_ORDINATION AND FIRST CURACY_
Having failed in his fellowship examination, Edward Hoare was in
perplexity as to the right course for him to pursue. His heart longed
for the ministry. On the other hand, his former College tutor and many
old friends urged him to stand again, saying that it was impossible for
him to fail in obtaining fellowship. For three months he was in sore
perplexity, looking for guidance, sometimes inclining to one plan,
sometimes to the other. At last the leading came. The Rev. E. G. Marsh,
Incumbent of Well Walk Chapel, Hampstead, called upon him, and his
conversation settled the matter at once; the fellowship was given up, and
Edward Hoare began to think of a curacy and speedy ordination.
Just at this time, and as if to try and hinder the young earnest heart
from entering upon active work, the great enemy of souls assailed him
with vehemence.
There was a long struggle, dark and intense. Probably the most faithful
have had to go through terrible times of testing, and have known what it
was to endure dark hours, aye, and days and weeks, “when neither sun nor
stars appeared, and all hope that we should be saved was taken away.” It
may be a comfort to many who in his ministry have been upheld by the firm
faith of their teacher to know that Edward Hoare once passed through a
time like this. It is no breach of confidence to give here the following
lines written in his journal at this time:—
“Forsake me not, my God! my heart is sinking,
Bowed down with faithless fears and bodings vain,
Busied with dark imaginings, and drinking
Th’ anticipated cup of grief and pain:
But, Lord, I lean on Thee; Thy staff and rod
Shall guide my lot;
I will not fear if Thou, my God, my God,
Forsake me not.
“Forsake me not, my God!
Though earth grow dim and vanish from my sight,
Through death’s dark vale no human hand may take me,
No friend’s fond smile may bless me with its light;
Alone the silent pathway must be trod
Through that drear spot—
For I must die alone—oh there, my God,
Forsake me not!
“Forsake me not, my God! when darkly o’er me
Roll thoughts of guilt and overwhelm my heart;
When the accuser threatening stands before me,
And trembling conscience writhes beneath the dart,
Thou who canst cleanse by Thy atoning blood
Each sinful spot,
Plead Thou my cause, my Saviour and my God!
Forsake me not!
“Forsake me not, O Thou Thyself forsaken
In that mysterious hour of agony,
When from Thy soul Thy Father’s smile was taken
Which had from everlasting dwelt on Thee:
Oh by that depth of anguish which to know
Passes man’s thought,
By that last bitter cry, Incarnate God,
Forsake me not!”
But the storm passed, and was followed by “clear shining after rain.”
The adversary meant it for harm, but God overruled it for good; and
surely one of the secrets of Edward Hoare’s great power of helping
troubled souls, for which he was so remarkable in after-life, lay in the
fact that he had passed through the time of spiritual darkness, and had
come out into the light.
Autobiography (_continued_).
After taking my degree at Cambridge I continued to reside there for a
time, taking mathematical pupils and reading for a Trinity Fellowship;
but not having succeeded in my first examination, and being anxious to be
at work in the great calling of my life, I could not devote another year
to the study of mathematics. So I threw my whole heart into immediate
preparation for the ministry.
In those days there was no Ridley or Wycliffe, and I was thrown upon my
own resources for my study; but I worked hard and brought all my
Cambridge habits to bear on the great subject of theology. If I had
learnt nothing else at Cambridge, I had learnt never to be satisfied till
I got a clear view of what I was about, and that habit of mine, acquired
through mathematical study, has been of the greatest possible benefit
throughout my life.
During those important months, to use Cambridge language, I “got up” some
of our best books, such as Butler, Pearson, and Hooker. What I learnt
from the latter especially has been invaluable to me through life.
Butler’s “Analogy” has again and again been helpful to me, when there has
been a tendency to a shaking of the faith. But that which helped me most
during that time of preparation was the study of great doctrinal truths
from Scripture itself. I took up such subjects as _The Divinity of our
Lord_, _Justification by Faith_, _Baptism_, _The Lord’s Supper_,
_Election_, and _Final Perseverance_, one at a time; and I read the whole
New Testament through with especial reference to the one subject which I
was studying, carefully noting every passage referring to it. I then
analysed and grouped those passages, keeping careful records of results.
