Introduction 

After years of hearing Protestant ministers talk about their struggles with preaching, a veteran seminary professor recently observed that the three hardest sermons of the church year seem to be Christmas, Easter and “Stewardship Sunday.” The last occasion presents its own distinctive challenge. Most preachers, he implied, do not often venture near this theme except on that one day usually designated as “Stewardship Sunday,” or the beginning of the annual fund-raising campaign. In thirty minutes or often less, the minister must fashion an appeal that is both persuasive and true to the Gospel. Much of what church-going Protestants have learned about Christian teachings about giving have come out of those brief encounters. Therefore these sermons constitute a rich vein of material that can be mined by anyone interested in tracing the changing visions of giving in twentieth century America.

One of the earliest collections of these sermons appeared in 1919, at a moment when some Protestant leaders entertained high expectations about the miracle that stewardship teachings would bring about in the coming years. Modern Stewardship Sermons[1] came out of that citadel of optimism, the northern Methodist staff. Its editor was Ralph S. Cushman (1879 -1960), colleague of Harvey Reeves Calkins, and one of the chief architects of the Methodist Centenary Stewardship Campaign. He included one of his own offerings in this gathering of “representative” sermons that would further inspire American Methodists to give to an ambitious denominational fund drive. “The Life of Stewardship” is the next reading.

In “The Life of Stewardship” Cushman was calling for the equivalent of a permanent revival. American Methodism had lived through numerous cycles of revivals and also the debilitating slumps that come after those peaks of great intensity. As he made clear in the sermon, there were too many Protestants whose Christian life “just petered out” in between the times when they “got religion.”

Cushman believed he had been part of a beginning of a permanent revival. Just before he joined the national Methodist staff he had served as pastor of the First Methodist Church of Geneva, N.Y. where he immersed his congregation in teachings about giving. In 1915 a stewardship revival of sorts swept through the church. Ralph Cushman believed that what happened in Geneva could happen anywhere. 

That conviction propelled him into his assignment in the Methodist bureaucracy. Cushman believed that the rediscovery of stewardship marked the advent of a new era, the start of a “great crusade.” Gone were most of the nineteenth century phrases such as “benevolence.” Yet here was a vision of giving that would make it possible for Methodists to return to earlier phrases deeply implanted in the Wesleyan tradition – “entire sanctification” and “going on to perfection.” His willingness to use the phrase – “going on to perfection” – in a sermon dealing with the issues of faith and money makes “The Life of Stewardship” an unusual document in the history of American reflections on giving. Nothing else in this sermon reveals quite so dramatically the exuberant and expansive spirit of confidence that sustained him in this new venture. 

While the concept of stewardship had enormous cachet for Cushman and his cohorts, their working definition of it was not dramatically different from, let us say, their predecessors' interpretation of “benevolence.”  A close reading of the following text discloses some familiar nineteenth century themes. He appealed to the importance of “system” and the “systematic,” “proportionate giving,” generous giving as a way of hastening the arrival of a “redeemed nation” and a “reconstructed world.” In the luxury of retrospective wisdom, one can see that the new “stewardship” teachings turned out to resemble the older teaching about giving. By 1919 “stewardship” seemed to be far fresher and more attractive notion than “benevolence” or “charity.” But was its meaning all that deeper and richer?

That question, however, did not apparently occur to Cushman and the other stewardship enthusiasts engaged in the “great crusade.” To invoke a phrase that Cushman used with disdain in his sermon, they had “got religion.” Stewardship was the answer. And that certainly was the message in this early “stewardship sermon.

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Source: “The Life of Stewardship,” Modern Stewardship Sermons by Representative Preachers, Ralph S. Cushman, Ed. (New York and Cincinnati: The Abingdon Press, 1919), pp. 49-54. 

The Life of Stewardship

TEXT: “As he did aforetime” – Dan. 6:10.

Daniel – The Steward

There was nothing very spectacular about it, but excitement ran high in heaven, I doubt not, when the news came that another steward of the gospel of God had met the crisis of his career, and had not failed. No, there is nothing very spectacular about it – until you put yourself in Daniel’s place, and realize the faith it took and the nerve it took, to kneel down before that open window and pray “as he did aforetime.” The light that flames from the pages of this book reveals a steward of God, face to face with a great crisis, victoriously doing just “as he did aforetime.”

