There are, of course, many in our churches who would dissent from this opinion.  It is characteristic of Protestantism, as of humanism in general, that it lays its chief emphasis upon the intelligence.  If we go to church to practice the presence of God, must we not first know who and what this God is whose presence with us we are there asked to realize?  So most Protestant services are more informative than inspirational.  Their attendants are assembled to hear about God rather to taste and see that the Lord is good.  They analyze the religious experience rather than enjoy it; insensibly they come to regard the spiritual life as a proposition to be proved, not a power to be appropriated.  Hence our services generally consist of some “preliminary exercises,” as we ourselves call them, leading up to the climax—­when it is a climax—­of the sermon.

Here is a major cause for the declension of the influence of Protestant church services.  They go too much on the assumption that men already possess religion and that they come to church to discuss it rather than to have it provided.  They call men to be listeners rather than participants in their temples.  Of course, one may find God through the mind.  The great scholar, the mathematician or the astronomer may cry with Kepler, “Behold, I think the thoughts of God after him!” Yet a service which places its chief emphasis upon the appeal to the will through instruction has declined from that realm of the absolutes where religion in its purest form belongs.  For since preaching makes its appeal chiefly through reason, it thereby attempts to produce only a partial and relative experience in the life of the listener.  It impinges upon the will by a slow process.  Sometimes one gets so deadly weary of preaching because, in a world like ours, the reasonable process is so unreasonable.  That’s a half truth, of course, but one that the modern world needs to learn.

Others would dissent from our position by saying that service, the life of good will, is a sufficient worship.  The highest adoration is to visit the widows and the fatherless in their affliction. Laborare est orare.  What we do speaks so loud God does not care for what we say.  True:  but the value of what we do for God depends upon the godliness of the doer and where shall he find that godliness save in the secret place of the Most High?  And the greatest gift we can give our fellows is to bring them into the divine presence.  “There is,” says Dr. William Adams Brown, “a service that is directed to the satisfaction of needs already in existence, and there is a service that is itself the creator of new needs which enlarge the capacity of the man to whom it would minister.  To this larger service religion is committed, and the measure of a man’s fitness to render it is his capacity for worship.”  But no one can give more than he has.  If we are to offer such gifts we must ourselves go before and lead.  To create the atmosphere in which the things