rubric about three communicants, which seems to have become the
shibboleth which proves loyalty or otherwise to the Church of England.
Our numbers made it almost impossible for us to arrange for three
communicants each morning, even if I could conscientiously have done
this. I am told that there are churches which qualify for saying a
daily Mass by arranging that three people will be responsible for each
morning in the week. I can understand few customs that are so likely
to injure souls. Very soon one and another beside the clergy and
helpers began to drop in. Remember, the poor have no room where they
can pray alone. The church becomes for them the customary place where
prayer is to be made, except the very brief morning and evening prayer.
The Celebrations, too, were offered on the different mornings with
different intentions. Soldiers, sailors, and emigrants one morning,
Penitentiary work another, and so on. Often the silent tears trickling
down a woman’s face would show you she was praying for her own boy or
her own girl. To these poor feeble folk, with no power of prayer or
concentration of mind, with but few words which they can use, even in
their daily intercourse, the knowledge that their just saying “Jack”
or “Mary” as they knelt in silence, was the truest intercession,
gathering all the sighs and tears of their heart in union with that
all-sufficient Sacrifice, which alone could bring joy and peace to
Jack or Mary. I had a better right to know this, for often as I went
up into the vestry a name would be whispered in my ear, or a little
piece of paper pressed into my hand. I think when I first told this
to Bishop Thorold, he feared it was a kind of superstition, but when I
could assure him that this grace of prayer gained before the Blessed
Sacrament became the custom of the whole life, he no longer thought
that we were making a superstitious use of it, or were training people
to trust so in this great gift of God that they could not realise His
presence elsewhere.
Soon, too, we found it necessary to arrange a special place for
communicants. We had been able from the first to exercise a great deal
of discipline in the parish. Remember the Church of England is the only
religious body which exercises no discipline about Holy Communion.
Of course, a great deal can be said on the side of the liberty of
the communicant, and his being the best judge of his worthiness to
receive. But surely something may be said on the other side, the duty
of the priest to consider the Blessed Sacrament as a great trust.
Practically I am sure it is a great hindrance to the authority of the
Church among large numbers of people. Over and over again, in talking
to earnest Nonconformists, they have expressed to me their wonder and
amazement that we, who profess to honour the Blessed Sacrament so
much, should actually take no pains to see it is not profaned. Their
admirable system of letters of commendation at once puts the new-comer
in communication with their church authorities, and it enables those
authorities to judge about the man’s fitness for Communion. I received
a curious letter bearing upon this from an earnest Christian the other
day. “When I was young and strong I devoted myself to organising in
certain fields of philanthropy. I was a Churchman, and I taught both
in the Sunday Schools of Conformity and Nonconformity. It will seem to
you, perhaps, terribly lax, but I saw no valid reason why I should not
communicate in the chapel as well as regularly in my parish church.
Before I was allowed to attend Communion at the chapel, I had to
undergo a solemn probation. At the church no question of any kind was
put to me, my fitness was entirely treated as either my own affair or a
matter of indifference.” At any rate, I am perfectly sure of this, that
it would be fatal in a Mission district to offer the Sacraments freely
without fencing them round with all possible discipline.
There is another great inconvenience in not knowing the number of
communicants; sometimes too many Hosts are consecrated, sometimes too
few. I suppose that three week-day mornings out of the six we had no
communicants. It seemed to me, therefore, a perfectly profane thing
to invite people to receive the Communion, to turn round and say “to
them that come to receive the Holy Communion,” when I knew no one
was coming, most solemn, nay, awful words, then to allow my minister
to make confession, perhaps the most grave and weighty possible in
language, “in the name of all those who are minded to receive the Holy
Communion,” when he and I knew that no one was so minded, and, still
more profane, to pronounce an absolution over those who have made no
confession, or if they have, had no right to make that confession. Thus
one set of rubrics and prayers in the Prayer Book landed me on the
horns of a dilemma; either I was compelled to say what I knew was a
mockery, or to give up my daily celebration. Ninety-nine clergymen out
of a hundred, finding another rubric as to giving notice of Communion
and another exhortation a difficulty, get rid of the difficulty by
disregarding the rubric and by leaving the exhortation unsaid. Why
should I not do the same?
