Stuff Found in Library Books

Little Pictures from the Bible

The Providence Lithograph Co. was started sometime in the 1870s and eventually commissioned and collected a staggering large number of images portraying biblical happenings (in a liberal, late 19th century sort of way), historical events and Americana. 

While the image here is copyright 1911, the actual publication of this little handout (approved as second class mail for the U.S. Post Office), the actual text appears to be from or for 18 August, 1912, and focuses on the the passage in Mark 5:21-34 in which Jesus heals a woman and then tell a girl to get up. 

I always imagined Jairus’ daughter to be little, but here she is imagined as a teen (at least), and Jesus looks rather like a Shia cleric. There are rose petals and flowers are a nice, romantic, Edwardian touch.

I was going to try and translate some of the German, but me and fraktur have NEVER gotten along and I’ve never understood how anyone can read this. 

What we have today is a newspaper clipping describing how to use a telegraph to count the number of lightning strikes during a thunderstorm. We do not know where or when, and there’s nothing to obviously date this, though we would guess sometime in first decade or two of the 20th century based on the fact the man above “clippings” is clean shaven. We would expect a Victorian or early Edwardian gentleman to have a bear, and not be clean shaven. The fragments of advertisements suggest patent medicine, and we wonder how the cartoon depicting peasants collecting a swarm of bees ended.

Wireless telegraphy was invented in 1894, though there were experiments into the process in the 1880s, according to Wikipedia. However, it appears the phrase “wireless telegraphy” was replaced by the term “radio” round about 1910. We were guessing 1911 or so for the clipping. 

Note the reference toward the end of Max De Lacy’s piece to “ether waves,” referring to the luminiferous ether that many believed allowed electrons and light and radiation to travel, an ancient theory of the universe discredited since the 1920s.

For the Danish impaired – and yes, that includes us, dear readers – this little slip of paper reads (according to Google Translate):

This thesis is assumed by the Faculty of Theology at Aarhus University to be publicly defended for the theological doctorate.

Aarhus University on April 1, 1974

HENNING LEHMANN

h. a. dec.

The defense takes place on Monday, February 9, 1976 at. 12.30 in Auditorium 424, Anatomical Institute, Aarhus University

We do not know whose defense this was, but Henning Lehman was likely the faculty advisor or chair of whatever committee oversaw this student’s work. Lehmann is still alive, a professor emeritus of theology at Aarhus University in Denmark, where he donated his his books and writings. 

Stuff Found in Library Books repents of our absence last week. We were engaged in work much during the weekend and there wasn’t time to fish out a thing found in a library book from our un-posted collection and post it here.

Now, however, we have time.

And the obvious answer to the question posed on the cover of this pamphlet is -- Why, you did!

The American Tract Society was founded in 1825 in New York City, though it has moved to Garland, Texas, a place far friendlier to its very conservative theological and cultural outlook. They appear to have begun life as abolitionists and teetotalers, and they distribute their current works through Crossway, the folks who translated and published the ESV Bible, and their theology is very much the “choose Jesus or else” approach to salvation.

The tract appears to have been printed sometimes from the late 1940s through maybe the very early 1960s. Hard to be more specific about this, but the art, printing, and the text itself suggest high American Christendom. The lack of a ZIP code means this was printed before 1963. The Alfred A. Kunz named on the back is likely the same Alfred A. Kunz who was general secretary of the YMCA in New Jersey during the 1910s. 

Stuff Found in Library Books returns a day late and several dollars short with this offering, an undated handout outlining a worship service. It says “Pentecostal,” but I think that likely means the church season Pentecost, and not the denomination, and may even be a reference to what is also known as “Ordinary Time,” that long space in the Western church between Pentecost and All Saints Day, though I’m not entirely sure. This is far too liturgical for anything affiliated with the Asuza Street folks, and likely predates them by a few years. The printing style and quality of the paper suggest this is at least 100 years old, and is probably a decade or two older. All of the references I can find on Google to the “Pentecostal Collect” come from books that are at least 110 years old.

