Two weeks later William joined the other boys from the Bible class. They called themselves “The Mission,” and under Bill Sansom’s leadership, they marched into the slums to share the gospel. Most people ignored them, a few men cursed them, a small child sat beside them for a while chewing on a mutton bone, and an old washerwoman put down her load and listened while she got up the strength to trudge on. It was not a stunning beginning, but the boys continued to go back week after week, until they had established a regular meeting in a widow’s cottage on Kid Street. Near the end of the year, it was William’s turn to speak at the service held there.
William was nervous as he stood to preach inside the cottage. His hands shook as he placed his Bible beside two candles on a wooden box that doubled as the pulpit. He was grateful that the only light in the room came from those two candles. Perhaps no one would see just how tense he was.
He took a moment to look around the room into the darkened corners. Everything was grimy. Even the newly washed clothes that hung on the line strung above the fireplace were torn and stained. They’re not even worth a penny at the pawnshop, he thought to himself. He then surveyed the people who had turned out to hear him speak. There were no men in the room—only the boys from The Mission; several women, each of whom had brought something to sit on; and small children, who squirmed in the women’s laps. William took a deep breath, picked up his Bible, and launched into the first sermon he had ever preached to an audience.
Despite the bleak surroundings, the people in the room were friendly and warm. Most were new converts, and they all listened eagerly as William spoke to them and admonished them not to get discouraged when things did not go as they planned or when they fell back into old patterns of behavior. He told them that in their Christian life, like a young child learning to walk, they must get up and keep going.
As the meeting drew to a close, William noticed that Bill had not shown up. This was unusual. Bill was always there. William asked one of the other boys if he knew where Bill was.
“He’s sick,” the young man replied.
The following afternoon, when William went to visit Bill, he was shocked by what he saw. Bill lay in bed, his eyes unfocused, his pillow drenched with sweat.
“Don’t go too near him,” Mrs. Sansom whispered. “The doctor is sure he has consumption.”
William turned to look at Bill’s mother. Her eyes were filled with tears. “Consumption?” he stuttered. “How long has he had it?”
Mrs. Sansom looked away. “It started with a cold about a week ago,” she said. “At first we didn’t think much of it, but then Bill’s condition kept getting worse. He hasn’t eaten for days.”
William looked down at his friend. “Bill,” he said gently, “do you hear me?”
Bill moved his head slightly.
“Then I’m going to pray, and you join me in your thoughts.”
When William had finished praying, Mrs. Sansom showed him out of the room. “His father and I hope he will benefit from some sea air,” she said. “We are taking him down to the Isle of Wight tomorrow. He’s a strong boy, and the doctor says he has as good a chance as anyone at making a full recovery.”
That night and every night for the next three months William prayed for his friend, but the awful news came anyway. Bill Sansom had died.
As the news of Bill’s death spread, something happened that surprised William. The other boys in The Mission began looking to him for direction and leadership. At first it felt awkward, stepping into his dead friend’s shoes, but soon William’s confidence grew, and he began to see opportunities for “his boys” to preach everywhere.
Not long after William took over his new responsibilities, a young girl who had been a firm supporter of the Kid Street cottage meeting died. William was determined to make the funeral a celebration of her hope of eternal life. He organized The Mission boys to accompany her body to the graveyard with singing and cries of “Hallelujah!” When the pastor finished delivering a few words at the graveside, William stepped forward and preached a rousing sermon on the joys of knowing God forever.
This approach to presenting the gospel raised many eyebrows, but William did not care. The whole experience had exhilarated him. He had found what he had been looking for—his calling in life.
Soon after the funeral William had the opportunity to preach to one of the most notorious drunks in the slums. His name was Besom Jack, a drunken broom seller. Besom Jack had a terrible temper, often flying into a fit of rage and beating his wife and children for no apparent reason. He spent all his earnings on drink, leaving his wife to scrape together a living for herself and the children by recycling used tea leaves, which she collected from the scullery maids who worked for wealthy families. She then dried the leaves, added green coloring to make them look like “new,” and resold them to her poor neighbors.
William had been told that no one except the publican had any time for Besom Jack. So when the man fell to his knees yelling, “God, forgive me, for I am a terrible sinner!” an unnatural hush fell over the street corner where William had been preaching. William got down on his knees beside Besom Jack and led the new convert in a prayer. It was an amazing moment in William’s life, and William was soon convinced that his new friend was serious about his commitment to leave his sins behind.
As the weeks went by, other men in the slums were so shocked by the changes in Besom Jack that they too stopped to listen to William preach. Soon they found themselves kneeling on the hard cobblestones to ask God’s forgiveness.
All of this presented William with a problem, one he had never really anticipated. What should The Mission do with all of the converts? Many of them did not know how to read, and they had little idea of how to go about living a Christian life. William urged them to attend church and Bible study, but they were reluctant to do so.
