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ROYAL DANIEL ON “BROUGHTON IN LONDON
POPULAR NEWSPAPER MAN OF ATLANTA WRITES THRILLING STORY OF HIS SEEING THE PULPIT EDITOR OF THE
GOLDEN AGE IN CHRIST CHURCH PULPIT AND HIS LONDON HOMF,
D” 0 you want to read a story pulsing with
the thrill of truth and flashing with the
tender tone of tears? Here it is. It
was written by Royal Daniel, on the
staff of the Atlanta Journal, telling of his visit
to Christ church, London, and giving a heart
some gleam into the inner Ife of the veteran
newspaper man, as well as the heart and gen
ius of the man whose work he so glowingly
crowns. Truth is, if memory serves us well,
Royal Daniel was not a shouting devotee at
the Broughton shrine during the great preach
er’s stay in Atlanta. He admired his genius,
he believed in his honesty, he loved his philan
thropy—but, oh, well, there were lots of honest
men who did not at first, or perhaps ever, go
with Broughton all the way, who have come
to recognize and honor him now as one of the
greatest men in all the conquering history of
Christianity. When Royal Daniel sees Brough
ton in the most historic pulpit in the greatest
city in the world; when he sees him in his home
in Tulse Hill, unspoiled by international recog
nition, simple as a child, unaffected and trans
parent as all truly great men are, his heart
mounts the throne in his tribute and he looks
at the man whose sermons bless The Golden
Age readers every week —he looks at the man
whose very name was one time tabooed in The
Atlanta Journal —he looks at the man who was
one time the storm-center of so much of At
lanta’s religious, moral and political life—
Royal Daniel looks at Len G. Broughton
through the mellowed mist of tears.
And here is his story:
Work of Dr. Broughton at Christ Chruch.
London, July 26. —I know of no story of
England so full of vital interest to Atlanta
as the narrative I am about to tell of Christ
church under the administration of Dr. Len
G. Broughton, for so many years pastor of the
Tabernacle church at home.
In the very beginning of this story it may
be interesting to say that I asked a cabman,
fourteen miles from the church and nineteen
miles from Dr. Broughton’s home, if he knew
where I could find my way to my friend. It
seemed a foolish question to ask in a city of
more than seven million souls, yet I asked it
just the same, taking it for granted the answer
would be in the negative.
To my utmost surprise, the cabman instant
ly told me that Dr. Broughton was the presi
dent of Christ church, that the church was
located in Westminster road, and that Dr.
Broughton lived in Tulse Hill.
As I say, I was wholly taken by surprise at
the ready reply. It made the subtle impression
upon me that Dr. Broughton was already well
known in this great city, and I judged he had
already made good, still I was not prepared
for the real truth until I visited Christ church
later and saw and heard for myself the things
that are transpiring here.
In the first place, Christ church, without ex
aggeration, is one of the greatest of London’s
religious centers. It is a monster building, fa
mous the city and world over, prominently sit
uated on the great roadway leading from the
Thames and the hall of parliament and West
minster Abbey. It occupies an advantageous
ground that might easily be called one of the
“five points” of the city, easy of access by
underground railways, trams, busses and motor
cars. ?
THE GOLDEN AGE FOR AUGUST 7, 1913
The first time I saw this great edifice( tower
ing above the neighborhood and crowned by
the Lincoln Tower, erected by American money
to commemorate Abraham Lincoln, I stood al
most transfixed at its grandeur and magnifi
cence. On all sides were great banners an
nouncing that next Sunday’s sermon would be
preached by Dr. Len G. Broughton.
I don't recall whether or not there were
tears in my eyes at that time, but I know, on
the Sunday following, as I saw Dr. Broughton
enter the pulpit there was a confusing moment
when I saw things through a mist. He walk
ed as in the old days of the Tabernacle. Yes,
it was the same man, grown younger, heavier
and more elastic in his stride, but the same
long, careless and white hair and Roman pro
file.
The Recognition.
I sat probably half way from the door to
the pulpit, in a vast building with a seating
capacity of more than 3,000, under a dome of
stained glass rivaling that great dome of the
national eapitol building at Washington, with
the strange yellow light of London struggling
through the immense windows, yet as I looked,
I plainly saw the preacher as he sat during
the anthem, peering intently in my direction.
