One day in
San Francisco I saw a funeral procession passing along the street. I
joined the procession, and went with it into the church. I saw that all
the company were negroes. The minister, who was also a negro,
announced the Hymn:
"Safe in the arms of Jesus,
Safe on His gentle breast,
There by His love o'ershaded,
Sweetly my soul shall rest."
It was sung with all the fervor of the negro race. As it proceeded a
strange thought struck me: How could negroes find rest on the bosom of
One quite another color? It was a natural thought, for the color
prejudice is strong. Even when we think of Christ, we instinctively
think of Him as a white man. How, then, could these worshippers find
rest on His bosom, and in His arms? If He had been a negro, they might
do so; but how could they do such a thing when they realized that He was
of a different color from themselves?
Then suddenly, a solution same to my mind. If Christ was not black,
neither was He white. In fact He was brown; about midway between white
and black. So in color He was as near to the negroes as to the white
race. Therefore the negroes can recline on His breast, and in His arms,
as naturally as we. That seemed to me a very happy idea; perhaps even a
revelation.
But then, another thought quickly followed.
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