Having thus dealt with one subject, I went on to the second, then to the
third, and so on. I have no words wherewith to convey the immense value
these studies have been to me throughout life. They have told upon the
whole of my ministry. After more than fifty-two years I am habitually
using the results first obtained in that preparation period.
I cannot speak too strongly, therefore, of the vast importance of our
young men, when preparing for the ministry, devoting themselves to the
careful study of theology. I see dear young men, full of zeal and holy
earnestness, who seem, indeed, so zealous that they cannot wait to study;
and they are to my mind like men who are in such haste to fire their guns
that they cannot wait to put any shot in them! The result is that, when
they are sent forth as ministers of the Gospel and as teachers of the
truth, they are themselves ignorant of the clear definitions of the truth
they are going to teach, and, while they can make fervent appeals, are
utterly unable to build up others in great fundamental truths of the
Gospel. It is not fervour only that makes a minister valuable, but a
fervent exhibition of truth; and if we are to be able ministers, we
_must_ be able ministers of New Testament truths.
I consider, therefore, that an immense benefit has been conferred upon
the Church of England by the foundation of Ridley Hall at Cambridge, and
Wycliffe Hall at Oxford. How thankful should I have been myself to have
been under the teaching of either of the two able Principals of those
Halls; and how earnest should we all be to secure to our young men the
benefit of these institutions, and not to let them go forth as
evangelists or scripture-readers, to be giving _out_ before they have
taken _in_, and to be teaching _others_ before they have learnt
themselves.
At length the day came for my ordination, and I had the inestimable
privilege of being ordained as curate to my revered and beloved uncle,
Mr. Francis Cunningham, Vicar of Lowestoft and Rector of Pakefield. An
ordination in those days was a very different thing to what it is now.
At that time Bishop Bathurst was Bishop of Norwich, and too infirm to
undertake his own ordinations. He therefore gave his candidates
dimissory letters to the Bishop of Lincoln.
I cannot say that much was done to deepen the impression on the minds of
the candidates. As we all had to go to Norwich first for examination,
and to Buckden for ordination, it was necessary to show some
consideration for us, as there were no railways then. I often think that
the Chaplain showed a great deal of good sense in his examination. It
began on Wednesday morning, and he told us that he should give us hard
questions at the beginning, that they would grow easier and easier during
the three days of the examination, and that he should let us go as soon
as he was satisfied. So we had a good stiff paper on various subjects at
the first sitting, while he walked about the room and looked over the
papers as we were writing, but having nothing to look over from a great
many of the candidates. It was a great satisfaction to me, when that
first sitting was over, to be told that I might go, and that I should
find the necessary papers at Buckden.
Most of us Norwich men had to put up at Huntingdon, as the little inn at
Buckden was full of the men from the Lincoln Diocese; and as I imagine
that the Bishop did not like to have the Norwich men in addition to his
own, he gave us no share of any of the privileges that his own candidates
may have enjoyed. We signed our papers, etc., on the Saturday morning,
and were told that we Norwich men were not wanted any more till the next
morning. Accordingly the next morning we were in the church at the
appointed hour, and that evening, to my great joy, I read prayers at the
parish church of Huntingdon. How wonderfully different is the careful
pains taken by all our present Bishops ere young men are admitted to the
ministry, and what a wonderful improvement has taken place in this
respect!
* * * * *
Letter from Rev. E. G. Marsh, on his entering the ministry:—
“HAMPSTEAD, _February_, 1836.
