Rev. Dr. Tuckerman

   

     Discourse on the life and character of the Rev. Dr. Tuckerman

  "Having laid a good foundation by study, an unerring instinct taught him that study was not his vocation. His heart yearned for active life. He became more and more penetrated with the miseries and crimes of the world. As he sat in his lonely study, the thought of what men endured on the land and the sea withdrew him from his books. He was irresistibly attracted towards his fellow-man, by their sufferings, and still more, by a consciousness that there was something great beneath their sufferings, by a sympathy with their spiritual needs.

In a favored hour the thought of devoting himself to the service of the poor of this city entered his mind, and met a response within which gave it the character of a Divine monition. So deep was the sympathy, so intense the interest, which the poor excited in him, that it seemed as if a new fountain of love had been opened within him. This was no blinding enthusiasm. He saw distinctly the vices which are often found among the poor, their craft, and sloth, and ingratitude. His ministry was carried on in the midst of their frequent filth and recklessness. The coarsest realities pressed him on every side. These were not the scenes to make an enthusiast. But amidst these he saw, now the fainter signs, now the triumphs, of a divine virtue. it was his delight to relate examples of patience, disinterestedness, piety, amidst the severest sufferings. These taught him that in the poorest hovels he was walking among immortals, and his faith in the divinity within the soul turned his ministry into joy. 

  Much of this success was undoubtedly due to his singleness of heart; but much, also, to his clear insight into the principles of human nature which rendered the poor open to good influences, and into the means by which human beings in their condition maybe most effectually approached. And this shows his insight into the temptations, perils, and hearts, of the depressed and indigent; and, whilst exposing their errors and sins, he breathed a never-failing sympathy. 

It is easy to see in these that the great principle which animated his ministry was an immovable faith in God's merciful purposes towards the poor. Their condition, never for a moment, seemed to him to separate them from their Creator. On the contrary, he felt God's presence in the narrow comfortless dwelling of the poor as he felt it nowhere else.  

  His perpetual recognition of the spiritual, immortal nature of the poor, gave to all his intercourse a character of tenderness and respect. He spoke to them plainly, boldly, but still as to the children of the same infinite Father. He trusted in man's moral nature, however bruised and crushed; he was sure that no heart could resist him, if he could but convince it of his sincere brotherly concern. He always spoke encouragingly. He felt that the weight under which the poor man's spirit was already sinking needed no addition from the harshness of his spiritual guide. He went forth in the power of brotherly love, and found it a divine armor. 

He taught us that men in the most unpromising conditions, are to be treated as men; that under coarse jackets, and even rags, may be found tender and noble hearts; and that the heart, even when hardened, still responds to the voice of a true friend and brother. He was indeed too wise a man to give them an abstract form, or speak in technical language. His words were steeped in his heart before they found their way to his lips; and flowing warm and fresh from this fountain, they were drunk in as living waters by the thirsty souls of the poor. 

  A great secret of Dr. Tuckerman's success lay in his strong interest in individuals. It was not in his nature to act on masses by general methods; he threw his soul into individual cases. Every sufferer whom he visited seemed to awaken in him a special affection and concern. He made the worst feel that they had a friend, and by his personal interest linked them anew with their race. 

  Let me add another explanation of his success. He sought for something to love in all; he seized on anything good which might remain in the fallen spirit; on any domestic affection, any generous feeling, which might have escaped the wreck of character. If he could but touch one chord of love, one tender recollection of home, one feeling of shame or sorrow for the past, no matter how faintly, he rejoiced and took courage, like the good physician who, in watching over the drowned man, detects a flutter of the pulse, or the feeblest sign of life. His hope in such cases tended to fulfill itself. His tones awakened a like hope in the fallen. "He did not break the bruised reed, or quench the smoking flax."  

William Ellery Channing; photo by Cedric Hayes, on the streets of Portland Or.