In the late fall of 1900, some members of the First Methodist Church of Austin, Texas then known as the Tenth Street Methodist Church decided to sever connection with the body. The immediate cause was what they considered the mistreatment of Dr. R. J. Briggs at the hands of the Methodist Conference. Realizing that the decision was dividing families, Dr. Briggs declined to serve the proposed church as pastor.
Early in January of 1901, my father, Judge D. W. Doom, came home in the afternoon and said to me quietly, : 'Annie, the women have solved it. Mrs. Hereford and Mrs. Farr called at the office, explained that they conducted a Sunday School for newsboys in the afternoon at Odd Fellows Hall, but that they had control of the hall for the whole Sabbath Day. They asked if thy might invite Dr. Briggs to preach there in the Sabbath morning so that those who wanted to hear him preach might come. And if Briggs is any account, he continued, "We'll have a church where things really worth while are discussed."
The Sunday morning came. Dr. Briggs preached on the Fatherhood of God. I can see him now as he stood, immaculate in his dress, beneath the elaborate but dingy headpiece of that hall, his hand at rest, now and then, upon a somewhat roughed old Bible borrowed for the occasion. Full of the beautiful meanings of life, true always to the happier, holier things, Dr. Briggs became his noblest self in the pulpit. His eyes became intense, his manner took on the height of clerical dignity, not too tan, a rounded, well-developed form, straight and true, a face lit by eyes of blue that followed in every line the beautiful ideas he expressed. Remember, he had a year since preached every Sunday to some three or four hundred people, but he entered into this service before the nineteen people with the same depth of thought, the some beauty of expression that had characterized him throughout his ministerial life. I sat at the organ on that day, an instrument rented for the occasion, and Mrs. Morrow and I sang a duet.
In the afternoon, my father and I went to investigate the Sunday School idea. We reached the hall just as the Sunday School broke up for class work. Two sets of boys rushed for me, grabbed me around the waist, exclaiming in ‘concert: "Mrs. Pickrel1's going to teach us! Mrs. Pickrell's going to teach us!" "I'll teach none of you, if this is the way you are to behave."
My father was dismayed. A law practice among bankers and merchants and teachers had kept all knowledge of such creatures out of his mind. He looked funny to me. On the way home, in the carriage, I began to laugh at him. When his facial expression demanded an explanation, I answered: "You don't know how funny you looked!‘ "Humph!" he answered," "I saw you were in your element! Where had you ever seen such children?" "I teach them every day in the Public Schools."
The church was formally organized on Easter Sunday after a three-months trial. At some time in the fall of 1902, this body, then known as the Independent Methodist Church of Austin, bought the corner lot of Colorado and Ninth Streets from Eliza Hawkings, a colored woman, and quietly sat back to wait for funds.
In June of 1903, Dr. Briggs announced in the ministerial association that he did not believe in hell. Col. Miller had nervously said to my father that his own reading of Congregational-Unitarian literature had cleared his own mind, but that Dr. Briggs grasped the new ideas more easily than he could. Most of this reading matter had come from my father‘s home library. These men were surprised to find that the dropping of the hell idea was impossible to many folks. A series of sermons from Dr. Briggs, supporting this anti-hell idea, crowded the hall to its capacity, then turned people away. The first service in the fall, following a month's vacation, proved that we had lost some worth-while members who even in that late day must see the gates of hell opened wide to receive some people then living carelessly upon the earth.
It became generally known throughout the city that the state body of Knights Templar would meet in Austin in April of 1904. Dr. Briggs’ Masonic work lacked as yet this final touch. The knights included in that little congregation had him elected to membership, even managed to have him make the address of welcome. At a subsequent meeting of the body, they telephoned my father that he must come down. They even sent a carriage for him. They had him call Dr. Briggs out on the floor, a trembling young knight, wondering what he had done to be summoned in such a tone of voice, had him present the astonished fellow with the Knight Templar emblem, blazoned with diamonds, for Briggs, the persecuted man who had, as yet. never opened his mouth to fly back, had won their hearts and they thought best to express it this way. When his wife asked after he reached home about the affair, Judge Doom ended his explanation with these words: 'These fellows are about to make a fool out of Briggs.“
One of the leading physicians of the city was called to attend a young woman ill in a house of ill fame. Realizing that she was near death, he suggested taking her to the hospital. The manager of the house refused, promising her every attention. The girl insisted to her physician that she must see a minister before she died. The physician felt that his oath required his own presence at that bedside. He felt just as surely that any minister might feel himself insulted if asked to enter that abode vice.
Then, he thought of Dr. Briggs. He had met the man in the Commandery of Knights Templar, had been struck by his wholesome, upright manner, with his beauty of thought and expression. Once, within the minister‘s study, he stated the case briefly. Dr. Briggs reached for his hat. "Let’s go, Doc. She must not suffer if we can help.“ Seated at the girl's bedside, her slender hand held in his own, Dr. Briggs listened to her confession. Smoothing back her brow, he had once practiced medicine himself, he there offered a prayer which the physician declared afterward was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. They left the room conscious of the peace, nay the hope, gleaming from that once-troubled countenance. Some lady workers from an orthodox church tried to explain to the girl that Dr. Briggs was not to be trusted in such matters. Just how far the dying girl yielded to their explanation we are not prepared to say. We did feel that the ladies had lost sight of the beautiful old story, the priceless old saying: 'Let him that is without sin cast the first stone.'
A year or so later, Mr. G. F. Hamilton, a member of the church, a merchant of the city, fell in with a Congregational minister on the train. The conversation turned to churches and religion—naturally. The full story of our body was revealed. The minister suggested that we enter the Congregational Church in a body. Mr. Hamilton replied that our creed might not be accepted, The minister asked for it. The Fatherhood of God, The Brotherhood of Man, The Life Everlasting, The Redemption from Evil, The Spiritual Leadership of Jesus. The minister assured him that it would meet with Congregational approval.
On Mr. Hamilton's return to Austin, the interview was described to the trustees of the Independent Methodist Church. They called a business meeting of the congregation and laid the matter before them. After the Congregational minister had made his talk, he had followed Mr. Hamilton home, my father rose, gave a brief history of the Congregational church, saying that among other things, it had given to the world the gospel hymns. Another Trustee stated that in the event we went into the Congregational Church, a loan would be allowed us for the building of a church. Hymns are worth-while, but the money adhered to the talk idea, and the motion carried unanimously.
When we were received into this body, it was brought to our people that Tillotson Institute had been built by the Congregational Church, that it was conducted at the time by a white president and a group of white teachers, the student body being composed entirely’ of Negroes. Some of us resolved to call upon those teachers. Remember this was but forty years after the War Between the States and the Reconstruction that followed it, but some of us, Southern-born and Southern-bred, had a way of doing as we pleased. The calling induced some of the teachers—most of then from New England to come to church services. The very people who had denied themselves to send missionaries to Africa rebelled.— With this quieted down, a fine looking young man came from Ohio and organized a Christian Endeavor Society. In the midst of a flattering interest (the young man was really good to look at), he invited a teacher from Tillotson to make a talk to his young folks. Again some disturbance! The young man came to me in his distress. ‘I determined," he said earnestly, "when I came south from Ohio, to not wake no hard feelings. I watched you, both in Texas and your father and mother before you. I saw you go up and take those teachers by the hand."
"Humph,“ I answered, “People of little importance can always do as they please. I‘d hate to do the work they are doing, but as long as we send missionaries to Africa, I shall cheerfully take them by the hand.”