The same kind of difficulty had to be faced with regard to the week-day
evening service. It was wretchedly attended, and I do not wonder. We
are told that in pre-Reformation times people came readily to the
week-day offices. But what proof have we of this? Was the daily office,
of which our Matins and Evensong is a survival, ever frequented by the
laity? Perhaps people will answer that there is no obligation for the
laity to go to church on a week-day, though the obligation has from
the earliest days, I believe, been binding on the clergy to say their
offices. Therefore these offices were constructed for the use of the
clergy. But in a Mission district, where the people are practically
heathen, and where you have little chance of instructing them except
in church, the service of necessity must be such that they can join
in it with edification. I believe you want two kinds of worship--one
very dignified and ornate, which enables them to realise that they are
making an offering to the Lord of Heaven and Earth, the other very
simple and familiar, that they are talking to a loving Father Who knows
all their needs and wants to help them. If you had the ornate worship
alone, there would be a danger of mere ritualism. If you had the
familiar worship alone, there might be a danger of what some people
seem to be so unnaturally afraid of--too much familiarity. At any rate,
saying Evensong every night, you would certainly have neither of the
dangers, but, on the other hand, you would have none of the educational
or heart-touching power.
I am not venturing to make any suggestion about churches except such
as those in my own district. But when we had said evening prayer to
empty benches for a year, we thought the thing was hopeless. People
would come to a prayer meeting in the Mission room, or in one of our
own rooms, but they would not come to church, which was the very place
where we wanted to get them. But directly we began a prayer meeting in
church many people came, and God granted to us such visible proofs--His
answer seen by all the people--that many times during the year, because
we have continued the prayer meetings on Monday ever since, people
would come with some special need, quite sure that, in some way or
another, God would answer it. The Bishop of Guildford made it a strong
point in his endeavour to arrange matters with the Bishop of Winchester
that we should give up this extempore prayer, but I would rather have
left the Mission than done so.
Then on Thursdays we began the Vespers of the Blessed Sacrament. This
Bishop Harold Browne also objected to till he had read it, and then he
said it was one of the most beautiful and scriptural services he had
ever seen. I expect a good deal of ecclesiastical troubles might be
stopped if Bishops would see things before they condemned them. The
same psalms being always sung in the Vespers, the antiphon drawing
out, as it were, the sacramental meaning of the psalm, was a wonderful
education; the cope, the acolytes, and the incense, added a great
dignity, a dignity which, at S. Agatha’s, has never been stilted or
unnatural; and the impress of this act of solemn worship upon many
an ignorant heart left a true sense of the dignity of worship and a
glimpse of the supernatural. Those who can read little, learn through
ear and eye. These psalms, too, have been a great heritage to many of
our people. I have known many a pain-stricken one recite them over
and over again, a grace which certainly would never have been gained
by saying different psalms every evening. And no one who has ever
seen them at S. Agatha’s can doubt the power of the Stations. As I
sit thinking now, I have not the courage to speak of them; but Friday
after Friday they were like a great sob going up from the heart of this
sinful place, to tell Jesus how sorry we were that we had been His
very murderers, driving the thorns into His head, and the nails into
His hands and feet. The objection to Compline, that the congregation
absolved the priest, was so strangely ignorant, that the Bishop
withdrew it at once. Thus our week-day services took their present
form, which have continued the last eight years, with generally a
little sermon added. The common people always hear gladly.
