world. I returned from my first visit to Europe more thankful than ever
for the mercy of having been born in America. The trip did me
immeasurable good. It strengthened my faith in the breadth and
simplicity of a broadminded religion. We must take care how we extend
our invitation to the Church, that it be understandable to everyone.
People don't want the scientific study of religion.

On Sunday morning, September 25, 1870, the new Tabernacle erected on
Schemerhorn Street was dedicated to the worship of Almighty God. It was
to my mind a common-sense church, as I had planned it to be. In many of
our churches we want more light, more room, more ventilation, more
comfort. Vast sums of money are expended on ecclesiastical structures,
and men sit down in them, and you ask a man how he likes the church: he
says, "I like it very well, but I can't hear." The voice of the preacher
dashes against the pillars. Men sit down under the shadows of the Gothic
arches and shiver, and feel they must be getting religion, or something
else, they feel so uncomfortable.

We want more common sense in the rearing of churches. There is no excuse
for lack of light when the heavens are full of it, no excuse for lack of
fresh air when the world swims in it. It ought to be an expression, not
only of our spiritual happiness, but of our physical comfort, when we
say: "How amiable are Thy tabernacles, O Lord God of Hosts! A day in
Thy courts is better than a thousand."

My dedication sermon was from Luke xiv. 23, "And the Lord said unto the
servants, go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come
in that my house may be filled." The Rev. T.G. Butter, D.D., offered the
dedicatory prayer. Other clergymen, whose names I do not recall, were
present and assisted at the services. The congregation in attendance was