“We don’t have anything to wear ’cept what we got on,” Besom Jack’s wife told William. “And there ain’t nobody wants us to show up on Sunday lookin’ like this—or smellin’ like it either,” she cackled.
“Nonsense!” William retorted. “What does it matter what you wear to church? Jesus spent much of His time on earth with the poor and needy. He said He came to call the sinner, not the righteous. If He didn’t worry about how sinners looked, why should people in the church?”
“I ain’t so sure,” commented a man who was picking a scab on his neck. “I don’t rightly think we belong with the likes of them in church. I ain’t never been to church before, and I don’t reckon it’d be smart to go anytime soon.”
William sighed. What could he say to convince these people that since they had become Christians, the members of Broad Street Chapel were now their brothers and sisters in Christ? It was quite a problem, but William did not give up easily. Eventually he persuaded a group of men and women to go with him to church one Sunday morning.
The group met together in The Bottoms, Nottingham’s most notorious slum. From there they made their way to Broad Street Chapel. The service had just begun when they arrived. The Reverend Samuel Dunn was leading the congregation in singing a hymn when William swung the church door open and beckoned the procession to the front of the church, where many of the “rented pews” were empty. He watched as hundreds of pairs of eyes focused on the disheveled people filing into the church. Their clothes were ragged, dirty, and torn, and a pungent odor followed the group in. In his youthful naivete William was sure they would be welcomed. He watched helplessly as his hopes were dashed. The wife of a fishmonger was still wearing her leather apron with blood smeared on it and fish scales stuck to it. William’s heart sank as he watched the banker’s wife make a show of getting a handkerchief from her purse and holding it over her nose. As the fishmonger’s wife plunked herself down in a velvet-cushioned pew, the other people in the pew slid as far away from her as they could.
Resolutely William brought up the rear, making sure that no one in the group slipped away before entering the church. Once everyone had found a seat, William took his place on a pew and heartily joined in singing the hymn with the rest of the congregation. Although the congregation had not given the group a warm welcome, William felt sure that things would improve, particularly if the sermon was about loving others more than yourself, or something like that.
During the service, there were no major incidents, just a few smelly children climbing on their mothers and one retarded man who yelled out every so often. When the service was over, William waited for members of the Broad Street Chapel congregation to come over and greet the men and women from Nottingham’s slums. But no one came near them. Some of the women, still holding handkerchiefs over their noses, simply hurried out the door while their husbands glared at William. The only person to talk to William was the Reverend Dunn, who asked to see William in the rectory.
William made sure all of the people he had brought were safely out of the church and headed in the right direction home before he went to meet the Reverend Dunn. He knocked on the rectory door. When it opened, William saw five church deacons, including Bill Sansom’s father, waiting for him.
“Sit down, lad, and let’s get straight to the point,” the Reverend Dunn said with his usual candor. “We all understand that you have a passion for preaching on the streets, but it is not appropriate to bring the riffraff off the streets and seat them beside us in our pews. Rented pews no less. You know that prominent families in town pay good money to have those particular seats available for their use each Sunday.”
“Here, here,” interjected the church secretary. “It’s going to take some time to get the smell out of the building, and I think all of the drapes will have to be washed. That’s quite an expense just to have a few drunkards listen to a sermon.”
William opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again. He expected the church leaders to welcome new faces, even if members of the congregation were less enthusiastic. What could he say?
The Reverend Dunn spoke in a more soothing tone. “None of us doubt that your heart was in the right place, and these people should have a place to worship, if they do in fact understand what worship means. But it is not appropriate to burden this congregation with so many of them at once. Do you think you could bring them in smaller groups? No one would object if they came in the back door and sat behind the curtain. They couldn’t see the service of course, but they could hear it. That would resolve the problem nicely.”
“Except for the smell,” the church secretary chimed in. “You must get them to change into some clean clothes and bathe before they come. That fish smell is unbearable. I don’t think I’ll ever eat cod again without being reminded of it!”
“How can you expect them to come in their Sunday best?” William asked, finally finding his voice. “They don’t have any Sunday best. Many of them have only the clothes on their backs. And as for bathing, there is only one water pump for every fifty or so hovels, and sometimes it pumps for only twenty minutes a day. They can barely keep themselves in drinking water. They certainly don’t have the luxury of a bath.”
William grew more desperate as he looked into the deacons’ stony faces. “Look, they are doing the best they can. Most of them live on a pittance, having barely enough bread and gruel for one meal a day. Some of the ones I brought today, like Besom Jack, have hardly been sober for a whole day in their lives. They need to be encouraged to follow God and find decent employment. Then they will be able to buy Sunday clothes.”
Mr. Sansom sighed. “I see your point, son, and I am in sympathy with you. However, you must remember that the congregation here pays the preacher and the bills. If they all leave on account of your riffraff overrunning the place, there will be no church for any of us to come to. Can’t you be content with leaving them in their own surroundings and preaching to them in your cottage meetings?”