“MY DEAR FRIEND,—Knowing with whom you are connected in the great
work which you have now undertaken, I feel that I might fairly excuse
myself from saying anything to you upon an occasion so interesting to
all your friends; and my natural indolence would readily yield to the
suggestion, and withhold me from interfering where others are more
competent to advise. Yet on the whole I could not be quite easy if I
suffered you to enter upon an office, far too high and holy to be
approached by a sinner, but for that infinite condescension and love
of our Saviour which has called us to it, without saying to you, in
the words of St. Paul to Archippus, ‘Take heed to the ministry which
thou hast received in the Lord, that thou fulfil it!’ This is indeed
a solemn charge, even more so than that which you have just received
from the Bishop. I can add nothing to its weight, and can only pray
my God to forgive all our deficiencies, and to supply all our need,
according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus. Nevertheless there
are one or two hints which I will venture to suggest, in case they
should help you in taking a practical view of the obligations thus
laid upon you. In the first place, although this is a work which can
only be successfully prosecuted in the spirit of prayer and in the
strength of the Saviour, it is very desirable that the greatness of
it should not dishearten us, or render us insensible to the duty of
doing what we can. My simple advice to you in the beginning of your
ministry is this—never to let a day pass, if it be possible, without
doing some act in fulfilment of it. I mean some act having respect,
not to your own personal salvation, but to the salvation of those to
whom you are an ambassador for Christ: to your parishioners, while
you are among them; to others, when you are absent. And this act,
whatever it be, should be made the subject of special prayer. My
second advice is to give sufficient time to each act, that it may be
done properly, and rather to let many be neglected than to do any one
perfunctorily, for on that which is performed indifferently and
without due attention we cannot consistently expect a blessing. To
do one thing at a time is the only way, either in spiritual duties or
in temporal, to do many things well. Do not, therefore, attempt too
much at once. Many break down and are discouraged by this error.
Again, I would say, ‘Attend more to the living than to the dying.’
However important may be the clinical department of ministerial duty,
we must always be greatly on our guard against encouraging the notion
that the work of religion may be done, as doctors’ degrees are
sometimes taken, _per cumulum_, or that anything can be done by a
clergyman at the last hour which can reasonably be expected to
produce a change in the spiritual condition of a person who has
neglected to seek it before. Thus the ministry which you have
received may be continually carried forward, independently of those
occasional calls, caused by the alarm of sickness or the apprehension
of death, which are most valuable seasons indeed, but on which too
much stress may be easily laid, to the neglect of more hopeful
opportunities. I hardly intended to say so much, and indeed, on what
I have now said you may naturally ask me whether these have been my
maxims in the course of my own ministry. But, alas! my dear friend,
I do not propose myself as an example to you. I rather wish to see
you avoid my errors and supply my defects; and happy shall I be if,
in the arduous duties on which you are now embarking, you can derive
the least aid from a single word of mine. Commending you to God and
to the word of His grace who alone can make you an able minister of
the New Testament,
“I remain ever, my dear friend,
“Your faithful and affectionate fellow-labourer,
“E. G. MARSH.”
From Mrs. Hoare to Mrs. Catherine Gurney on Edward Hoare’s first sermon:—
“_March_ 8_th_, 1836.
“I must send thee one line, dearest Catherine, to tell thee what a
remarkable day of interest we passed on Sunday. Our dearest Edward
read the service in Well Walk in the morning and in the evening
preached. It was deeply interesting, and I longed to have my heart
melted in love and gratitude. Such heartfelt satisfaction to have
this dear child so devoted, and adorned with so childlike, lovely,
and devoted a spirit, and thus enabled in our own chapel, amongst our
friends and neighbours, to proclaim with grace and fervour the great
salvation of the Gospel of Christ! This appeared to me to be
remarkably the case with him, and, independent of a mother’s
feelings, his countenance and manner, his manly grace and childlike
humility and simplicity, were striking. The congregation had, I
believe, much fellow-feeling with us, and the expression of it from
different friends has been touching to us. Never was I less disposed
to boast, and deeply can unite in that expression ‘Where is
boasting?—It is excluded’; and yet I _long_ to say with the Psalmist,
‘My soul shall make her boast in the Lord,’ and in the blessing He
has been pleased to vouchsafe. Of course we feel the prospect of
parting with Edward; one of the many cheering points in the prospect
is his vicinity to Earlham, and to thee and our dearest brother. How
kind has Joseph been to him, and what an opportune visit was his last
to Earlham!
