Frank H. Nelson of Cincinnati Part 7

He was a frequent partic.i.p.ant at the Round Table discussions in the University Club, and delighted in the exchange of thought that came from all sorts. At the time of the death of his friend, Father Finn, the Pastor of St. Xavier's Church, which is in the vicinity of Christ Church, Mr. Nelson attended the Requiem Ma.s.s, and afterwards was observed standing by the hea.r.s.e, head uncovered and tears in his eyes, for they had been the best of friends. A great personality is more than what he says, and many times brushes aside the trammels of the popular conception of the inst.i.tution which he represents. Frank Nelson had a well-nigh perfect concept of what it means to be a Christian; and, therefore, in his wide range of friendship among all faiths and those of no faith, he carried himself without the faintest hint of disloyalty to the Episcopal Church. As he was never colorless, men knew where he stood, and though sometimes disagreeing with him, friends and critics alike recognized his genuine goodness and knew his motives to be without guile. He would say, "Always believe a person right until proved otherwise. Take people at face value. I am a fool, but that is the only way to begin." Such were the tenets of his quiet pugnacity of faith in human beings. It is no wonder that a working-man called him, "The greatest Christian in shoe-leather I ever met; a Christian capitalist worthy of anyone's emulation"; or that his faithful colored s.e.xton, who waited on him, shined his shoes, and served him devotedly to the end of his days, should say, "We were pals. He was always tops with me."

Mr. Nelson was often the one called upon when grace of speech, dignity of manner and discriminating taste were required. At a community ma.s.s meeting in Music Hall in 1927, he was chosen to introduce the speaker of the evening, Miss Maude Royden, the noted English preacher. He accompanied Miss Royden to the center of the platform with all the courtliness of a true gentleman, and with that deference due a gentlewoman and an eminent personage. His introduction was an instance of his singular felicity of expression and his ability to state in choice language the sentiments prompted by the event of the moment. Such was Mr. Nelson's gift for being master of every occasion. Sitting in the back row of the immense hall which was crowded to the doors, I felt that the audience quickly sensed the fitness of the presence on the same platform of two such estimable representatives of the Christian Church.

To ill.u.s.trate further his command of language and his absolute candor, there is an incident which also neatly tested his tact and truthfulness.

One sultry evening in Holy Week, when a long-winded clergyman was preaching, it appeared to me that the rector dozed. I wondered what he could honestly say to the man. After the service when we were in the sacristy, he put his arm around the preacher's shoulders, and said, "Old man, you set me to thinking!" His tact was never failing, though often its diplomatic flavor could be more than faintly sensed!

Accompanying his humility of spirit there was in his nature and his opinions an air of authority wholly unecclesiastical, purely personal, but immensely impressive. It came in part from his particular type of intellect. He had an a.s.similative mind, which enabled him, for example, to acquire rapidly the gist of a book, and to state succinctly and clearly a point which he was desirous of making. His was an intuitive knowledge rather than a scientific. It was not the kind of knowledge of which the dogmatists speak and in which they alone can believe. Mr.

Nelson's knowledge was the sort which sees into the life of things and of men. His intellectual powers were richly developed by his parish work and heavy responsibilities, and by his reflection upon all kinds of experiences and his understanding insight into other people's problems.

A forty years' ministry combined with such a type of mind gave him, for one thing, a rather fine grasp of medical science. He knew its principles, and was able to simplify and help at times when technical terms leave the layman baffled and vague. Because of this special kind of mind and the sweep of his experience, his general effect on people was sometimes overwhelming. To ill.u.s.trate a minor angle, he was not adept in leading discussions; he could not draw out a group because he had pretty thoroughly covered the subject himself, and the impact of his personality was a bit overpowering.

But above all, the authority one felt most in his personality was that which came as a result of his being Christ-fashioned. He of all men possessed the kind of nature which cannot live without G.o.d. There was within him a spontaneity that was entirely himself, impossible of duplication, totally socialized. He was not a mystic and maintained that he was puzzled by their writings. He admitted that the prayer-life was difficult for him, that he could not meditate or think about G.o.d for long periods. His was not the ascetic or contemplative nature; he did not live in reflective calm. In the whirlpool of human relations he was an explorer, a bold adventurer bringing people into the presence of G.o.d; and what does it matter whether one prays in words or acts? He exemplified in his life one definition among many, namely, "To labor is to pray." The weight of people's needs pressed down upon him so relentlessly that he was driven to do something about them. His was the temperament which animates an ancient prayer, "Lord, I am so busy this day, if I forget Thee, do not Thou forget me." We are disposed to have our tight little crystallizations of what prayer should or should not be. Frank Nelson was impatient of such, for he ventured upon a scale more broad than that envisioned by the average parson or layman. There are no theological concepts which fit him.

