. At any instant they might break through to their chilly deaths. A crowd gathered on the opposite shore. But like Israel at the Red Sea, the travelers crossed over safely.
The temperature dipped again. Ellen hugged her coonskin robe, as for four more days in the open sleigh they faced freezing winds. At night, in a frontier hotel, they hung their charts in the lobby and preached the message to eager listeners. On Wednesday they arrived at Waukon.
Their welcome was almost as cold as the weather. The folk knew why they had come. To revive them. To restore their Christian dedication. To kindle anew their primitive godliness.
Even John Loughborough was taken back by the answer to his prayer. He hadn't expected to have Sister White arrive unobserved in a sleigh as he labored on a ladder and call out to him in anguish, "What doest thou here, Elijah?"
But James and Ellen called a meeting, and then more meetings in a series for over a week. Rumors had done their baleful work, and the Whites patiently told "the other side" till everyone was satisfied. Evening by evening old advent hymns stirred heartfelt memories. Discussion turned to the promise which Christ had given to the lukewarm Laodiceans: "If any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him." Following a timely vision, Ellen uttered almost incredible words from a gracious God: "Return unto me and I will return unto you, saith the Lord, and will heal all your backslidings."
Such kindness was too much for Mary Loughborough. "Brother and Sister White," she sobbed, "I thought we had gotten away where you couldn't find us; but I am glad you have come. ... God forgive me! ... I open the door of my heart. Lord Jesus, come in!" Confessions were made, apologies shared, and the meeting continued past midnight.
The good work resumed next day. Mary appealed to others, and they to still others. At last John Loughborough, too, stood solemnly to his feet. "I have laid up my hammer!" he announced. "I have driven the last nail! Henceforth my hand shall hold the sword of the Spirit and never give it up. So help me, God!"
When at last the Whites left Waukon, tears of affection flowed freely all round.
Leaving Mary for a while with friends, Loughborough returned to Illinois with Hart, Everts, and the Whites, and was immediately back in harness--no longer a "tethered horse"--holding evangelistic meetings in place after place. He never left the ministry till he died in 1924; nor did Mary, so long as she lived. John Andrews rededicated himself to the ministry, but he could preach only a few months at a time for several years until his health returned. Meanwhile the Adventist girl he married in Waukon, Angeline Stevens, a childhood friend, no doubt did what she could to fatten him up.
But the problem of paying the ministers remained, or rather got worse. An exceptionally fine harvest in 1857, coupled with a nationwide depression, lowered prices till cash was almost impossible to come by. In April 1858, when both Andrews and Loughborough were residing temporarily in Battle Creek, Andrews conducted a Bible class in Loughborough's home to search the Scriptures for light on the support of the ministry. Sister White had been shown in vision that the Bible contained such a plan, and it was their determination to find it.
The plan which they discovered at that time was based on a combination of Old Testament texts on tithing and on 1 Corinthians 16:2: "Upon the first day of the week [that is, regularly] let everyone [individually] ..." give "as God hath prospered him [proportionately]." They called the plan "systematic benevolence." At the close of the Sabbath on January 29, 1859, the members of the little headquarters church assembled and voted to recommend that "each brother from eighteen to sixty years of age lay by him in store on the first day of each week from five to twenty-five cents," each sister in the same age category, two to ten cents, and each brother and sister, "from one to five cents on each and every one hundred dollars of property they possessed." The money thus accumulated was to be used by local congregations, chiefly to assist the ministers when they came preaching and when they held evangelistic meetings nearby.
For years systematic benevolence was known by its initials, "S.B." or more affectionately as "Sister Betsy." It was also known less accurately as "tithing." It was, of course, a far cry from real tithing. Adventists did not perfect their concept of supporting the ministry on the basis of a full tithe for another twenty years. But systematic benevolence was a valuable step in the right direction. Systematic giving has enabled the Adventist Church to accomplish much around the world.
From what has been said, does it seem that organization benefits only ministers? If so, take another look. Ministers are called to serve the laity and win the lost. But how can they serve if, unpaid, they simply can't afford to? How can members trust them, if they can't be sure they represent the common faith? And how can people feel free to make donations when independent leaders may, at will, walk off with property that belongs to all?
It was, in fact, the problem of property ownership which finally persuaded the membership and brought the issue of central organization to a head. Adventists in the late 1850s owned three kinds of church property: "state" tents, a few local church buildings, and the publishing house in Battle Creek, together with the paper, books, and machinery adjunct to its operation.
More precisely, however, the church owned none of these things.
We have already seen how easily a tent could be taken over by a false minister. As for the churches, they belonged not to the congregations that built and paid for them but to the member on whose property they happened to stand. During the Millerite movement two such members apostatized, and one of their meetinghouses became a vinegar warehouse! The Battle Creek Church itself was located on the private property of S.T. Belden. To those who still opposed organization James White observed that even it might one day become a vinegar warehouse.
But it was the printing press that bothered White the most. It was the only institution Adventists operated. Their evangelism depended on the books and papers it produced, and their whole movement was largely held together by its major periodical, the Review and Herald. Yet the entire concern, building, books, paper, and machinery, were legally White's own personal property. He knew it, and he didn't like it. At his own prodding, as early as 1855 the press had been placed nominally in the hands of "the church" and charged to the care of a publishing committee. Major decisions respecting its operation, such as the purchase in 1857 of an Adams steam press, had been voted on at "general conferences" to which members from all over were invited.
At the meeting in September 1860 White reminded the brethren again that "the property that has been donated. ... I have always regarded as the property of the church. But I am the only legal owner of it, and I am very anxious to make it over into the hands of officers that you may appoint who shall hold and manage it legally."
