Whatever others might do Mr. Simpson could not settle back to follow the prescribed duties of a pastor, and nothing more. He must evangelize. It was in his blood now and nothing could stop him. ... He appealed directly to the hearts of the people and made no bones about it. They were lost, God loved them, Christ had died for them and now invited them to come home. They ought to come at once, no delaying, no waiting. He accepted as a foregone conclusion the truth of Christianity and refused to turn from his ministry of reconciliation to engage in argument with the half-persuaded or the unbelieving. What mattered one objection to the seven-day creation period, or a dozen objections to the inspiration of the Scriptures for that matter, or any other objections, when one hundred people were waiting to turn to God as soon as the way was explained to them? (pp. 51-53)

Mr. Simpson had learned from Whittle and Bliss the value of good gospel music. Crowds that came heard music, lots of it, the best that could be obtained; they enjoyed vocal combinations of every sort form solos to a chorus choir, and they joined in mass singing of old time church favorites and the more recent Gospel songs, composed by Sankey, Bliss, Crosby and others of the gospel musicians of the day. It was popular. Some frowned on this, but Simpson knew that "popular" meant "of the people" and it was the people that he was interested in. The dignity of the clergy could take care of itself; it would never lack defenders, but the people, the sinful, friendly, seeking multitudes; they mattered more than the opinion of some austere guardian of decadent orthodoxy. So the singing went on and the crowds loved it and kept coming back to enjoy it.

The old idea of a little flock fed and comforted and bedded down for the night without a thought of the lost ones out of the wilds becomes unbearable to Simpson. He must evangelize. ... He came forward with a brand new plan and lays it before his people. It is to build in the center of the city a plain but commodious tabernacle, built not after conventional church lines, but for utility, and located where the crowded ways cross each other, where the rag tag and the outcast, the poor and him that hath no helper may feel free to come and never worry because their clothes are ragged and out of fashion; where the common man with his middle-class wife and large family can come and not be uneasy if the baby makes a bit of a disturbance during the service. Simpson proposes that his church become a center of evangelism for ht whole city; that it change its psychology and think no more of its reputation, but rather of the lost of Louisville. (pp. 54-55)

Simpson went to the owner of Macauley's Theatre and requested the use of the theatre (one of the largest and most popular amusement centers in downtown Louisville at that time) for Sunday evening services. When opening night rolled around and the multitudes flocked to the theatre to a religious service, there was a rending and splintering sound heard throughout all the churches; it was the wholesale smashing of religious precedents by Chestnut Street Church and her lovable but over zealous pastor (referring to Simpson). ... We who live nearly three-quarters of a century removed from those times may find it hard to understand why there should have been any objection to the holding of gospel meetings in a theater. The explanation is simply that we have had two generations to get used to such meetings and it was new to them. We are no broader, no brighter than they were; we merely have custom on our side, and they had custom against them. (pp. 55-56) On such a matter as this, religious people do not think anyway, they merely react. Their emotions decide the verdict, and any thinking they may do is of very low wattage, and is brought in mostly to support their prejudices.