Very soon the difficulty about the children pressed upon us. They
certainly had no conception of reverence or of worship. After much
prayer and consideration, I determined that the only solution was to
have a Children’s Mass. I wonder if any parish priest has ever been
blessed with such Sunday School teachers as I have; many had taught
for Dr. Linklater; and though I don’t think they liked me at all at
first--they thought I was very rough and severe--they loyally stuck to
me. At first, when we spoke of the Children’s Mass, many of them seemed
to object to it; but a year’s hard work had well prepared the children
for it. I was permitted to use the book in use at St. Alban’s, Holborn,
and so got rid of that awful difficulty of inattentive children, for
in this book they are employed from the time they come into church
till they go out, either listening to the priest in those parts of
the service which he says aloud, or, while he is saying his private
devotions, being led by some responsible person in their own. What
wonderful services these have been. How they have trained boys and
girls naturally to come on to Communion. How they have impressed every
child with the dignity and solemnity of worship. How they have taught
them to realise God and the supernatural. And almost all this is due
to the devotion of the teachers. It is invidious, perhaps, to mention
names, but all the teachers will understand why dear Barratt’s name and
Miss Damerum’s come to my mind; they stand as a kind of representatives
of the rest. And, if I might add one special parochial benefit, the
Children’s Mass gave us the first idea of the congregation singing
their own Mass, for the children had no choir, and yet they sang Creed,
Gloria, Benedictus, Agnus, everything.
This giving the children a service of their own mercifully got rid
of them from Matins at 11 o’clock. Soon the older people, coming in
at the end of the children’s service, began to ask why they could not
have the same kind of service. There were, however, two difficulties in
the way. I felt bound to make no alteration in the morning and evening
services on Sundays until I had been in the parish for two years. What
a blessed probation this was, for it gave us time to train choir,
acolytes, and congregation. When I told the original choir that they
would have to go out of the chancel, which was very small and confined,
and virtually sit in a corner, and that there would be a Celebration
instead of Matins, they nearly all objected to the alteration. I am
afraid I had tried them very much before; I always have been very
hard on choirs. I had made them give up singing Gregorians--I never
yet heard congregational Gregorians. Then when Major Foote kindly
joined the choir, when he was stationed at Portsmouth, and tried to
teach them proper time, etc., with one accord they suggested that they
could not learn to sing right, and he must accommodate his singing to
theirs. I am afraid, as I have said, I was very hard on them, and not
nearly patient enough. So we had to get a new choir ready when they
would leave, train a set of acolytes, and teach the congregation.
Nothing is more fatal than to introduce any change which people do
not thoroughly understand. On Sunday nights, after Evensong, most
of the congregation used to remain behind. I showed them all the
vestments one by one, I made them follow in the Prayer Book every word
of the service, I made them learn, to two easy settings of the Holy
Communion, all the parts they had to sing, and this without any choir.
I also explained to them all about the incense. I made them, either in
rows, or individually, stand up and answer questions to show that they
understood. At first, of course, they were shy, but Blind Willie, who,
one might almost say, was divinely taught in these things, began by
answering, and the others soon followed. We have never given up this
habit of catechising, and so every change in worship has been well
understood by the whole congregation. Some of our first acolytes have
gone away from Portsmouth, some have married and given their place
to others, some, like dear George Norton, are still upon the altar.
Surely no place has ever been served like S. Agatha’s. Their wonderful
simplicity, their utter want of mannerism, not a ritualist amongst them
all. From the first we had given out notice that no one could receive
Communion at the children’s service unless they had previously given
in their names. This we had done in anticipation of the Sunday when
Matins should be said at 9 o’clock, and the Holy Eucharist become the
central act of our worship. No one had given in their names on that
first Sunday morning, so we did not expect any communicants. But, while
the children’s service was going on, three smartly-dressed ladies came
in, and, not content to kneel like other people at the bottom of the
church until that service was over, pushed their way up amongst the
children, whispering and looking about, to the utter amazement of the
children, who judged from their teachers that it was utterly impossible
that a grown-up person could behave badly in church. Seeing them in
the front pew before the service began at 11, I ventured to ask them
why they had come, and they said they had heard that this was such
a curious church that they would like to see it, and that they were
going to receive the Holy Communion. I found that they had come from
close to S. Jude’s Church. I saw by their manners that our church would
disconcert them very much, and certainly not help them in preparing for
a good Communion, so I whispered to the verger to get a cab, and, as
soon as it came, I said, “It will be much better for you to make your
Communions at S. Jude’s, as you have not given me notice.” So I walked
down the church with them, put them into the cab, and paid the driver.