What if White were to die suddenly? The state of Michigan would hold everything in custody at least until Henry White, who was thirteen in 1860, became twenty-one, by which time he could conceivably have left the faith, taking the press with him; or he could have died, complicating matters in a different way. As things turned out, Henry did die when he was sixteen.
The logical solution was to set up a legal corporation.
A legal corporation? In those bygone days when the Review was a kind of family letter, Elder R.F. Cottrell, the same devoted brother who objected to "making us a name," submitted for publication a quiet but devastating essay charging that a legal corporation would imply such dependence upon government that it would be tantamount to a union of church and state and, he continued, would make Adventism so truly a Babylon that it would provide a throne on which someday the man of sin might take his seat.
Cottrell soon retracted both points, manfully admitting they were far-fetched; but it took months of strenuous effort by James White, Joseph Bates, John Loughborough, Merrit Cornell and others to undo the damage he had caused in people's minds.
White was determined to protect Adventist property for all Adventists. And so it came about that near the end of September 1860 a group of leaders and laity assembled at his invitation in the Battle Creek church building--the second one, the one owned by S.T. Belden--and discussed the issue face to face for three days. "We are not in such great haste," he explained, "that we cannot hear their reasons if any object." Further, to establish unanimity around the field, the discussion was reported in the Review for October 9, 16, and 23, 1860.
Almost at the outset John Andrews made a suggestion which others had hinted at over the previous months but none had articulated so well.
He proposed that for the purpose of owning property the church need not organize itself legally as a church but should appoint representatives to an "association" that could be incorporated legally. He added that this harmonized with gospel order, for the earliest Christians appointed a committee of seven to oversee matters of business. He could have pointed out, too, that evangelistic and benevolent associations structurally separate from denominations were rather common in contemporary American Christianity.
Andrews's distinction, incidentally, proved enduringly helpful. Properties in the territory of an Adventist conference even today are technically not owned by the conference itself but by its holding association.
After two days of discussion in 1860 a simple constitution for a publishing association (still without a name) was voted. But under the laws of Michigan no association could be approved without a name; so that issue had finally to be faced up to, prompting James White to make his memorable remarks about the embarrassingly unnamed offspring: "It seems to me that the child is now so grown that it is exceedingly awkward to have no name for it."
The inevitable took place. The committee voted that they should adopt a name. But what name?
Some recommended, "Church of God," while others felt this sounded boastful. "Seventh-day Adventist" was proposed.
Laymen, incidentally, were prominent among the nineteen known members of this epochal committee. It was a layman, Ezra Bracket, who introduced the first motion at the outset: "I would move that the church organize." It was another layman, David Hewitt, who near the end introduced the motion, "Resolved, that we take the name of Seventh-day Adventists." "Take the name," however, sounded much like "make a name," and in order to meet even the inscrutable scruples of the still unconvinced, the motion was withdrawn and replaced with the resolution, "that we call ourselves Seventh-day Adventists."
Progress from the monumental achievement of organizing and naming the Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association to full General Conference organization was a relatively simple process, though not altogether an unchallenged one. In the spring of 1861 the Battle Creek leaders recommended that the various scattered congregations organize themselves under the name "Seventh-day Adventist." In October 1861 initial steps were taken toward forming a Michigan conference with the election of a conference committee chaired by Joseph Bates.
During 1862 the congregations in several other states did form state conferences. Michigan completed its own genesis in October 1862 in the Monterey Church, electing a layman, William S. Higley, as its first president. [13]
Finally in May 1863 delegates from the new conferences met in Battle Creek and drew up a simple constitution for a general conference.
James White was enthusiastically nominated the first General Conference president. He declined the position, however. Since 1850 he had preached, written, argued, and pleaded for "gospel order." He had been so visible in the campaign that he thought accepting the presidency could lead some to question his motives. (Two years later, in 1865, he did accept the responsibility. Altogether he served as president of the General Conference for ten years, 1865-1867, 1869-1871, 1874-1880.)
When James White declined, John Byington was elected, thus becoming the first General Conference president of Seventh-day Adventists. It was at his home in Bucks Bridge, New York, that Horace Lawrence had been ordained. Byington had served the Methodists in various capacities and then the Wesleyans (abolitionist Methodists) as a minister and church builder. In 1852 he became an Adventist through reading the Review, subsequently putting up one of the first church buildings erected by Seventh-day Adventists. He sponsored his daughter Martha in her attempt to operate a home day school for Adventist children. In 1858 he moved to Battle Creek and traveled widely as a self-supporting minister. After his election to the presidency he continued to travel widely, preaching and baptizing, during his two one-year terms. "No one knows Michigan," people said, "like Father Byington."
In addition to voting a constitution and electing a president and other officers, the first General Conference session also set up a procedure for paying ministers a regular salary--about $5 a week--out of systematic benevolence. It made it mandatory for ministers to carry with them official credentials identifying them as spokesmen for the movement. And it stated that no minister should travel from one conference to another merely at his own request or at the desire of a local church. Calls must be processed through both conferences involved.
Henceforth churches were no longer in danger of becoming vinegar warehouses! Ministers could devote their full time to the cause. Congregations could easily determine whether a visiting minister was a real Seventh-day Adventist or a spokesman for merely individual views. Ministers could save untold time and energy by working in specified areas rather than rushing endlessly all over the field. Local members could appeal to a higher authority if they felt unfairly treated by their home churches. And everyone knew at last who he was. He could say with confidence, "I am a Seventh-day Adventist."
Notes: