Frederick Isham Halsey | Obituary

The East Hampton Star., January 11, 1940

"his utter modesty might well sweep the Assembly"

1935 | Montgomery to Christie

Letter from Christie to Halsey | 1939

Westminster Presbyterian Church

Wilmington, Delaware

John W. Christie, Minister

1304 Delaware Avenue

Wilmington, Del.

[May 1939]

Saturday

Dear Jess,

Thank you for your letters. Bob very much appreciated his. Hope you will come to Board meeting in June—altho I may have to be at synod at Hood College on that Wednesday. Probably will be home that night.

Mr. [Jasper E.] Crane was unwell part of the Assembly and had to go to bed on Thursday, but is out again. I think he enjoyed the affair. Whatever comes before him will be thoroughly examined—and decided on the strictest principles a conscience that came out of New England originally can find. When he deviates from justice and truth as he sees them I will despair of their continuance on this old globe. Partiality or favoritism he does not understand. So if your Pension matters come to him see to it that he has all the facts. Nothing else will sway him. I think he will prove to be the most valuable layman the Gen. Council secures in our generation.

Have been reading Hodge on the 1837 fight and ran across a few pages that you must read—In his “Polity” (which you have) please read Chap X—Page 157—on “Presbyterian Liturgies.”

Am glad the Ass. goes to Rochester next year. Darling tells me that D. Wallace MacMillian and Luccock both gave him needed and able assistance in his Com. I have written notes to both of them. Evidently they had their hands full.

From all I can learn the Assembly did a fine job on every serious bit of work presented. Was greatly pleased at the Pension and Princeton outcomes. Wonder who the “skunks” turned out to be? Have not idea, at present.

Love to you—and Thanks.

John

Jesse Halsey: Pastor, Presbyter, and Friend

McCormick Speaking |Vol. VII | March, 1954 | No. 6 

By John W. Christie

Minister of the Westminster Presbyterian Church, Wilmington, Del.

When I went to a Cincinnati pastorate during the first World War, Dr. Jesse Halsey was in Russia under the aegis of the Y.M.C.A.; but his name came up more frequently than that of any other minister in the town. Newcomer that I was, I found it impossible to believe that any one man could do all the things that people said this man did—preach, visit those sick or in prison, use the printing press, do plumbing, paint houses, repair pipe organs, cook, etc.

One day, as I looked out of my study window, I saw a man approaching, carrying a collection of beautiful Arctic furs. It was Jesse Halsey, just returned from the Murmansk coast where he had, for a season, represented both the United States and Britain, and where the British admiral had been sufficiently familiar with him to roar and swear at him affectionately.

One did not need to be in his company long to discover that he possessed unusual qualities. He knew and loved books, and The Book. He needed not that any should testify of men, for he knew what was in man. He knew how to do almost everything that anybody does with his hands, and he was always doing something with those hands for anyone in sickness or distress.

He had an incorrigible faith in people. Like his Lord, he believed that one who was lost was only lost, and that he might be found and saved. He knew how much the humble and the poor needed encouragement and friendly help. He knew also how much the successful but spiritually destitute likewise need help.

God gave him an amazing stock of good Long Island common sense, plus an abundance of the wisdom that cometh down from above. His counsel, therefore, was sought by all.

He labored more than other men, and he loved more than they did. He was tireless in his exertions—others he was forever sparing, never did he spare himself.

He had a most sensitive appreciation of what was significant in art, music, and literature. His mild eye was forever discovering truth and beauty in the things that hourly happen to us. Twenty times a day he would see or listen to something notable, suggestive, or moving. Then from his pocket would come an envelope or a bit of paper and a stubby pencil. Every night, when he emptied his pockets, he had a store of simple and unhackneyed illustrations.

His church members loved and admired him; so did his neighbors of all creeds; so also did his assistant and his church custodian!

He was a good presbyter. In troublous times he kept his temper and his tongue and steadfastly loved his brethren, though never yielding his conscience or his convictions to their dictation. He could suffer fools gladly as none other could. He was the friend of forlorn causes, and he shamed the rest of us into duty by his example.

Jesse Halsey was an excellent preacher, but his daily life was his best sermon. For many, indeed, it was his life that made his Gospel credible.

Dr. Grenfell, for whom he was chaplain in Labrador for three years, shall have the last word here. I saw the letter in which, shortly before he died, Sir Wilfred wrote, “I have seen more of Jesus Christ in you than any man I ever knew.”