Luckily this story got repeated, and that, together with the discomfort
of the church, has largely kept sightseers away. Perhaps you will think
I was very severe upon these ladies, but I am sure it was one of the
most useful lessons I have ever given, both to them and to my people as
well. Nothing can be so bad as going to a church because we hear that
the preaching or the service is curious. One such person mars the whole
atmosphere of religion, and, above all, I was anxious to keep Southsea
people away, except those who worshipped with us from conviction.
Soon we added a dignity to the Evensong by vesting the officiant in
a cope, and offering incense at the Magnificat. But I think I can
say that there have been no changes in the services or ritual of
S. Agatha’s during the last eight years, except that we have added
services for men and women alone, a second Celebration daily, and an
extra one on the first Sunday in the month, and evening prayer daily
at 6.30; so that when we went into our new church we had five services
daily, eight services every Sunday, and ten on the first Sunday in the
month.
During the winter, too, late at night, so as to catch the impossibles,
my dear friend Hobbs, chief school-master on the _Vernon_, enabled
us to give a magic-lantern service, which was extremely valuable.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: COMMUNICANTS’ LEAGUE, 1895.]
Very largely, too, we have been helped in all this by our blind
organist, dear Richard Whittick. There is a wonderful tenderness in
the sympathetic touch of a blind player, and he has given a note of
refinement to the whole of our services, playing on the worst organ
that ever was built, and yet bringing music out of it. The services
made a great demand upon him, because we required him almost every
night, and so it was very lucky for him that Mr. Attree, the organist
of the Dockyard Church, relieved him on Thursday evenings, and at two
of the Sunday services. We owe to Mr. Attree many of the beautiful
photographs with which this book is illustrated. By the way, among the
other things I have to pay, though I only had the use of it for six
weeks, is £225 to Messrs. Hill for our new organ. Perhaps it is to our
present choir that my greatest apologies are due, for they have quite
willingly altogether effaced themselves, content merely to lead the
congregation, and to have whatever music and hymns I thought best.
And yet we all felt that in moving into a new church the choir needed
strengthening, and so, when dear Mr. Roe left us because his health
had broken down, God sent the Reverend Stanley Gresham, the exact
man we needed. With the boys and the choirmen he really did wonders,
and he is only just another instance, if we needed one, how from
September, 1885, till January, 1896, we have never lacked either
the persons or the things which we needed. There were ninety-nine
communicants on our first Easter Sunday, and over five hundred on our
last Easter Sunday. “Increase Celebrations, encourage non-communicating
attendance, and you will lessen the number of communicants.” How often
this is said. Let S. Agatha’s answer it. “Teach too much about the
Blessed Sacrament, give people an exaggerated belief about it, and
you will train them to neglect other church services; their objective
worship will destroy their subjective faith in God.” Let S. Agatha’s
answer. “Have all these ornate services, increase this ritualism, press
confession, and you will alienate the lay people, and drive worshippers
away from their own church.” Let S. Agatha’s answer. For ten years
we have taught and encouraged non-communicating attendance. Our
communicants had outgrown our Mission Church. We had taught practically
nothing else but that the Blessed Sacrament is the revelation of
Christ, Who is the revelation of the Father. Not only our Eucharists
but our other services were filled to overflowing, and faith in Christ
as a personal Saviour, and the Father as a personal Providence, had
permeated the whole of our parish. For ten years we have taught
confession, heard confessions openly in church, for eight years we
have had all these ritualistic services, and though five times the
Bishop of the Diocese has seen fit to summon us to his presence, and
to remonstrate with us upon some practice or doctrine, yet no single
complaint has ever been made by one person in our parish.
