547 / with old, deaf Minerva puttering about the house

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with old, deaf Minerva puttering about the house...
straightening up after every intermittent cyclone caused by the inrush and egress of

If I Were a Minister

After reading the article, “If I Were a Farmer,” by one belonging to the ministerial fraternity, I thought it but fitting that there should be a reply from one of the “farming fraternity” upon the kindred subject, “If I were a Minister.” And thinking thus, my reflections shaped themselves into the following parable. If any reader does not grasp its significance, I will be happy to give the interpretation in another issue of “The Farmer’s Advocate."
If I were a minister upon a country circuit, I would rise at half-past four or a quarter to five o’clock in summer mornings, and not later than six upon winter mornings, saddle my finely-groomed horse, and ride at a brisk pace to Mr. Absent-Last-Sunday’s, my object being to obtain the reason for his non-attendance. If it should happen to be smallpox in the family, I would ride to the nearest grocer’s, and bring over all the provisions they might need for several days, and arrange with myself or some neighbor to attend to the milking of his cows and the doing of his chores during the siege, so that the man of the house would be free to help the mother in the home, wait upon their family, and the weekly income for butter, eggs, etc., would be forthcoming, as usual.
All this would perhaps occupy an hour, so I would still have time to hunt up the man who looks after the acetylene plant, and find out the reason for no light being shed upon sermon, preacher or people the previous Sabbath evening. Dropping him at the church door, we, my driver and I, would canter off for the parsonage.
By this time, I think probably my helpmate would have the children dressed and washed, the porridge stirred, and breakfast laid, unless she had thought to help me out by milking “Brindle,” since the supply for the children’s porridge had probably expired. In that case, if all the domestic affairs were not up to the mark, I would endeavor to be cheerful, and help get the children to the table, and the on, and we would proceed as usual.
After family prayers, I would announce to my wife my intention of taking a drive around one of the six two-mile blocks of my pastorate to see what the farmers were at, and get some hints for next Sunday’s sermon. Sermons drawn from subjects nearest the minds of the people are likely to take surest hold of the hearts. This would perhaps occupy the time left till the noon hour. In the meantime, it being Monday morning, my wife would have been toiling over the wash, with old, deaf Minerva puttering about the house, washing up dishes, buttoning jackets, and straightening up after every intermittent cyclone caused by the inrush and egress of our five hearty boys, ranging in age from three to ten, besides the baby — darling of our hearts — sitting up in her high-chair, screaming at the topmost pitch for her dinner.
After washing my hands and combing my hair, I would take her up and try to comfort her by letting her pull my hair and moustache out by the roots, or jerking my well-worn tie askew.
In the afternoon, after things had quieted down, the children locked in the nursery, or out at play, and my wife duly settled upon the couch for a few minutes’ steadying of the nerves before taking up her sewing, I would sit down in my study chair to hunt up a subject for a sermon. This feat accomplished, I would again hitch up my driver, preparatory to making a few pastoral calls, telling my wife I would not be home for tea, so they need not bother fixing up any extras, since it was only themselves.
Arriving at the parsonage for the third time that day, at half-past eight o'clock, or even nine, tired in body, but surely with the mind as keen and fresh as ever, feeling that a good day's work had been accomplished, I would feel entitled to a rest by taking a dip into “The Epworth Era,” followed by a page or two of “The Christian Guardian,” with perhaps a glance over “The Farmer’s Advocate,” to see how the farmers in the country were getting along. Then, perhaps for a half hour I could enjoy the latest book of critical criticism, by the "Rev. Clod Cloudymind,” on “Whether the Deluge Actually Covered the Dominion of Canada, or Not,” and, if it did not, how in the world could it be said to cover the earth? And if it didn’t cover the whole earth, what a fabrication the whole thing must be; therefore, we must conclude that it did cover Canada, as well as Palestine, that the pillars of our ancient belief may not crumble to the dust. And with that matter satisfactorily arranged, I would retire early, at eleven o’clock, to the “land of sweet dreams” — unless the children were wakeful, to be up and astir at the same early hour on Tuesday.