“I went to see Anna Tooten yesterday at Tottenham, as I had left
Upton before the arrival of thy letter. Catherine has been very much
cast down lately, and I am but a poor helper. The dear babes are
with me to-day, while their mother is in Devonshire Street.
“My dearest brother and sister, nephew and niece, and dear Rachel
included, I know they will all unite with us in the interest of
Edward.
“Your truly affectionate
“L. H.”
Autobiography (_continued_).
It was not long afterwards that I went to my curacy. Pakefield was a
bleak village on the top of a cliff, and I never shall forget what the
guard on the coach said to me as I was approaching it for the first time.
I had complained of cold, and he said to me, “Don’t talk about the cold
yet; wait till you get to Pakefield—there you catches it genuine!” And
so we did. Aye, and I witnessed many a gale of wind, and during the year
that I was curate, there were no less than fifty shipwrecks off the coast
of my own parish.
But no words can express my thankfulness to God that He placed me at the
outset of my ministry in that village. My dear uncle had laboured there
for more than forty years. In his day there were none of the new plans
for evangelisation; the high-pressure system had not yet dawned. He had
worked hard with parochial work, and he had faithfully preached the
old-fashioned Gospel. There was no particular brilliancy about him; his
sermons were not equal to his character, but they were like himself, full
of Christ, and he and his most remarkable wife lived such a life of
Christian holiness in the midst of those rough fishermen, that the late
Rev. Henry Blunt once told me that he considered Mr. Francis Cunningham
and Mr. Haldane Stewart to be the two holiest men he had ever met with in
his life. And what did I find in that village? I found large
congregations of fishermen and their families; but more than that, I went
diligently about from house to house, and was soon acquainted with every
house in the parish, and there I saw unmistakable evidences of the
blessing that had rested upon my uncle’s ministry.
There were noble men among the fishermen, nobly working for God and for
the cause of truth, and there were refined and well-instructed women in
the different homes, many of whom had been brought up in those schools.
There was a most marked and unmistakable difference between the converted
and the unconverted, so that it was impossible for a young man to go from
house to house without seeing with his own eyes the manifest results of a
faithful Evangelical ministry. I have no words to express what the
benefit was to myself. I learnt in that village what I was to expect, as
well as what I was to do.
I saw in Mrs. Cunningham the most beautiful example of a clergyman’s
wife, and I saw in numbers of young women of the parish the conspicuous
evidence of God’s blessing on her work amongst them.
There were amongst those men fine, noble, rough, powerful fellows—men
who, till Mr. Cunningham went there, had been living without God in the
world, but now devout consistent believers, and splendid men for dashing
through the surf to save life from shipwreck, knowing not what fear was,
yet who would kneel together in devout Communion at the Table of the
Lord. I never can forget one fearful snow-storm accompanied by a heavy
gale. Two of these true men, Nath Colby and Robert Peck, brought in
their boats through the gale, wet, cold, and half-frozen, but there I saw
them at the service on the Thursday evening, drinking in the Word of
Life, and evidently regarding it as their greatest pleasure to be able to
be present on that occasion.
That was the last time I ever spoke to dear Robert Peck. He went out
again in command of his large fishing boat, and early in the following
week I heard that his boat had been found bottom upward. It was my
solemn duty to walk through the village, where, everybody being so awed
by what had happened, no one spoke a word, to go up to that cottage to
tell the poor woman her husband and her son were gone. As I went up the
alley where she lived, I heard voices in one of the cottages; turning in,
I found some Christian friends assembled there, praying for the poor
bereaved woman. I then went into her cottage, and I suppose she read in
my face what had happened, and she said to me, ere I could open my lips,
“Then they are both lost?” Then she added: “‘A bruised reed shall He not
break, and the smoking flax shall He not quench.’ These were the last
words that Robert spoke to me—and I am sure the Lord will never fail me!”
