BLINKBONNY FREE CHURCH.
“Brought freely their offerings, and with one accord
Sang, Glory and praise and worship to God!
Loud rang the exultation. ’Twas the voice
Of a free people.”
_William Sotheby._
The formation and early history of the Free Church congregation of
Blinkbonny is the subject of the following chapter; and I feel it to be
one of special difficulty, not from any scarcity of interesting matter,
but from the fear that my treatment of it may unhappily be misconstrued
as an indirect attempt to promote sectarian interests.
Nothing is farther from my intention than to make the Established
Church compare unfavourably with the Free Church. My desire is to
present to my readers a sketch of some of the things that occurred,
and of some of the persons that were engaged about them, in as far as
my memory will enable me to recall these, not as a partisan, but as
an annalist. I disclaim any such ambitious design as to attempt to
embody in the “Bits” a description of what might be taken as a fairly
representative Free Church minister and congregation of the Disruption
times; and when I have to refer to matters relating to the churches as
a whole, I will try to confine myself to what will tend to account for
or explain the proceedings of the Free Church of Blinkbonny, without
stirring up old questions, or unduly favouring any side.
_DETERMINED, DARED, AND DONE._
It is not too much to say that the Disruption of 1843 was a great
event, especially so for Scotland. The day on which it took place, the
18th of May 1843, is a day to be remembered, as during its course a
noble spectacle of adherence to principle at great personal sacrifice
was witnessed, of which any nation might justly feel proud. Nor were
there awanting expressions of admiration; for even those who took the
opposite side, and considered the Disruption as unnecessary and unwise,
recognised it as a grand exhibition of Christian courage.
“All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,
And even the ranks of Tuscany
Could scarce forbear to cheer.”
Hundreds of highly educated men,—men of large experience and sound
judgment, many of whom had near and dear ones entirely dependent on
them, and most of them with no means of providing for their households
or themselves excepting their incomes as clergymen,—men of like
passions and wants, and weaknesses and necessities, as are common to
all mankind, left the Church of their fathers, the Church of their
life-work, the Church that they loved and had tried to protect and
beautify, because they considered _that_ to be their duty to their
divine Master. The result has happily shown that in Scotland, and in
various parts of the world, tens of thousands both of men and women
could not only applaud such heroism as a grand sentiment, but that
they could and did rally round the heroes, espouse their cause, and
provide abundantly and with alacrity the means not only for the supply
of their temporal wants, but also for pushing forward the cause they
had at heart. Nor was personal effort awanting; for the Disruption
leaders and ministers were themselves surprised as well as delighted by
the zeal, energy, and devotion with which persons of all ranks became
fellow-workers with them in building up the Free Church of Scotland.
The present generation knows but little of the occasional but
determined opposition that many landowners displayed, particularly in
the refusal of sites for Free churches, expecting and even resolving
that they would thereby starve the people out, and bring them back to
the Established Church.
_THE HIGH PLACES OF THE FIELD._
I cannot and should not do more than refer to the great hardships and
privations to which ministers and congregations were exposed, not only
by the refusal of sites for churches, but by petty tyrannies exercised
on them and on those who befriended, even on those who only pitied,
these humble worshippers among the fir woods of Strathspey, on the
stormy headlands of Mull or Skye, or on the bleak shores and barren
moors of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland.
Even in the Lowlands, among the pastoral solitudes of Canonbie, or the
gusty winds of Wanlockhead, said to be the highest inhabited place
in Scotland, sites were not only refused, but our common humanity
was outraged by wanton and sustained interference with such little
protection as a thin tent, an old barn, or even an old quarry might
afford; and this not only in the year of the Disruption, but for years
thereafter, until it was made the subject of parliamentary inquiry.
To those to whom these facts are new, I would recommend the perusal of
the _Annals of the Disruption_ Part III., recently issued by authority
of the Free Church of Scotland. Besides giving many interesting facts
of the trials and privations I have referred to, this book tells that,
owing to not being able to procure a site, the expedient was resorted
to of a floating manse—the “Betsy,” an old boat of 12 tons burden,
which, although very unfit to stand the storms of the Atlantic, was
used by the Rev. Mr. Swanson as he passed from one stormy shore to
another amongst the Highlands and islands of Scotland, and has been
immortalized by Hugh Miller in his interesting book, _The Cruise of the
“Betsy.”_
I had written the greater part of these “Bits,” and was asking a friend
for information on a kindred subject, when he drew my attention to the
_Annals_; and since I have perused the book, I add my humble testimony
to the admirable manner in which it presents the interesting and
well-told tales of those recent Scottish worthies.
The story of the determined adherence of these suffering witnesses
to their conscientious convictions in the face of ill-treatment and
persecution, reached Blinkbonny, and it awakened not only a burst of
indignation towards those who did the wrong, but it provoked a feeling
which manifested itself in substantial help, as well as sympathetic
admiration towards those who suffered the wrong; and to this cause,
coupled with the high esteem in which Mr. Barrie was held, quite as
much as to an intelligent adherence to any well-thought-out theory
of church government, may be attributed the strong hold that the Free
Church took of Blinkbonny.