"The Fine Art of Forgiveness"

A Sermon | Reverend Jesse Halsey |  c1932

On a church bulletin board as we passed—

“THE FINE ART OF FORGIVENESS”

Dr. Quintic Preaches.

“I wonder who practices,” said my chauffer.

I have been thinking about that chance remark, wondering how deep it registered in the chauffeur’s mind. His voice had a jocular, not a cynical tone, and I have tried repeatedly to guess what he thought; for I am a minister—and the chauffeur was my twenty-year-old-son.

Some of us in a “clericus,” were vigorously criticizing an older minister for his intolerance. One of the group, our Barnabus, quietly interjected this: “Yes, but he has two sons and both of them are going into the ministry.” There must have been something in the old gentleman’s life that, in spite of his rigid theology, recommended his profession to his boys.

Is it a general impression that the minister preaches rather than practices? If so, no wonder Pearl Buck can say, “I am sick of preaching.”

Now, I happen to know something about my neighbor, this preacher, Quintic. He once had a deacon well-versed in historic theology. For better or for worse, Quintic is a liberal. Higher criticism and such things he takes for granted. He has moved beyond the argumentative stage, but these things lie in the background of all his Scriptural expositions. The deacon never approved, was sharply critical (and said it in season and out of season), but for ten years now Quintic has pursued his quiet and undeviating way, preaching the Gospel—and practicing it, too. I felt that he had earned the right to speak on the “Fine Art of Forgiveness.”

Two other people, of whom I know, have left his church and gone elsewhere. I expect that Mr. Patrioticus was the biggest contributor to Quintic’s church. He, Patrioticus, was making money—lots of it—while Quintic was overseas during the War. It is natural enough that he, Mr. P., should be a super-patriot and (judging by my own experience), equally obvious that Dr. Quintic should be an anti-militarist (and likely a semi-pacifist). He has seen things that, for psychological reasons, if for no other would make him thus.

Not chronically, but occasionally when it seems an obvious point in his sermon, Dr. Q. speaks about the dangers of militarism. He doesn’t say much (few veterans do), but he comes down hard and, after a violent denunciation that echoed in the public press, prosperous Patrioticus withdrew both his subscription and membership from the church. Quintic’s salary paid the price in the next year’s budget. I have a notion that he has a right to preach on “the gentle art” if he wants to.

Intolerable conditions existed, and exist, in a factory. One of Quintic’s trustees is an in-law of the president of that concern. The Doctor, who practices brotherhood as well as any man I know, preached a sermon three years ago on “Christian Love.” His text (I pass the bulletin board almost daily), as I remember was this, or these: “I am my Brother’s Keeper,” “All Ye Are Brothren.”

What he said I don’t know (but I can imagine). I have heard him preach and he is very quiet in manner, but his public as well as private utterance is well studied, and he has a command of ideas and language that anyone might covet. What he says, he means, and I expect there were sharp as well as “winged” words that day. At any rate, after several threats, the in-law trustee finally withdrew and his obsession, until his dying day was “that preacher” Quintic.

I have no notion what he said in last week’s sermon; “The Fine Art.” I haven’t asked him. But the gentle act of forgiveness he preaches—and practices. His people know it and they love him. What is infinitely more important, they respect him thoroughly.

----

I’m wondering—Will my son be a preacher? He lives with me.

Wilmun Halsey | Obituary

Southampton Press | 24 May 1928

Billy Halsey | Cincinnati | c1926

Little Wilmun, youngest son of Rev. and Mrs. Jesse Halsey of Cincinnati, Ohio, died on Sunday last as the result of an automobile accident. The funeral was held on Tuesday in the Seventh Church of which Rev. Mr. Halsey is minister and the burial was made in the family plot in the Southampton cemetery on Wednesday afternoon. A brief and impressive service was held in the Halsey home, North Main street, where the [?] by neighbors and friends who will [?] [Billy was] well known in the neighborhood and a favorite among all his playmates. Wilmun was eight years old, and the hearts of very many go out in sympathy to the stricken family in their deep and irreparable loss.

***

Rev. Henry Sloane Coffin, D.D., was in Southampton to conduct the funeral servce held for the little son of Rev. and Mrs. Jesse Halsey on Wednesday afternoon. Rev John Christie of the Mt. Auburn Presbyterian church in Cincinnati and Rev. David Garrett Smith assisted with the service.