Oh that every young curate had the opportunity of learning as much from
his Rector, and his Rector’s family, as I did from Mr. and Mrs.
Cunningham! I do not hesitate to say that their example, and the
blessing which God gave to their ministry, have given character to the
whole of my own ministry for the last fifty-two years.
These were not the only advantages I enjoyed in Pakefield, for I was
within easy reach of Earlham, the seat of my dear Uncle Joseph John
Gurney. He was a very remarkable man, and his home was one of the most
charming homes in England. He used to collect there many of the most
distinguished men of the day. Nothing could be more delightful than the
great gatherings under his hospitable roof on the occasion of the Norwich
Meetings which were held every autumn.
I had a horse at that time which taught me a great lesson in practical
life. It was a splendid trotter, but pulled like a steam-engine if I
pulled against it; but if I treated it gently and with confidence it was
as gentle as a lamb. How often have I seen the same effect produced
amongst mankind! Try to force them, and they resist; deal gently with
them, and they will be your most active and kindest helpers. So I used
as often as possible to ride over to Earlham.
There I had three friends. There was my uncle, who was far in advance of
the Quakers of his day in theological knowledge, being a good Biblical
critic and well made up in the great doctrines of the Gospel. The great
point in his conversations with me was the Divinity of our Lord and
Saviour. It was he that taught me of the goings forth of the
pre-existent Saviour with the Name and Attributes of Jehovah. Then there
was Mr. William Forster, the father of the late statesman, who was most
earnest with me on the importance of definite theology. He recommended
certain books for my study, and at his advice I purchased Brown’s
“Natural and Revealed Religion,” Guise’s “Expositor,” and Dwight’s
“Theology,” which three books have been of the utmost value to me
throughout my ministry. The latter book indeed has been made the
text-book for my son’s theological students in China. Thus is Mr.
Forster’s advice being still acted upon in that far distant region.
Besides these two men was my very dear friend the Rev. Robert Hankinson,
at that time Curate of Earlham. He was a man of remarkably sound
judgment, as well as fervent piety; and never can I forget the profitable
hours which I spent with him in the Earlham Parsonage, learning from him
maxims of practical wisdom to carry home for my ministerial work.
But that was not all that happened to me at Pakefield; for while I was
there it pleased God to take home to Himself my dearest mother. My dear
brother Sam had died of consumption in the year 1833, and she deeply
mourned his loss—nor could we wonder, for he was a noble young man, full
of high principles, dutiful to his father and mother, and devoted to the
Lord. His influence over us his younger brothers was of infinite value
to us all, as we had ever before us a spotless example. He had married
most happily, was settled in his home near to our father’s house, when he
was suddenly seized with hæmorrhage, and very rapidly sank, full of faith
in God. I remember well, when I sat up with him on the last night of his
life, how he spoke to me of the bright hope of the coming Resurrection,
how he exhorted those around him to be ready for their Saviour.
I believe it was the shock as well as the sorrow of parting with him that
so deeply wrung my mother’s heart. She was in his room with him on the
morning of his death, and thinking that his dear wife required attention,
she went out for a few minutes to see after her, and when she returned,
to her surprise, he was gone. That was in the autumn of 1833, and for
nearly three years we saw her gradually fail, till at length in the
summer of 1836 the end came.
There was something most interesting in the character of my mother. She
was not one of those who spoke much of present salvation and present
peace; such subjects were not spoken of so much throughout the Church in
those days as they are now. Good men in those times seemed to think more
of the future than the present salvation. I am not sure that we have not
drifted rather too much into the dwelling on the present, to the
forgetfulness of the future life, and surely it is important for us to
keep the balance. But while there was very little of the modern language
of assurance, there was in its most perfect form the great reality of the
hallowed Christ. I can never forget the language of that dearest mother
to me as I stood by her bedside during her dying illness: “I can
reverently say, with the deepest humility, ‘Lord, Thou knowest all
things, Thou knowest that I love Thee.’” And she did love Him with her
whole heart and soul. How well do I remember her words in the garden at
Hampstead in the afternoon of her son’s death! While she wept over his
loss, she exclaimed, “How little it is in comparison with sin!” {66}
Pakefield Letters.