_ONE TOUCH OF NATURE._
The touch of tyranny laid on those distant members of the “body, the
Church,” travelled like an electric current, and proved in the case
of those members more happily situated to be the touch of nature, in
making them feel more and more “kin” to “the bound as bound with them;”
and the result was that they stood by them, and by the principles they
contended for, so firmly, that those through whom the offence came
ceased their violent dealings, and found that the wave of truth, and
principle, and progress
“Rolled not back when Canute gave command.”
Only those who know Scotch village life well could believe how much of
its variety, and interest, and conversation centres in the churches.
There is often little else to gather the folks together, and such
questions as, “Who’s to be assisting you? Is your own man at home just
now? Does he belong to ‘oor body’? Where did he sit in Stirling? Will
he be coming among us?” required nothing more to be said to convey to
nearly everybody that they were questions about the Church.
A site was easily found for the Free church in Blinkbonny, and a
church, on what was then known as the Tanfield Hall plan, a plain
building of small gables and no architectural pretensions, was ready
for occupation before the winter had fairly set in. Previous to this,
a regular congregation had been formed. The majority of the elders had
“come out” with Mr. Barrie, so that the session was easily made up. The
Free Church also revived what most of the other churches in Scotland
had overlooked or discarded, viz. the order of deacons, whose special
function is to attend to the secular affairs of the congregation, and
who are solemnly “ordained and set apart” for that important work; and
to this more complete carrying out of the apostolical practice may be
attributed much of the success which has attended the financial schemes
of the Free Church, as it brought into her service the active, the
shrewd, the prudent, and the willing, and provided a congenial sphere
for the exercise of their talents.
_HOMELY COMMENTARY._
The Session has as its special province the spiritual affairs of the
congregation, and as the higher court it affords greater scope for
the exercise of the gifts of utterance, readiness in the Scriptures,
etc., on behalf of the members generally, but particularly towards the
afflicted, the weary, the backsliding, or the erring. The Session is,
besides, associated with the Deacons’ Court in the superintendence, or
at least the regulation, of the secular affairs; and there is thereby
secured a combination, which old George Brown characterized, on the
occasion of the proposal to elect the first deacons in Blinkbonny,
thus: “What I said after the meetin’ in the hall on the Saturday after
Mr. Barrie cam’ hame was, ‘As it were the company of two armies,’ but
I didna think o’ the Deacons’ Court at the time. But I’ve been readin’
the Acks o’ the Apostles, an’ I find that the want o’ deacons hindered
the very apostles; but when they got them the murmuring was not only
stoppit, but the number o’ the disciples increased greatly, an’ even
a great company o’ the very priests, the unlikeliest of all kinds o’
folks, were added to the Church. I wonder what for every kirk hasna
deacons? Maybe it’s because Stephens an’ Philips are ill to find; and
I’m inclined to think that we’ll a’ find that we’ve a great deal to
learn about how to conduct kirk business o’ a’ kinds.”
I became a member of the first deacons’ court.
When our church was fit for use, we parted from our Secession friends
with a grateful sense of their generous treatment of us, which
we expressed as warmly as we could, and there is still existing
much kindly interchange of brotherly affection between the two
congregations.
When we opened the new church, we were especially gratified at the
readiness with which several persons offered to place themselves at the
disposal of the congregation, according to their ideas of what they
could do. The appointment of a church officer or beadle was brought up
at a congregational meeting; but it was very quickly settled by Walter
Dalgleish, a jobbing gardener, who had been from the first a staunch
adherent of the Free Church. “Ye’ll need nae paid beadles,” said
Walter, rising half off his seat; “I’ll serve ye in that capacity if
ye’ll alloo me, and be proud to do’t for naething.”
He proved a capital beadle, and when the funds were prosperous he
was offered a salary. His answer to this proposal was unanswerable.
“Christian friends,” said he, “I’ve been mair than paid already. Me an’
ma household have had what we read o’ in Second Samuel, sixth chapter
an’ twalth verse, how the Lord blessed Obed-edom an’ all his household,
when the ark rested in his house for three months. If ye’re pleased wi’
me, just let me do as I’ve been doing; or tell me hoo I can do better,
an’ ye’ll no’ need to tell me twice if I can help it.”
“_MUSIC HATH CHARMS._”
For the leading of the psalmody, the precentorship, there were several
ready offerers. Of these, Andrew Taylor, the son of Mr. Taylor, the
elder already spoken of, most frequently occupied the “desk,” as the
precentor’s seat was called (sometimes, however, the “bunker”). On one
occasion it was the “turn” of his worthy father to stand at the “plate”
in the lobby where the “collection” was made, along with a deacon named
William Morrison, who was by trade a joiner, and had been working
for the greater part of the summer in a neighbouring county at a new
mansion-house. Andrew Taylor had a good voice of considerable power
and sweetness, and William Morrison did not know that he was to lead
the singing that day. As soon as his clear, silvery tone caught the
deacon’s ear, he turned quickly to Mr. Taylor, and said, “Wha’s that
that’s precentin’?”
“It’s our Andrew,” said Mr. Taylor.
