THE departure of a minister of the Scots Kirk from his congregation is,
of course, a subject of regret if he has the heart of the people, but
this regret is tempered by the satisfaction of knowing that there
will be an election. While a free-born Scot is careful to exercise
his political suffrage, he takes an even keener interest in his
ecclesiastical vote, and the whole congregation now constitutes itself
into a constituency. Every preacher is a candidate, and everything about
him is criticised, from his appearance--in one district they would not
have a red-headed man; and his dress--in another district they objected
to grey trousers, up to his voice and to his doctrine; but, of course,
the keenest criticism bears upon his doctrine, which is searched as with
a microscope. As a rule there is no desire to close the poll early,
for a year's vacancy is a year's enjoyment to the congregation giving
endless opportunity for argument and debate for strategy and party
management. One congregation had been ruled so firmly by the retiring
pastor, who was a little man and therefore full of authority, that they
hardly dared to call their souls their own.
If any one ventured to disagree with this ecclesiastical Napoleon he
was ordered to the door and told to betake himself to some church where
freedom of action was allowed. This magnificent autocracy might have
emptied another church, but it secured a Scots kirk, because to tell a
Scot to go is to make, him stay. As a matter of course, no person did
leave, for that would have been giving in, and the consequence was that
the whole congregation was knit together by the iron bonds of rebellion.
When Napoleon retired the congregation smacked its lips, for now at
least every one had found his voice and could go his own way. There
never was such a vacancy known in the district. They heard thirty
candidates and rejected them all: they held a meeting every week, which
lasted till midnight, and there were six motions proposed, and no one
dreamed of agreement. It was like the emancipation of the slaves, and
the whole of Scotch cantankerousness came to a height. Every obscure
law was hunted up in order to be used against the other side, and every
well-known law they endeavoured to break. Not because they did not
know the law, but because they wanted to find out whether the presiding
minister knew it. This poor man had the duty of conducting the meetings
of the congregation, and was utterly unfitted for the position by his
exceeding goodness. He was a pious and soft-hearted man, who used to
address them as “dear brethren,” and appealed to them on the grounds of
harmony and charity. “You will wish to be at one,” he used to say, when
they all really wished to be at sixes and sevens, or, “I am sure,” he
would say, “you didn't mean to oppose our dear brother who has just
spoken,” when that had been the speaker's intention for twenty-four
hours. One party was led by a tall, raw-boned Scot, with a voice like a
handsaw, who opposed everything, and the other was really managed by the
wife of one of the elders, who could be heard giving directions _sotto
voce_ how to meet the handsaw. They finally drew the wretched acting
moderator to distraction, so that his head, which was never so good as
his heart, gave way, and he required six months' rest in a hydropathic.
The Presbytery then sent down a minister of another kind, fairly
equipped in law and with no bowels of mercy; a civil, courteous,
determined, fighting man, and there was a royal evening. This minister
explained that they had held many meetings, most of which were
unnecessary, and that they had proposed fifty motions, all of which he
believed were illegal. It was his own conviction he freely stated that
they knew perfectly well that they had been wrong, and that they had
simply been amusing themselves, and he concluded by intimating that they
had met for business on this occasion, that a minister must be elected
before departing, and it was his business to see that he was elected
unanimously. He stood facing the congregation, who were now in a high
state of delight, feeling that there was going to be a real battle, and
that there would be some glory in contending with an able-bodied man,
who would not speak about charity, and say “dear brethren”--words which
always excite a secret feeling of disgust in a Scot. The minister stood
up opposite the congregation, tall, square and alert. “Will you pay
attention and I'll lay down the law; if any one breaks the law he must
sit down at once, and if he does not, I shall not allow him to vote. You
can propose any candidate who is legally qualified, and I will allow one
man to propose him and another to second him, and I will give each five
minutes in which to speak to the excellence of his candidate, and the
moment any person refers to another candidate he must stop. When the
candidates have been proposed we shall take the vote, and we shall go on
voting until we settle upon the candidate who has the majority, and we
will do all this in an hour, and then we will sing a Psalm and go home.”