Mr. Nelson had a natural talent for enjoying people, which implemented all his work, but for a man in his position such a gift has its price: either one wears himself out or neglects his major task and so spreads himself thin. He chose the first course, and as we contemplate this record of vast accomplishment who are we to say that he did not choose wisely? He was a very busy man, and went about doing good, not just doing. His description of Helen Trounstine's life of activity is applicable to his own:

It was not restlessness, the hurrying on from one thing to another, just to be busy. It was the true energy of full-hearted and full-minded interest in life, and all that it holds; the pa.s.sion to learn that she might teach; to enjoy that she might give joy; to rest that she might have strength to do her work; to serve because men need her service. It was energy of mind and heart so full of the vision of the greatness of life and the opportunity of living, that she could not waste time except as it ministered to the part she was to play.

Mr. Nelson did not scatter his interests indiscriminately but concentrated his efforts in the fields where he was most competent: social problems and the relation of the Church to the most concrete activities of human life. All these fitted into his prime purpose.

The vision which governed his days was strengthened every year in the long vacations that he took at his summer home in Cranberry Isles, Maine. There beside the sea he dreamed long dreams, and drank in the salty air which brought indispensable relaxation, and mental and spiritual refreshment. In his small cabin on a point of land overlooking the limitless ocean, he could be very much alone. Something of that setting and its influence is conveyed in a letter to the Reverend Theodore Sedgwick, a life-long friend, which discloses Mr. Nelson in a reflective mood:

Sept. 6, 1928

Dear Ted:

Many, many thanks for your intensely interesting letter, and its review of Julian Huxley's book. Such a view of life and religion does make one stop and think--and hesitate. It is the terribly earnest spiritual problem that we face today in the ministry. It is the sort of thing I had in mind, in suggesting the subject of "G.o.d" for the next Swansea Conference. For we have got to face the issue with eyes open, minds familiar with the biologist's point of view. The old affirmations of formal theology are not adequate to meet the issue. And yet in those affirmations I am sure lies the truth--that G.o.d lives, G.o.d our Father--conscious of Himself and of us--a person in a very real sense--from Whom we derive personality--from Whom we came--and to Whom we go. If mankind loses that, "his arms _do_ clasp the air" and he drowns in the infinity of time and s.p.a.ce and his own nothingness. We have from Christ the truth and somehow we must learn it with a new understanding--or rather with _the_ new understanding that modern science and modern reverent scientific thought have given us. I am sitting at my desk in my cabin at sunset. The day has been cool and grey--a heavy curtain of cloud over the sky--But now--that curtain is thinning and through the break in the west--the whole glory of the sun has colored sky and sea with a golden light beyond description for exquisite beauty. The gulls are winging their way across the sea to a distant island where they rest and go back to each night. As I sit and look, my whole spirit is moved by the beauty and the evening quiet. There is infinity here--of s.p.a.ce and imagination. Yet--the gulls--I think, are unconscious of all that--but I am moved by it and keenly conscious of it. It is not just biology--or I would be as the gulls--and I am not. And men are not. They want G.o.d--behind the glory--G.o.d clothed with the glory--adequate to the glory--that their own imagination and hunger and aspiration may be justified--That is what Christ has given us to preach and it is the truth. Now the gold has turned to a flaming red--thrilling almost to the point of pain. One must believe--and then face the chill grey of the coming night with the memory of it to lighten and interpret it.

We go a week from tomorrow, back to work, to the men and women who have so bravely gone on working through long, hot summer days in the streets and factories and tenements of the city. And in that bravery and drudgery, there is the same flaming glory of G.o.d. It isn't just biology--it is the spirit of G.o.d, making the physical the dwelling place of G.o.d and glorifying it with His presence.

Frank Nelson had an almost Elizabethan zest for thought and action, and even at Cranberry he entered enthusiastically into the local life. He preached at least once every summer in the Congregational Church, and in that church today are numerous memorials to him: a silver alms bason, the Service Book of the Congregational Church beautifully bound in red morocco, a United States flag, and several pictures. Each year at Easter there is a large cross of geraniums in the church, and after the service the flowers are distributed among the families on the island with a card saying, "Given in memory of Frank Howard Nelson with the Easter message of Christ's Resurrection." When he left Cranberry the last time, all the public school children were dismissed to wave their goodbyes.

