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There are men still living who will declare that nobody ever made things divine more real to them than did Dr. Curtis. His power to do this was no accident. By great tribulation he had entered into the Kingdom. He had known disappointment, bereavement, misunderstanding. He had wrestled in the deep places, and the marks of it were on him. He had, there is good reason to believe, a sense of growing loneliness of spirit in a world, even in a church, to which he seemed at many points an extremist. But if ever a man believed that nothing mattered except the offering of a complete testimony to Jesus Christ, that man was Dr. Curtis. He believed that it had been given to him to see the Christian faith as that total organism of fact and truth which answered to existence as the concave answers to the convex. That being the case, he must tell what he saw; he must tell the meaning of it; he must make clear its overwhelming majesty; he must set forth its significance as the promise of a possible complete and everlasting redemption for every human soul.
And this he did. He did not do it automatically: that would have been utterly impossible to him. He did it as though it were a matter of life and death-- as, indeed, it was! He did it by the whole demeanor of his life. He did it by his chapel prayers. Those prayers were not-- just prayers. They were events. They were prayers that subdued, prayers that rebuked, prayers that shamed, prayers that made souls tremble; prayers that cleansed, prayers that inspired, prayers that exalted, preayers that thrust back the horizons of smaller minds so that room enough could be made for at least a suggestion of the wonder and the glory of Jesus Christ.
The life that came to so sharp a Christian focus was, however, a many-sided life. Everything human interested Dr. Curtis, and everything in the world around him. His passion for baseball was perpetual surprise to people who supposed that a theologian lived in a world of abstractions! He knew the average of the great batters and pitchers, and a World Series found him as enthusiastic as a boy. A baseball game, he declared, confirmed and illustrated his fundamental philosophy of personality as individual-- social! Besides, baseball was so distinctively an American game. The crowd in Times Square, New York, on election night, fascinated him: he loved to be a part of it. He despised no man, because he saw in every man-- a man! He understood equally John Brown and Robert E. Lee: both alike represented the moral finality of motive. One of his intimates was "Old John," a colored workman on the Drew campus, born in slavery, "salt as life," and of an antiquity so great it had become a legend. He had a patriotism that ran deep and strong. Few men studied Lincoln as Dr. Curtis studied him, and few men not professional historians, could have had a more complete grasp of the movement of American history. Frail of health as he was, he served as a volunteer navy chaplain during the Spanish-American War. He was a great admirer of Theodore Roosevelt, and followed him into the "Bull Moose" party.