During this address several stalwart fighters were seen to nod to one
another, and one went the length of slapping his leg, and already the
moderator had acquired the respect of his turbulent congregation.
The handsaw arose and proposed his candidate, and almost immediately
attacked the other party. “Sit down, sir,” said the moderator, “you're
out of order,” and after a brief stare of amazement and a measuring of
the force against him, the handsaw gave a glance around and collapsed.
A candidate was proposed from the other side, but his name was hardly
mentioned before the mover commenced to refer to the handsaw. “You are
out of order,” said the moderator; “not another word,” and, although the
female leader of that side nodded to him to go on, he thought better,
and also collapsed. Then an astute old strategist at the back, who had
embroiled many a meeting, and who was sitting with a law book in
his hand, proposed that they should delay the election until another
meeting. “That motion,” said the moderator, “I shall not receive. We
have not met to delay; we have met to vote.” Whereupon another Scot
arose and stated that he had risen to a point of order, which is always
the excuse by which the proceedings can be interrupted. “What,” he said,
“I want to know is this: Is it regular to vote when there was no notice
given that the voting was to take place?” “There was notice given,” said
the moderator; “sit down in your place.” “Can I not object?” he said.
“No,” he said, “you can't.” He looked around the meeting. “What,” he
said, “is the use of being a Presbyterian if I am not allowed to object?
I might as well be an Episcopalian.” The moderator, still standing, eyed
him, and said: “Are you going to sit down or are you not?” “Do you order
me to sit down in your private or in your public capacity?” said the
recalcitrant. “As a man or as a moderator?” For nothing delights a Scot
more than to make this contrast between public and private capacity,
like the Scotch magistrate, who said, “In my public capacity I fine you
five shillings for the assault; in my private capacity I would have done
the same myself.” “As moderator,” said the minister, “I command you to
take your place.” “I consent--I consent,” said the Scot, with infinite
relish, like a man who had had a wrestling match and had been fairly
beaten, and he leant back to a friend behind, saying, “Sall, he's a lad,
the moderator,” for this is the way in which a man wins respect from
Scots. In a moment he had risen again. “Moderator,” he said, “ye
commanded me in yir official capacity to sit doon, and I obeyed,
but”--and there was a silence through the church--“I'll no sit down
for that woman,” indicating the elder's wife. “She would turn round and
order me to sit down as if I had been her husband, but, moderator,” he
said, “I thank the Almichty I'm not.”
Greatly cheered by this episode, the congregation proceeded to vote, the
leaders taking objections to different voters, which were all overruled
by the moderator, who was now going from strength to strength. And then
at last a minister was elected by a large majority. “Now,” said the
moderator, “you've had a fair fight and a year's argument, and there is
not a privilege you have not used, and you have done a thousand things
you had no right to do, and I appeal to the minority to agree with
the majority, as Scots ought to do when they have had their rights.”
Whereupon the handsaw arose and declared that he was never prouder of
the Scotch Church than he had been during the last year, and that in all
his life he had never spent a happier time. “We've had a grand argument
and richt stand up fecht, and now,” he said, “I'm willing, for masel,
and I speak for my friends, to accept the minister that's been elected,
for I consider him to be a soond preacher and vary spiritual in the
exercises. The fact is,” he added, “I would have been content with him
at ony time, but it would have been a peety to have had an immediate
election and to have missed this year. When he comes he'll have my
hearty support, and I'm willing to agree that he should have a proper
stipend, and that the manse be papered and painted and put in order for
his coming.” As he sat down he could be heard over all the church saying
to himself with immense satisfaction, “It's been a michty time, and the
law's been well laid down this nicht.” The minister gave out the Psalm--
“How good a thing it is, and
How becoming well,
To gather such as brethren are
In unity to dwell!”
Which was sung with immense spirit, and, after the benediction, every
man whom the minister had ordered to sit down came up and shook hands
with him, assuring him that they knew all the time that he was right,
and that they respected him for his ability. They also entreated him
to come and administer the sacrament before the new minister arrived,
believing that a man who could rule with so firm a hand would be an
acceptable preacher of the gospel.