His unaffected interest in the affairs of the community expressed itself in practical ways, and his una.s.suming and simple manner gave little inkling that he was a foremost citizen of Cincinnati.

"There is nothing comparable," says Coventry Patmore, "for moral force to the charm of truly n.o.ble manners." Frank Nelson's manner was not only the result of a choice family inheritance, but also the rich fruitage of a lifetime of faithful obedience to a consuming pa.s.sion and vision. He was a life-giving river flowing in a parched land. In him the ancient prophet's words found a fresh fulfillment: "Everything shall live whithersoever the river cometh."

FOOTNOTES:

[21] R. L. Nettleship _Lectures on the Republic of Plato_, p. 129, published by Macmillan Co. Used with permission.

_Last Years_

_Then of those shadows, which one made descent Beside me I knew not; but Life ere long Came on me in the public ways, and bent Eyes deeper than of old; Death met I too And saw the dawn glow through._

--_Anon_

8

Frank Nelson never became an old man. Toward the end of his life his body could not fulfill the demands of his spirit, and he was not able to undertake as much nor see as many people as he wished, but he never neglected any responsibility. At times he could not keep going and had to stop on the street to rest because too much exertion caused pain, but he would not spare himself nor did he ever complain. He was a happy soldier who smiled through his closing years.

In 1931-1932 he suffered from a blocking off of the blood vessels that drain the leg, a condition which has very serious possibilities. He weighed these possibilities, says Dr. Richard S. Austin, but like most patients he figured there was always the chance that he might not have to pay the price. He was like the physician who when told to practice what he preached replied, "Did you ever know a sign-post to walk down the road?" He bore his illness with fort.i.tude, concealing from his family and friends the vexation that he felt as the activities which were life itself to him were curtailed more and more. When entering the church in procession with the choir, he would never use a cane though he was often suffering acutely, but squaring himself, and throwing back his shoulders, he would march resolutely on. As he crossed the chancel to enter his pulpit, something of his old vigor was apparent, and as he preached, his voice was strong and clear. If he was less animated, he was no less intense, no less the tremendously invigorating preacher. One day in the parish house Canon Symons met him carrying a heavy bag. He was about to leave for one of his frequent periods in the hospital, and Canon Symons remonstrated with him and tried to take his bag, but Mr.

Nelson refused, saying, "No, I won't. I would rather drop in my tracks than to save myself and spend endless days in hospitals."

At the Annual Meeting of the Parish on April 10, 1939, Mr. Nelson presented his resignation, "not because I want to quit, but I am concerned that this parish should not weaken. This church is facing, as every church is facing, a new day; and it needs the leadership of younger and stronger men." It was accepted with marked reluctance to take effect when his successor should be chosen and had arrived. On May 21st the parish and many of his friends outside Christ Church celebrated his forty years' ministry in the one church and city, and there was a singular out-pouring of people.

At the conclusion of the observance he wrote a friend:

Though it was not so stated in the bond, it saved me from a farewell celebration. I preached at all three services, and it saved me the embarra.s.sment of listening to eulogies, and saved others from having to deliver them! But everyone was fine about it. They decorated the Altar with gorgeous red roses, and me with my red Seminary hood (He wore his Doctor's hood rarely and always looked rather sheepish when asking his secretary to take it out of the safe!), and we had the two choirs at eleven o'clock, and lovely music at all the services. So the day went well, and we're all glad it is well over.

In a letter to another friend he said:

It wasn't easy to speak and to face the services, and that they meant the real end of my rectorship, my active ministry. There were dear friends and very loyal parishioners there. And I think you know my love for Christ Church and for Cincinnati, and my inexpressible appreciation of all that this church and city have given me. It is terribly hard to try to realize that after this summer I shall no longer be rector of Christ Church--and all that that has meant and means--and in very deep grat.i.tude I saw the many, and my mind and heart were very full. Indeed I hope I shall not "retire" from the friendships, and from the life of the people and city. Thank you more than I can say for what only you could so write. I have had a very rare opportunity, and very privileged forty years, and I hope the coming years--or weeks or months, whatever G.o.d wills--will bring in their own way the same high things and find me worthy of them, and chief of them, worthy of your friendship and faith.

He had given the church and city a lifetime of service, loyalty, and love, and the place he held in the affections of his people had been abundantly made known to him.