It would be tedious to enumerate all the work and routine of the week, and the many difficulties, domestic and otherwise, overcome by the help and advice of my faithful helper, just as it would be to enumerate all the little hitches and troubles of the farmer and his helper. The other days would be but a repetition of the first in point of activity and unspared energetic force, so that one day may serve as a sample of the six, except on Saturday I would make a desperate effort to catch up on all things left somewhat in the rear by the press of the day’s duties, and especially in the weekly sermon. But on the Sabbath I would not humor the inclination to remain longer than usual in the arms of Morpheus, but would be up and astir at the usual hour, or nearly so, and a brisk walk for a mile or two over the hills, conning my sermon, would prove a good appetizer; and, that important work all to my satisfaction, I could help my wife do up the morning’s work, and get the children ready for church. But, as the farmer has his family carriage for bringing the people to church, so I, the Rev. Able-as-Farmer, would have a family carriage, and a fine team to draw it, holding high their heads, and lifting up their hoofs in true blood style; and what people the farmers’ overflowing carriages would not hold, I would pick up and pack in beside my wife and children and myself, and so would I help swell my own congregation.
It would, perhaps, be out of the question for the people of my congregation to install all the modern conveniences in the parsonage, since they could not afford them in their own homes. So I would put in one or two of the more important ones at my own expense, at each circuit on which I labored. In time, if all did this, our parsonage would be stocked in all modern methods for carrying on housework, and the work would be greatly lightened for the minister’s wife, and she would have more time for visiting with her husband and attending upon the Ladies’ Aid, etc. Of course, all this would cost money, but money was meant to be scattered, especially the minister’s money, who can only claim what is given him anyway by the people’s generosity and lovingness of heart, not to speak of the tightness of the purse. Therefore, the minister, having nothing to call his own, should spend freely, and not lay up for a rainy day.
Of course, I would stand for, and labor with all my might for circulating libraries in school and church, and would contribute to the same: for good day and Sunday teachers in the school and church; for good politicians and councillors, and I would go stump-speaking in their behalf; and, if no better could be found, would run for office myself. I would have ample time for attending to my pastoral work and this public work. But I would let the choir work out its own salvation, as it is bound to do, anyway.
If I could get a worthy substitute, so that “Mr-Astride-the-Fence” wouldn't leave my flock, and go over to my neighbor, “Mr Pulling-Hard’s,” during my absence, I would take a week or so off in the heat of summer, when all the farmers were busy at harvest, and too tired to come out to church on Sundays. If I could not arrange it thus, however, I would feel it incumbent on me to stay at home and look after my charge, lest I should have no charge to look after upon my return.
But, above all things, I would prepare good sermons — elevating sermons — so that people would forget themselves and their common surroundings and work, once a week, and be lifted above themselves into the seventh heaven of philanthropy, morality, and missionology.
I forgot to say that my garden would be the model of the parish for neatness and variety, and I would keep my young boys out of mischief, hoeing and weeding in it, so that the farmers’ sons should not say there were mischievous, idle, lazy, or afraid of work, or, because they were the parson’s sons, they did not have to work. In all these things I would strive to be a model, and not fall behind the times. And we would give a party once a year to the young folks, once a year to the young married folks, once a year to the older married folks, and take them out to parties along with the other boys. In this way my wife and I would keep young in looks and spirits, and even our children would soon learn that we belonged to the people, soul and body; for this we were called, for this we were chosen, and for this we must live.
And finally, if I were a minister, with a great and growing country charge, I wouldn’t envy any farmer with only a hundred acres to call his own — after the mortgage was paid. But I would think myself the happiest man in the universe, only second in state to that of the angels; and my work, that of teaching the humble labor on the land to look from mature up to nature’s God, the greatest in the universe; and I wouldn’t envy any man his hundred acres of property and the work it entails, even if I did have to labor nearly as hard as he did, rising early, and eating my bread by the sweat of my brow and the strength of my brain.

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ex “If I Were a Minister” (“An Allegorical Reply to ‘If I Were a Farmer,’ By a Farmer’s Wife.”) in The Farmer’s Advocate and Home Magazine. Vol. 45, No. 919 (London, Ontario; May 5, 1910) : 769
Cornell copy/scan (via google books) : link

paragraphs numbered to aid in transcription and reference.

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a lively rejoinder to the (unless I misread it) pompous and patronizing “If I Were a Farmer” by Rev. A. C. Crews, in The Farmer’s Advocate and Home Magazine. Vol. 45, No. 914 (London, Ontario; March 21, 1910) : 599 : link

might be tagged “parson’s wives.”

13 August 2025