Note that the rubric says “School” and not “Congregation.” Interesting that. 

Stuff Found in Library Books — by way of a gentle reminder, this a blog of things I found while working as an assistant to the old and rare book cataloguer, Emilie Pulver, at the JKM Library, which is attached to the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago — continues with the Victorian, or at least Edwardian theme, this week with this little card, a note to someone on their confirmation.

Because even though I don’t know any German, that’s at least clear.

It says:

Sincere blessing for confirmation! Hold on, so that nobody takes your crown. (Rev. 3:11)

We thankfully have a date for this — April 11, 1911 — and I’m not sure if this is from or for Mrs. F. W. (I think) Schnathorst. If confirmands were 13 back then, I would assume this is from Mrs. Schnathorst.

Schnathorst is a town in north-central Germany, in the state of North Rhine-Westphalia, not really close to anything, near to a portion of the Teutoburger Wald, smack in the middle of what used to be the old West Germany.

The card, for being more than a century old, is in immaculate condition, with just a little marring on the back side, what looks like long-dried droplets or oil from crumbs.

So, let me be honest with you: I have no idea what this is, except some kind of old, two-sided Christmas card with a bucolic, wintery scene. And an old, rugged cross in a silent, snowy field. With a fringe, that is slowly falling apart.

And there’s some kind of rough, sandy, glittering substance that in the right light sparkles like snow on the actual snow. I’ve seen that before, can’t quite remember where, but I associate it with my grandparents and my two great-grandmothers.

It says “Christmas Greeting” in the lower right hand corner of the farmhouse side.

It’s old -- the style of the artwork, the kind of printing. It’s on heavy white cardboard, not thin leather, and the cardboard is in good condition, though the glue holding the two slabs of cardboard is old, and the fringe is fragile -- tufts come of if you touch too roughly. I’m guessing 1890s up to around 1910, based on the style of art, and it looks like one of these Victorian two-sides fringed cards. 

Stuff Found in Library Books returns from its very long occultation with a bang this morning. This pamphlet. Which doesn’t appear to be much but is actually attached to a fairly interesting story.

Our Lady of Fatima Crusade in Coeur d’Alene (oh, the struggles I have had with memorizing the spelling of that name) appears to have been founded by the late Francis Schuckardt, a traditionalist Catholic and Marian devotee (and Blue Army veteran) who one wag called “the rock n’ roll outlaw of Catholic traditionalism.” A fierce critic of Vatican II and the post-conciliar church (it got him formally denounced) e founded Mount St. Michael’s Parish in Spokane, where the Tridentine Latin Mass was still said. 

Facing allegations in the early 1980s that he sexually abused young, male seminarians, Schuckardt was eventually expelled from his church. he fled to California and founded another community, which was then raided by the police, who found a cache of drugs and weapons and some pamphlets entitled Death to Race-Mixers. (That’s what item number three is about. Thought so.) Schuckardt eventually relocated back to the Pacific Northwest, founding the Oblates of Mary Immaculate (not these Oblates of Mary Immaculate), a clandestine religious community that was scattered across Washington and Oregon and proof that just about anybody can by the pope of their own tiny church if they get the racism right.

Schuckardt died in 2006.

N. P. Gravengaard was president of the Danish Evangelical Lutheran Church in  America from 1911 to 1918 and author of A Christmas Gift. He doesn’t have his own wikipedia page, but there are lots of links to his book, which I haven’t read. I’m guessing he hasn’t read mine either. 

This explains why the newspaper clipping, about baptism, is in Danish. I’m Danish impaired (probably why I am such a terrible Lutheran), and Google translate renders it thusly:

Naar vi skal overføre Evangeliets Ord paa vore Dages Forhold, saa vil det først sige, at vi skal føre vore smaa Børn hen til Daaben. Der er han levende og virkelig til Stede i sit Ord. (Mt. 10.13-16)

Men sker der da noget i Daaben? Ja, der gør. Vi genfødes til et evigt Liv. Ligesom vi fødes ind i denne Verden med alt, hvad den har at byde paa, saaledes fødes vi ind i Guds Rige. "Uden nogen bliver født paany, kan han ikke se Guds Rige ... Sandelig, sandelig siger jeg dig, uden nogen bliver født af Vandog Aand, kan han ikke komme ind i Guds Rige." (Joh. 3, 3-5) ... Din Daabsdag er uden Sammenligning dit Livs største Dag.