In July before the last Sunday he was scheduled to preach, he was stricken by a heart attack, and so his ministry came to a close without further sadness of farewell. He spent a few weeks in the hospital, and improved sufficiently to journey to his beloved Cranberry Isles accompanied by his wife and daughter. But a doctor, knowing what others did not realize, broke down and wept when Mr. Nelson left the hospital.

His friends and he himself felt confident that a protracted rest would do the work of healing. In August he sustained another and a more severe attack, and as the chilling, autumn winds blew in from the Atlantic they brought him to the Phillips House in Boston. He saw no one at first, but then he grew restless, and the doctor permitted visitors. There were many, and as he was making no progress, he was moved to the old family home in North Marshfield, near Cape Cod. There as a boy he had roamed the s.p.a.cious, rambling house and the bright fields, and there his parents had lived the last twenty-five years of their lives. The lovely, old home with its atmosphere of peace brought back many tender memories.

In the absolute quiet of these surroundings which he loved, he lingered some two weeks. With another attack he lapsed into unconsciousness, and his boyhood friend, the late Dean Philemon F. Sturges of Boston, came down to be with the family. On the morning of October 31st as the end approached, Dean Sturges knelt beside him and in the dear familiar words of the Prayer Book said, "Lift up your hearts," and the family bravely responded, "We lift them up unto the Lord." The Dean continued, "It is very meet, right, and our bounden duty, that we should at all times, and _in all places_, give thanks unto Thee, O Lord." It was meet and right that Frank Nelson should depart this life on such a note of thanksgiving.

At the burial in Cincinnati, November Third, the parish, life-long friends, and representatives of the city thronged Christ Church not to say "Farewell," but "Hail!", for as Alfred Segal grandly put it, "He was like one going away to gather in his victory." For a night and a day preceding the service, his body lay in the beautiful chapel of his own creation, and great numbers of men, women and children of all faiths came to pay a final tribute. The burial service was the same as he himself had always used, only read now by his successor, and the Bishop of the Diocese. To his friends and beloved people it all seemed pa.s.sing strange if not unreal. Frail beings that we are, we had never sensed more than a vague possibility that his ministry would one day terminate.

It was not past human knowing, of course, but it was beyond the grasp of human imagining that the day would come when Frank Nelson would no longer walk the city's streets, no longer hurry to the distant suburbs.

We felt this way because in an unusual sense men loved this servant of the servants of G.o.d in Cincinnati who had dwelt among them for forty years. Yet the great congregation rose above human grief and surmounted the consciousness of personal loss in the tremendous note of triumph and thankfulness that prevailed throughout the simple service from its opening sentences, "I am the resurrection and the life," to the Bishop's final words of commitment, "Unto G.o.d's gracious mercy and protection."

They sang only hymns of victory, hymns that he especially loved and which were expressive of his faith and spirit: John Bunyan's "He who would valiant be," and "There is a wideness in G.o.d's mercy." The recessional moved to the church door to the triumphant words "For all the saints who from their labors rest," set to the stirring tune of R.

Vaughan Williams. Thus in the simplicity and dignity of the things said and done there that afternoon did the pa.s.sing of this n.o.ble minister symbolize the destiny of all mankind.

They took him to beautiful Spring Grove Cemetery and laid him beneath a majestic sycamore tree whose spreading branches seemed to represent the out-reach of his life. Years ago at his behest Christ Church had been given a plot of ground for the poor, the friendless, and the forgotten of men, "G.o.d's Acre." There, by his express wishes, Frank Nelson lies among the least of his flock, the faithful shepherd who called his own by name. Then every man "went away again unto his own home."

_The Afterglow_

9

It is now more than five years since Mr. Nelson's death, and today the old church in the hands of his successor, Nelson M. Burroughs, whose first name singularly suggests a prolongation of the Nelson dynasty, and whose spirit and abilities are a worthy continuation of an unusual rectorship, is still animated by Frank Nelson's vision, his joy in service. His ideals live today in the parish of Christ Church, which has not failed him but carries out that which he committed unto them in his farewell address:

The Church is the important thing to all of us. We need the Church, for faith, for courage, for guidance. The Diocese needs this Parish--its loyalty--its support--its fellowship--as we need the Diocese. The City needs this Church. You will never forget, will you, the Vision, and the power that came with it, that Mr.

Stein gave us forty years ago, viz;--that the Church is the Body of Christ, not a club, to minister, and not to be ministered to.

The people all about us, the whole city, are our concern, to bring them the Gospel of Christ. So, I pray G.o.d you will go forward into the new day with high faith and enthusiasm. You have a mission from G.o.d.