My Lord, my King?
A cup of water to a thirsty soul.
But this my goal:
To stand with my poor cup beside Thy sea.
And dip for all a measure of Thy love to me.
For whosoever shall give you a cup of water to drink in my name…he shall not lose his reward. (Mark 9:41)
Chapter 5: That Jewish Gentleman
In his public ministry, Morris had emerged as a singular figure of extraordinary faith. His denomination appeared to be supportive, and he quoted Presbyterian church leaders in his pamphlets. At the annual general assembly meetings each June he was well received and widely admired for his reports. Privately though, Morris and the family coped with numerous aggravations—and many were caused by the church.
Daily, the family had to manage their awkward living quarters above the Mission facilities at 307 Palmerston. These were shared with a deaconess, Miss Caroline McArthur, appointed as Morris’s assistant by the presbytery. The home’s single washroom was barely adequate for a family of six plus one. The unfinished children’s bedrooms were another frustration, especially during the freezing cold of winter. Regular requests for funds to have the rooms completed went unanswered.
No matter how successful Morris was at promoting the ministry, his financial allotment remained fixed, and he wasn’t paid for any extra work. For most of the 1930s, that budget was about $3,250 a year, including all salaries and ministry expenses. In his reports, he occasionally noted that his work had expanded much further than ever—but not his budget. In pre-Depression years he’d received as much as $15,000. It’s no surprise that his complaints fell on deaf ears—almost everyone in the church felt overstretched, underpaid and grateful for their salary.
Since the fracture of the denomination in 1925, Morris had been a steadfast Presbyterian. Loyalty was a trait he valued and tried to foster in others. In 1928, a mission in St. Louis had offered him an attractive leading position. Aware that he couldn’t be replaced, the denomination raised his salary and confirmed their intention to move the Institute’s headquarters to a more appropriate location.
A few years later, his loyalty was quietly tested again. The mission archives include a yellowed piece of correspondence, dated June 21, 1934. It’s a letter to Morris from Sir Leon Levison, president of The International Hebrew Christian Alliance (IHCA). In his day, Levison was something of a living legend; in later years he remained a visionary who admired Morris’s abilities. From the IHCA offices in Edinburgh, Toronto may not have seemed such an important assignment as Levison had in mind. The typed letter mentions a vacancy in the Church of Scotland “station” (mission) in Jaffa, “practically centred at Tel Aviv, the 100 percent new Jewish city in the Holy Land.” Levison wrote,
I feel that in view of the important position which Palestine is going to hold in Jewry throughout the world, and also with the Jews aiming to make Palestine not only their national home, but the centre of Jewish culture, it is imperative to have a Hebrew Christian of education and character as well as of experience to be at the head of the Jewish station.
Levison also reminded Morris about the IHCA’s plans to start a Hebrew Christian colony on a site near Gaza. Urging him to apply immediately—“by return of post”—Levison assured Morris that he would “endeavour to use my very best influence to help you.” He also requested confidentiality, as he knew most of the committee who would make the appointment.
Morris couldn’t respond as Sir Leon requested. Neither his well-hidden colitis nor his family situation (Elaine had been born May 1) made it reasonable. There were more immediate demands on his time and energy. He’d recently returned from the annual general assembly meetings and was busy starting up the summer Fresh Air camp programs. These would bring more responsibilities than usual because Annie—who oversaw much of the program—was looking after a newborn.
Levison had added a postscript in a few handwritten lines: “Would you consider the question of your being appointed General Secretary of the IHCA and work with me in Great Britain? L.L.” We have no record of Morris’s reply. He occasionally travelled to London, but he went on to serve the IHCA as general secretary from 1934 to 1944. That role would take him far afield in attempts to expand the work of the alliance, whose numbers were growing, particularly in Europe. He travelled to Europe, across the United States and Mexico and, on the very eve of the Second World War, to South America. He was returning by ship when war was declared.
Closer to home, Morris’s networking for public support led him in some unexpected directions. In the 1930s he became a member of the Orange Lodge, a Protestant fraternal institution with strong Presbyterian links. The lodge exerted a strong influence on Toronto politics, promoting the interests of conservative politicians and businessmen. Morris became a member of the local John Knox lodge and was elected chaplain and a senior member.
The religious prejudices of the Orange Order against Catholics were by no means hidden. Every year, city lodges celebrated the Battle of the Boyne with a grand parade. The battle (neither important nor decisive) is supposed to mark the defeat of James II, Great Britain’s last Catholic king, and his replacement by the House of Orange. (Similar parades are still held in parts of the former British Commonwealth.) In the mid-1930s, Toronto’s parade was a major event involving many of the city’s leading politicians. As chaplain, Morris was a noticeable dignitary. After the war, the influence of the Orange Order declined, and its religious prejudices were no longer socially acceptable, a change that Morris also welcomed.1
In recent decades, since Vatican Council II in the 1960s, Torontonians have become used to an increasingly ecumenical spirit between Catholics and most Protestant denominations. The atmosphere of the 1930s was a stark contrast. The differences in theology and practices between Christian denominations were fiercely debated. Some of the earliest religious radio programs featured strongly partisan Catholic and Protestant preachers.
In the biography of his father, Alex Zeidman explains that Morris had a continuing interest in Roman Catholicism, the dominant religion of his native Poland. That curiosity was almost certainly fanned by the anti-Semitism so prevalent in Catholic circles, with its emphasis on blaming the Jewish people for the death of Jesus—that is, all Jews, of every generation. In the aftermath of the Holocaust, these teachings were critically re-examined and rejected by Vatican Council II in 1965. Pope Paul VI declared the views inconsistent with the Scriptures, and they are no longer openly tolerated. (His statement is called Nostra Aetate—“Our Times.” Further progress in relations with the Jewish people has continued since then.)
Commercial radio was still relatively new in Canada in the mid-’30s. The Catholic Hour was broadcast as a Sunday news program for Toronto audiences by an organization called the Catholic Radio League. Programs featured the strong opinions of Father Charles B. Lanphier and were broadcast from St. Michael’s, the cathedral church of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Toronto. Father Lanphier’s views were increasingly controversial with the onset of the Spanish Civil War (1936–39). In keeping with the official views of the church, Lanphier was a staunch supporter of General Franco, who received military support from Hitler and Mussolini. Meanwhile, in April 1937, Canadians were reading the first press reports of the Luftwaffe bombings of civilians in Guernica—a glimpse of the terror to be unleashed on England in the Nazi blitzkrieg.
The medium of radio appealed to Morris’s entrepreneurial personality. While he kept up his busy schedule of public appearances across Southern Ontario, including church pulpits and social clubs, the radio broadcasts reached thousands more and gave voice to his wide-ranging views on theological and topical issues.
Morris launched his own Protestant radio league in 1934 with a series of radio messages, some of them quite controversial. While the league had an advisory council, Morris was responsible for the scripts and presentation. His “subscribers” were only required to indicate their support of the programs, without other obligations. The Protestant Hour caught the attention of Protestants and Catholics alike, and the Mission scrapbooks contain many newspaper columns on the ensuing controversies.
The Telegram, well known