Dr. Coffin is well known in Southampton, as when a boy his parents made their summer home here. Before becoming president of Union Theological Seminary he was for sixteen years the pastor of the Madison Avenue Presbyterian church in New York City.

Frederick I. Halsey | Obituary

Southampton Press | 5 January 1940

Frederick I. Halsey

Frederick Halsey 1933

The heartfelt sympathy of the community is with the Rev. and Mrs. Jesse Halsey of Cincinnati, Ohio, and Southampton, whose son Frederick Isham, aged 27 years, passed away in Holmes Hospital, Cincinnati, on Thursday, December 28^th, after a two years’ illness.

Funeral services were held in the Seventh Presbyterian Church in East Walnut Hills, of which Dr. Halsey is pastor, on Saturday afternoon at 3:00 o’clock. Dr. John Christie of Wilmington, Del., a close friend of the family, conducted graveside services at 10:00 o’clock New Year’s Day morning at the family plot in Southampton Cemetery.

Mr. Halsey was graduated from Walnut Hills High School [alt.Hughes High School?], spent a year in Cornell University, and was a junior liberal arts student in Wooster College, Wooster, Ohio, when he was compelled to give up his school work because of ill health. He was born in Newfoundland when his father was a member of the staff of the Grenfell Labrador Mission.

Charles, Helen, Frederick Halsey c1926

Besides his father and mother, Mrs. [Helen Isham Halsey, he leaves behind a brother, Mr. Charles Halsey, New York City; a sister, Miss Helen Halsey,] teacher in Western College, Oxford, Ohio; and Miss Abigail Fithian Halsey, student in Hillsdale School.

Jesse Halsey: Pastor, Presbyter, and Friend

When I went to a Cincinnati pastorate during the first World War, Dr. Jesse Halsey was in Russia under the aegis of the Y.M.C.A.; but his name came up more frequently than that of any other minister in the town. Newcomer that I was, I found it impossible to believe that any one man could do all the things that people said this man did—preach, visit those sick or in prison, use the printing press, do plumbing, paint houses, repair pipe organs, cook, etc.

One day, as I looked out of my study window, I saw a man approaching, carrying a collection of beautiful Arctic furs. It was Jesse Halsey, just returned from the Murmansk coast where he had, for a season, represented both the United States and Britain, and where the British admiral had been sufficiently familiar with him to roar and swear at him affectionately.

One did not need to be in his company long to discover that he possessed unusual qualities. He knew and loved books, and The Book. He needed not that any should testify of men, for he knew was in man. He knew how to do almost everything that anybody does with his hands, and he was always doing something with those hands for anyone in sickness or distress.

He had an incorrigible faith in people. Like his Lord, he believed that one who was lost was only lost, and that he might be found and saved. He knew how much the humble and the poor needed encouragement and friendly help. He knew also how much the successful but spiritually destitute likewise need help.

God gave him an amazing stock of good Long Island common sense, plus an abundance of the wisdom that cometh down from above. His counsel, therefore, was sought by all.

He labored more than other men, and he loved more than they did. He was tireless in his exertions—others he was forever sparing, never did he spare himself.

He had a most sensitive appreciation of what was significant in art, music, and literature. His mild eye was forever discovering truth and beauty in the things that hourly happen to us. Twenty times a day he would see or listen to something notable, suggestive, or moving. Then from his pocket would come an envelope or a bit of paper and a stubby pencil. Every night, when he emptied his pockets, he had a store of simple and unhackneyed illustrations.

His church members loved and admired him; so did his neighbors of all creeds; so also did his assistant and his church custodian!

He was a good presbyter. In troublous times he kept his temper and his tongue and steadfastly loved his brethren, though never yielding his conscience or his convictions to their dictation. He could suffer fools gladly as none other could. He was the friend of forlorn causes, and he shamed the rest of us into duty by his example.

Jesse Halsey was an excellent preacher, but his daily life was his best sermon. For many, indeed, it was his life that made his Gospel credible.

Dr. Grenfell, for whom he was chaplain in Labrador for three years, shall have the last word here. I saw the letter in which, shortly before he died, Sir Wilfred wrote, “I have seen more of Jesus Christ in you than any man I ever knew.”

-John W. Christie

Minister of the Westminster Presbyterian Church, Wilmington, Del.

McCormick Speaking

Vol. VII | March, 1954 | No. 6

Jesse Halsey, 1882-1954

In Memoriam