Where can you find a nobler example of faith and holy character than that of the man who, when he faces life’s storm and stress, can go on, in blessed security, doing just as he did aforetime? If some artist, knowing the background of that testing hour, could put into the upturned face of that man, kneeling before an open window, the things that are moving in his soul so that we could see them, we should have a picture that would thrill the world.

Moses furnishes what at first seems a parallel case. He has comforted many with his words, “Stand still, and see the salvation of Jehovah” (Exod. I4:13). But Moses had been given assurance. God would deliver! Daniel had no such assurance.

Washington Gladden describes another type of quiet resting:

In the bitter waves of woe, beaten and tossed about   By the sullen winds that blow from the desert shores of Doubt, When the anchors faith had cast are dragging in the gale,  I am quietly holding fast to the things that cannot fail.

Daniel’s secret is suggested by neither of these words. What is it? First of all, Daniel’s crisis was not personal. He must live or die to the glory of his God and the advancement of his kingdom. He did not ask, “Will God be true to me?” but, “Will I stand true to God?” He thought of his stewardship, not himself. He was a steward of the power and the goodness of God before a heathen race. His sense of stewardship led him to refuse to defile himself with the king’s meat and the king’s idols. Death? What matters! Just one thing was his task – to show to these people the more excellent way.

“I have come,” said Donald Hankey before he died, “to see through the eyes of God.” So had Daniel. Paul prayed not for deliverance from death, but that Christ might be “magnified in my body whether by life or by death.” This was Daniel’s passion, his fixed purpose, and that is why we find him, in the hour of crisis, doing “as he did aforetime.”

Systematic Religion

But there is a still greater matter Daniel teaches us – the power and glory of systematic religion. For him to see that life is a trust to be used for God was to realize that the faithful stewardship of life involves the life of stewardship – unchanging holy habits.

Men do not rise to high heroism, goodness, devotion, or success by sudden flights. It takes the set face to build a life.

"I go to prove my soul;  What time, what circuit first, I ask not;  But unless God send his hail,       Or blinding fire balls, sleet, or stifling snow,  In some time, God’s good time, I shall arrive."

Not by occasional outbursts of faith and devotion, but by systematic religion and holy habits, did Daniel become immortal in his hour of trial. He heard God’s call; he proved his soul; he arrived. He did “as he did aforetime.” On no other plan can any prove his loyalty.

Good literature, says Carlyle, is “the fruitage of systematic toil.” Edison has said that genius is not inspiration, but perspiration. A great singer “tells that the neglect of exercise of the vocal cords for a single week means that flabby notes will creep into the tones.” Of Webster, the peerless orator and debater, it is said, “No man has ever lived whose eloquence was more truly the fruitage of culture and training.”

And in the molding of morals, the story is the same. “Thank God every morning,” says Kingsley, “when you get up, that you have something to do that day that must be done whether you like it or not. Being forced to work and to do your best will breed in you self-control, temperance, strength of will, and a hundred other virtues that the idle will never know.” There is no other than this way of system, method, habit, by which the Christian can prove himself a faithful steward.

Systematic worship is not the enemy of spontaneous devotion. It is the mother of inspiration and spiritual elevation. Jesus climbed the Mount of Transfiguration because he learned to walk in the valley. And who more truly than David strikes the higher notes of holy song? To him, “the heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament showeth his handiwork” (Psa. 19:I). Everything in earth and sea and air inspires him to sing. “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name.” But David reveals the secret of his heavenly soarings when he says, “Evening, morning, and at noonday I will pray unto thee.”

“The great glaring denial of faith and duty,” said Bishop James M. Thoburn, “which stands out before the world to-day, so clearly that it cannot be concealed, is the refusal of those who bear the name of Christ to execute the great commission which their Master has given them.” But the trouble lies deeper – in the heresy of spasmodic religion.

A newly converted woman, desirous, as new converts are, “to do something,” was detailed by her pastor to invite the backsliders to the protracted meetings. She had been reluctantly admitted into a neighbor’s home, where the hostess coldly continued her mopping. Conversation lagged until the visitor remarked:

“I have come to invite you to the revival meetings at the church.” Then a change came. Her face softened and the mop rested.

“Revival meetings! Did you say there was going to be revival meetings? Yes, indeed, I’ll come. Why, John and me has got religion at revivals every winter for the last ten years!”