“PAKEFIELD, _June_ 20_th_, 1836.
“MY DEAREST MOTHER,—Having paid my bills and seen after the schools,
I commence my usual Monday’s letter. . . . As for myself, it is
needless to give you my history, for you know it already, the life of
a country curate not being subject to much external variation. The
internal changes, however, are indeed numerous—more frequent and
uncertain than those of our most changeable climate. I never had an
idea how many ups and downs there are attendant on the ministerial
work. At times it is delightful; all seems easy and pleasant, and
the only difficulty is to keep within bounds. At others there is a
deadness and barrenness which words cannot describe. I speak under a
very vivid recollection of this low estate, for I was down at the
very bottom yesterday. I fought my way pretty fairly through the
morning sermon (on Isa. xxviii. 16), but in the evening I had a real
trial of my faith. I had good notes, and had well considered my
subject. But as soon as I began it all appeared to leave me. I was
much in the position that Robert Hall was when he broke down, and I
thought I must have stopped. There were my notes, but they seemed to
tell me nothing, and I had the pain of going through my lecture
hardly knowing while I was delivering one sentence whether I should
ever find another to follow it. You may easily imagine, from such a
description of the performer, what was the character of the
performance. However, I can look back to it, painful as it was, with
great thankfulness: for (1) I know that in weakness He is strong, and
the good done may perhaps be greater than that which would have
followed a clear and well-delivered lecture; and (2) if it did no one
else any good, it was a fine lesson for myself, and one that I
wanted. I knew I wanted to be kept down, and had prayed for it.
This was the appointed means.”
Writing to his mother at various times upon his work at Pakefield there
occur passages such as these:—
“Preaching is becoming more and more a pleasure to me. The great
difficulty of addressing people appears to pass away. The knowledge
of all the congregation is partly the cause, and also the
encouragement derived from visiting.”
“You see there is a good deal doing here, but what is it all if the
Spirit of God be absent?—a sounding brass and tinkling cymbal. It is
there that the difficulty lies. Nothing is easier than to get
through the duties of a parish, and to get through them, as man
thinks, well; but to go to your work in the Spirit of Christ,
carrying with you the unction from the Holy One, there is the
difficulty. May God forgive my great shortcomings! Sometimes I
dread Jeremiah xlviii. 10.”
Upon the spiritual life he writes to his sister:—
“The characteristic of the new life is that we have fellowship with
the Father and with His Son Jesus Christ; it must therefore follow
that all interruptions will increase a deadness of faith, and total
separation cause death. It is one of the privileges of my office
that all my work is for God (though He only knows how little I keep
this end in view), and therefore the busier I am the more I am
compelled to pray. This, however, is not sufficient, though
delightful. We cannot live without that ‘freedom of speech,’
translated ‘boldly’ in Hebrews iv., in which we pour out our heart
before Him. When we know that we know in truth that God is a refuge
for us, this is the balm of Gilead that can heal every wound, the
power that can say to the troubled waters, ‘Peace, be still!’ In
order to the attainment of it let us allow nothing to impede our
private communion with our God.”
Writing one Sunday evening to his mother he says:—
“I have had somewhat to contend with in myself from very cloudy views
of the doctrines I was preaching. At the same time I have found
comfort in the recollection that the work is not mine nor dependent
upon my own feelings. I began work at a quarter before nine by
opening the boys’ school; at ten I was really refreshed and humbled
by just dropping into the prayer-meeting; there was a most beautiful
spirit amongst them, and they were praying most delightfully for me.
I left them deeply impressed with the sense of their far greater
fitness to teach me than mine to be their minister.”
In the postscript of a letter dated August 1st, 1836, he writes:
“Congratulate Uncle Buxton upon the glorious events of this day.” An
entry in his journal dwells joyfully upon it also—and well might his and
every Englishman’s heart be stirred by the thought that from that day
every slave standing on British soil was free!