The Church Stove War

HARD AS IT may be to believe it today, one of the hottest controversies to stir up the congregations of many colonial Puritan churches had nothing at all to do with theology. Rather, the question of whether or not to install a stove in the meeting house to warm worshippers during winter services got the good people of New England all steamed up. Apparently, pro-stove factions won a few eighteenth century victories -- The First Church of Boston was said to have ordered one of the earliest in-house heaters in 1773 -- but since creature comfort was widely believed to interfere with the Lord's message, most New England congregations piously froze through the lengthy services well into the nineteenth century. As one anti-stover put it, "Good preaching keeps me hot enough."
Though the best story about a church-stove battle has been told about a number of New England congregations, there is pretty good evidence to support the belief that it originated in Litchfield, during the ministry of the fiery and famous Rev. Lyman Beecher. At any rate, his son, the equally-renowned Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, always attributed the legend to the Litchfield society when he recounted it, as he often did.
It seems that there had for years been growing support for the introduction of a stove in the old Litchfield meeting house. However, the conservatives were stubborn, and efforts to persuade the congregational society to purchase a stove continued to be unsuccessful. As the verbal warfare between pro- and anti-stovers grew more and more intense, seven young men of the congregation decided to take things into their own hands. Between them, they purchased a stove and, after much difficult negotiation with the committee of elders, received permission to place it in the meeting house -- strictly on a trial basis. This was done on a Saturday afternoon. The following day, the youthful pro-stovers gathered early to watch the reactions to their new installation.
Sunday dawned rather warm for a November day and by the time the first worshippers arrived for services, the sun had been shining brilliantly for some time through the church's naked windows. As people slowly entered, they paused and stared at the stove, set squarely in the middle of the broad aisle. Then, as they took their seats in the pews, they watched in wonder at the various responses of the more rabid pros and antis. Old Deacon Trowbridge, one of the worthies who had been persuaded to give up his opposition to the infernal combustion device, nevertheless shook his head as he felt the heat reflected from it, and gathered up the hem of his ancient greatcoat as he passed up the aisle to the deacons' seat.
Uncle Noah Stone, a wealthy farmer from the west end of the parish, who sat almost next to the stove, scowled and muttered at the effects of the heat, but waited until the noon intermission to voice his complaints over nut-cakes and cheese. Mr. Bunce, editor of the local newspaper and a leading pro-stover, lingered conspicuously beside the stove as he passed up the aisle, and, with obvious satisfaction, rubbed his hands together over the heater while carefully keeping the skirts of his greatcoat between his knees so they would not burn. But the climax of the whole spectacle came in the middle of the post-nooning services. The congregation watched in amazement as Mrs. Peck, a notorious anti-stover who had been perspiring and fanning herself for hours, finally fainted dead away from the heat.
Only then did the original instigators reveal the secret they had kept since installing the stove the day before. When they invited members of the congregation to step up and actually place their hands on the burner, the worshippers were shocked to learn that it was stone cold. Because of the warmth of the day, no fire had ever been set in the controversial stove! Needless to say, that Sunday marked the final day of Litchfield's great church-stove war.

from Legendary Connecticut by David E. Philips / ISBN 1-880684-05-5 / $17.95

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