The visitor was perplexed. She repeated, “Got religion every winter for the last ten years! I do not believe I understand. What became of your religion in the summer?”

“Laws!” she exclaimed in momentary confusion, “I don’t know, but somehow it just petered out.”

The church has too long encouraged backsliding by not cultivating habits of holiness and systematic religion. This poor backslider and thousands like her must be brought to see that man has his own part to perform in the working out of his salvation.

Spasms of praying or churchgoing, of living or giving, can never bring the world to Christ. We have trifled with God’s business of world redemption. System, toil, and education have built earth’s great structures. There are no short-cuts to Christian conquest.

“What’s all this Centenary business about,” said a non-Christian business man, “and what do you mean by ‘giving the tithe’?”

When his question had been fully answered, he said: “That strikes me as a businesslike proposition.” Then he added, “Do you know that we men outside of the church sometimes get disgusted at the way you folks conduct business?”

He was held by this new thought of a kingdom of God with a program of businesslike religion.

Later he said, “I guess it’s time I signed one of those stewardship cards and joined the church.”

Going on to Perfection

It ought not to be difficult now to see the deeper significance of such a slogan as “A Million Tithers in Methodism.” It is not merely an efficiency plan to finance the kingdom of God; primarily, it is a prophecy of the beginning of a great crusade for systematic religion. Think what it would mean if any considerable portion of professing Christians would consecrate their wills to the task of working out into holy life habits such slogans as “Make the Sabbath different,” “Greet the Morning with a Prayer,” “Honor the Lord with thy Substance and the First Fruits of all thine Increase.” There are many other phases of religious life which might be listed, but these are enough for illustration.

Let just these three principles – the stewardship of time and prayer and possessions – be crystallized into life habits in any individual, and, like Daniel, he will reveal the power of God unto salvation. Let them be crystallized in the life of any congregation, and there will come forth a transformed church. Let them be crystallized in the life of American Protestantism, and there will result not only a redeemed nation but a reconstructed world.

The life of stewardship, in the last analysis, means an appeal to the will. Daniel did not leave the cultivation of his spiritual life to the hazard of convenience and feeling. “He purposed in his heart”; with determination he planned for his periods of prayer, just as every disciple must do if he really lives the life of prayer. Barnabas exhorted the new disciples at Antioch “that with purpose of heart they would cleave unto the Lord.” Doubtless he was passing on to them the results of his own experience. All the great saints bear the same witness – that progress in spiritual conquest must be dependent not upon convenience and feeling, but upon an unconquerable purpose to walk with God.

Systematic religion, it is evident, lies very close to the scriptural teachings of entire sanctification, and the “going on to perfection.” Blessed is the man who has the divine discontent, who is hungering and thirsting for God. Robert E. Speer says, “We ought repeatedly to confront ourselves with the inquiry, ‘Am I a better and stronger man than I was?’ That is what the Christian life is, a life of steady progress and growth. We are bidden to move on – to keep our faces set toward perfection. Christian character is a hunger for the highest.”

“Ah, my God, What might I not have made of thy fair world, Had I but loved thy highest creature here?  It was my duty to have loved the highest;  It surely was my profit had I known; It would have been my pleasure had I seen.   He needs must love the highest.”

But there is only one road by which men climb into these heavenly places with Christ Jesus: it is the road of holy habit where only the determined soul can pass. Yes, the determined soul who, knowing that the spirit of God waits the fixed purpose and the set face, cries, “I can do all things in him that strengtheneth me” (Phil. 4:13).

Give to our Lord an army of such soldiers who, “in loving loyalty,” will pledge themselves to holy covenants, such as “Keeping the Sabbath ‘different’” – such as “Safeguarding the daily devotions” – such as “That proportionate giving which acknowledges life partnership with God,” and it will not be long before that great day will come when the kingdoms of this world become the kingdom of our God.

Source: “The Life of Stewardship,” Modern Stewardship Sermons by Representative Preachers, Ralph S. Cushman, Ed. (New York and Cincinnati: The Abingdon Press, 1919), pp. 49-54.

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[1]  Modern Stewardship Sermons by Representative Preachers, Ralph S. Cushman, ed. (New York and Cincinnati: The Abingdon Press, 1919).