Well, that’s the Danish as best as I can type it. In English, it kinda probably goes like this:

When we need to transfer the word of the gospel in our day conditions, so it will only say that we must keep our little ones to baptism. There he is living and truly present in his Word. (Mt. 10.13 to 16)

But happens when something in baptism? Yes, there is. We are reborn to eternal life. Just as we are born into this world with everything it has to offer on so we are born into the kingdom of God. "No one is born again, he can not see the kingdom of God ... Truly, I say to you, unless one is born of Vandog Spirit, he can not enter the kingdom of God." (Jn. 3, 3-5) ... Your baptism is beyond comparison thy womb biggest day.

Lutheran baptismal piety had to come from somewhere, I suppose.

There was an Immanuel Lutheran Church at 12-14 Sherman St. in Portland, Maine, according to 1924 assessor records. It may be the same address that is now the site of Hope House, at least according to this Bangor Daily News story. I cannot tell if First Immanuel Lutheran is any relation or descendant church from this, but based on the history, probably not.

Wikipedia has this to say about the Dorcas Society:

A Dorcas society is a local group of people, usually based in a church, with a mission of providing clothing to the poor. Dorcas societies are named after Dorcas (also called Tabitha), a person described in the Acts of the Apostles (Chapter 9, v. 36).

Which would have been a very big deal in 1931, during the bleakest days of The Great Depression.

Evelyn Underhill was an Anglo-Catholic writer and one of the most widely read authors on Christian mysticism, at least in English, during the first half of the 20th century. She wrote a highly thought of book, Mysticism, which I haven’t read. I probably should, though.

Light of Christ was Underhill’s 1932 book, another foray into mysticism. 

I don’t know where this faded, Kodachrome photo was likely taken, but I’m guessing it is autumn somewhere in the Intermountain West or the Pacific Northwest. (Or Canada...) Nor do I know when, though the stamp on the back in red appears to say

Print made by Kodak Sept 75P

Fort Dearborn was built on the banks of the Chicago River in 1803, and destroyed by a fire during the mishap that was the War of 1812. (Is it me, or is that just a really stupid name for a war?) Arthur Mitchell was a Presbyterian pastor, evangelist, and missionary from the 19th century, and The Christian Advocate had this to say about him in 1909:

In the narrative much is said of the Rev. Dr. Arthur Mitchell whose last labors were in the service of the Foreign Mission Board of the Presbyterian Church a man greatly beloved very successful in the pastorate in Chicago, in Cleveland, and in Morristown NJ and whose winning ways attracted all classes. The very interesting and instructive article was concluded by a quotation from Dr. Mitchell's sermon on “The Church of the Frontier” the first sermon preached in the present house of worship occupied by the First Presbyterian Church.

Apparently, that little quote about a religion fit for Chicago was famous in its day.

Keep alive among you the spirit of that lake--the Mayflower of our history--and the carpenter shop--the spirit of prayer, of plain humanity, of stout endurance and of sacrifice for Jesus’ sake. Do not let us lose earnestness in elegance. Our religion must be plain, warm, outspoken, brotherly, and bold if it is to be worth having. No other was fit for the frontier. No other is fit for Chicago of today.

I’m guessing this is a program for something at First Presbyterian Church in Chicago. The quality of the paper suggests anywhere from the 1920 through to the late 1940s or early 1950s. This appears to be a single sheet, and maybe this card-sized handout is all there was. Whoever had this was quite interested in Philo A. Otis  (Note to self: This rocks as a pseudonym.) who in addition to writing books could apparently sing. Or at least he wrote them anthem.