XV.
=Our Method of Religion.=
Of course, the actual church services must, in every well-ordered
parish, be supplemented by a considerable amount of religious work
outside the church, and our first object being to make Communion a
real bond of union between us all, we strove by Bible Classes, and by
private instruction, to either prepare for Confirmation, or, if people
had already been confirmed, to restore them to their privileges. I
differ, I know, from many of my brethren about the age of Confirmation.
Very seldom has anyone been presented at S. Agatha’s under fourteen,
and I should think that more than half of those confirmed were over
twenty, many of them much older. The preparation took about four months
each year, the lady-workers taking the girls and young women, I the
married women, and my assistant clergy sharing with me the boys and
men. Classes had often to be held at half-past nine, and even later,
our younger people worked so late. It was possible to weed out a great
many during the first two months, those who could but would not attend,
and those who, though attending, showed by their manner that they had
no real interest in it. I am sure it was far better to repress rather
than over-encourage, and if there was any grit or desire, those who
were refused were bound to offer themselves next year. It was of the
utmost importance for their mates and companions not to make it too
cheap. The individual work, if it was only ten minutes a week, was
infinitely more precious than all classes, and then there were the
three final preparations in church, of which I have spoken before.
We never made confession compulsory--I do not think that it would be
honest in the Church of England to do so--and though instances occurred
in which one was sorry one could not, and believed that it would
have been greatly to the benefit of the candidate, yet on the other
hand, one realised the great danger it would have been if it had been
forced, and therefore not really natural. On the whole, I am inclined
to believe that the voluntary system in this, as in most other things,
is really the best. It is wonderful what experience these Confirmation
seasons gave to us. Last night I was preaching at Kennington, and the
parish priest told me, “The people here say that you seem to know
all about them and their lives.” I am quite sure all this knowledge
came from my Confirmation work at Landport. There is a simplicity and
naturalness in people without any veneer of society, so that, when they
trust you, they will literally tell you anything about themselves, and
very often those who, when they first came to us, would have scoffed
at the idea of making a confession, practically made their confessions
long before they formally did so.
We had ten Confirmations during my time, and 580 people were confirmed.
And here you will see that the great difficulty of a parish like
ours, and one of its chief sorrows, are the migratory habits of
the population, especially amongst the men; 46 of these have become
soldiers and sailors, 38 have been emigrated, 141 have left the town,
30 have moved too far away from the church to remain communicants with
us, and 40 are dead. Thus more than half have passed away from our
immediate influence, and no longer strengthen the parochial life. Of
the 285 who remain, 46 have lapsed altogether from Communion, 37 are
irregular communicants, about three or four times a year, and 202 are
members of the Communicants’ League, most of them communicating once a
month. It is over these lapsed ones that we sorrow most, and there come
up before one’s mind, now that one has no further chance with them, so
many wasted opportunities. It is only God Who is never hopeless about
any single soul, but Whose divine excuse, “They know not what they do,”
is said continually for even the most sinful in the moments of their
greatest depravity. I am sure that if we could only have translated
into our ministry something of this hope, this excuse, I should not
have to write the awful words, “46 lapsed,” and yet, thank God, the
judgment of their having lapsed is only our judgment, not His, and
perhaps He might write over us, that if we were only more honest we
would have lapsed too. Remember, nothing in their surroundings urges
them towards religion. How many of us, especially the clergy, are
religious because we needs must. Many of those who have gone away write
to us continually, and we know all about them, but, except by their
prayers, they can no longer strengthen S. Agatha’s. If all these had
stayed our Easter Communion would have been over eight hundred instead
of five hundred. The following letter just received will show how a boy
we prepared for Confirmation fulfilled his obligations:
“SYDNEY, N.S.W.,
“_February 11th, 1896_.
“DEAR FATHER DOLLING,