I wondered, in a half egotistical way, if it were
possible, among all those hundreds, he had rec
ognized me. There was a moment of intense
thrill, a longing to make myself known to my
friend, a strangeness of environment that
sweeps the stranger in a strange city so often
from off his feet and makes him feel so far
away.
And then Dr. Broughton smiled, bowed and
held out his hand to me over the heads of men
and women who seemed miles away.
In a moment the song and the music had
died away. In the same old voice, thick with
emotion, he publicly stated that the presence
of an American friend in his audience had so
vividly brought back the old home that he felt
he should give a public message of welcome to
the man from home. During the trying mo
ment, I was indeed glad to find an English
audience does not turn and stare to find the
object of the speaker’s reference. As for my
self, I was greatly relieved when Dr. Brough
ton began his sermon for frankly I was tremb
ling all over and felt the world slowly sink
ing beneath me. for he was the first person
in weeks I had seen whom I knew.
As I listened to his sermon, I also kept my
eyes busy, wandering in my gaze up and down
the vast walls, here and there, up into the tow
ering dome, a glance at the stained windows,
at the gigantic organ and vast choir loft, at
the people, some of whom were members of
parliament, lords and knights and sirs.
During the course of his sermon, in citing
instances showing the difference between own
ership and possession. Dr. Broughton said:
“I own a solid gold watch, presented me
by my people in Atlanta, which I prize more
than anything in the world, but I do not pos
sess it. Yesterday afternoon in Hyde park,
while witnessing the review of the territorial
troops by his majesty the king, a pickpocket
relieved me of the watch. I still own the watch,
but a thief possesses it.”
Dr. Broughton’s London Home.
The greeting that followed the service is too
intimately personal to find place here; the mag-
nificent home in Tulse Hill too gorgeous for
description. I will only here and there tell of
some of these things pertaining to his personal
life, devoting most of the story to his great
public undertakings.
Os course, I went home with Dr. Broughton,
for I couldn’t get away, if I had half a mind
to, which I didn’t, and I am free to admit I
was so afraid I might get lost from him that
I kept ever in sight during the few moments in
his vestry when I saw peers and lords shaking
his hand.
We rode the five miles from the church to
the home in a limousine.
“The people are already good to me,” he
said, “for they gave me this machine.”
Tulse Hill is the name of a great street,
smoothly paved, wide and inviting, lined with
walls on each side which are vine-covered. Be
hind these walls are the homes of the rich and
retired, houses very similar, many covered by
ivy and creeping vines of rich green, yet each
and every one different.
Imagine a wall eight feet high in front,
green with its rampanting ivy, a grass lawn,
of such grass as you only can find in England,
roofing red geraniums, drooping trees of varie
ties unknown to me. and then a three-story
English house, without porches or verandas,
wrappe din ivy like an ancient castle, here and
there an artistic window peeking through, and
you have a half-hearted picture of the Brough
ton home.
The back yard is not a back yard at all,
but a garden, a closely cut grass lawn, and
the same rich flowers and noble trees. And
just beyond lies one of the great parks, open
paddocks and golf courses, with swimming and
boating and many varieties of recreation, lord
ed over by a flock of sheep, as country-like
as you might well wish to find in an imagina
tive picture.
The entire Broughton family sails June 19
from London to New York. Dr. Broughton
will spend much of his vacation at Northfield,
doing a number of other places where relig
ious teachers and preachers meet for the dis
cussion of world-wide problems. They will be
in America until early fall. It is the plan of
of Dr. Broughton and Mrs. Broughton to spend
some time in Atlanta, returning to London in
October. *
My promise to confine this story to the
Christ church and its allied interests and not
to the personal side is being violated for the
simple reason that it is difficult to write of
the church without giving a great deal of
space to the head of the movement.
Head of Movement.
In the first place, Dr. Broughton is the pres
ident of the entire religious movement that
centers in Christ church. He is probably more
the executive officer and official head of the
church than a pastor ,in our sense of the term.
Being pastor of Christ church also carries with
it the administrative office in a number of oth
er organizations closely related.
The physical holdings of the church are
valued at more than 2,000,000 pounds, and its
business annually, for this term may be well
used in this connection, over-reaches the 1,000,-
000 pound mark. That is, more than this
amount of money is raised and distributed each
twelve months.
(Continued on page seven.)