“Your Andrew, Mr. Taylor!” said William, extending his hand; and taking
Mr. Taylor’s, he shook it warmly. “Your Andrew! Ah, Maister Taylor,
Maister Taylor, it’s glorious a’thegither! It’s by-ordinar’ grand to
see sae mony finding out that they’re like the thousand an’ seven
hunder an’ threescore in the ninth o’ First Chronicles, ‘very able men
for the work of the service of the house of God,’ that were clean idle
before. Eh, Maister Taylor, Maister Taylor! I maun join in,—I can_not_
help mysel’.”
And these two men, standing at the plate in the lobby opposite the
outer door, sent their voices into the street, for they knew the Psalms
too well to need any book; and the appropriate words added strength
to their lungs as they sang part of the 144th Psalm to the tune “New
London”:
“That, as the plants, our sons may be,
In youth grown up that are;
Our daughters like to corner-stones,
Carved like a palace fair.”
I may here state that not the least observable matter in the new state
of things was the additional meaning and force found in the Psalms of
David. Possibly they are best adapted for a militant, progressive,
almost agitated state of the Church. In our parish church, by the same
people, they had been listlessly sung and seldom “entered into;” but in
the new church, even in the reading of them by the minister, there was
new light thrown on old psalms. Many in the congregation could be seen
giving an appreciative nod, and if nearer them, you would have heard a
very slight “hem,” which meant, “I didn’t observe that before.”
_PSALMS AND HYMNS._
There was possibly a tendency to apply to present circumstances what
suited other and often all times; at all events, the psalms were sung
with intense feeling. To specify the favourites would be to copy
a great part of the Book of Psalms. If anything, the nineties had
the palm, but the forty-sixth—“God is our refuge and our strength,”
Luther’s “_Ein Feste Burg_”—became as popular with us as it had been in
Germany.
Perhaps this may account for the slow progress which hymns made for
many years in Scotland. Many of these noble compositions of Christian
genius are now used as vehicles of praise, and they unquestionably have
their place and power in the service of song; but the older folks still
maintain that they want “grup;” and the early Scottish Church found
ample material for expressing its aspirations or presenting its tribute
of grave sweet melody in the old Psalms of David.
For Mr. Barrie the summer was one of special excitement. He was much
occupied with his own congregation, and with the affairs of the Free
Church of Scotland generally. He had always been a studious man, was a
fair scholar, and had given conscientious attention to his preparations
for the pulpit, and to the visitation of the sick. But he now appeared
to have got new life, and an increased power of penetration into many
parts of the Christian’s duty. Instead of relaxing what is called
in Scotland discipline, or lowering the terms of communion, he was
more emphatic than ever in pressing on all, especially on advanced
young persons, not to profess what they did not feel. He seemed a
man absorbed in his Master’s work, and his former reading experience
and observation became a magazine whence he could draw for his ready
service illustration, incentive, or appeal.
He not only surprised others, but he was a wonder to himself. Thoughts
flowed in on him as he prepared himself in the study for pulpit
work; light broke in so as to surprise and refresh him; parts of
Scripture that seemed barren before, were now bristling with meaning
and practical lessons. What surprised him most was that he hardly
ever looked into commentaries or books of systematic theology. The
circumstances of himself and his people became so real to him, that
nearly every verse he read seemed to suggest a good text for a sermon;
and his difficulty was in arranging his ministrations so as to give to
each part its proportionate share of attention.
“I seem to myself to be,” said he to a brother minister, “like the
lame man at the Beautiful gate of the temple. Up till now I have been
lame from my mother’s womb; but I feel as if my feet and ankle bones
had received strength, and now it is with me more like walking, and
leaping, and praising God.”
His fears as to the support of his family, which had been so very
trying to him, were now gone; and although he did little in the way
of directly stimulating congregational liberality, he in the course
of his preaching showed, what few of us had noticed before, the great
prominence that giving to God’s cause has both in the Old and New
Testaments, and its reflex influence on the Church. This went to the
hearts of the people, and they offered willingly. During the first year
the congregation raised more than had been collected in the Established
church of the parish for fifty years.
“_OVER AGAINST THE TREASURY._”
Over Scotland much of the same spirit existed. The continuous rain of
£1000 a-day, as Dr. Chalmers called it, kept pouring on,—so much so
that those who were looked on as martyrs in ’43, were spoken of as
heroes in ’44. Indeed, their heroism, like all other heroism, was by
many considered rashness; and when they undertook to erect schools
as well as churches, it was thought that the “ship would soon get
over-freighted and go to the bottom;” but it seemed as if the more
they attempted, the more they prospered, until, like the Israelites in
Egypt, the people multiplied and waxed very mighty.
Well do I remember the evening of our first annual soiree. The
treasurer’s report told of some £400 paid, and other £300 promised.
As soon as it was finished, Mr. Barrie stood up, and without book,
without even giving out the number of the psalm, repeated with great
vigour:
“When Sion’s bondage God turn’d back,
Like men that dream’d were we;
Then filled with laughter was our mouth,
Our tongue with melody,” etc.
The singing _was_ hearty.
The experience of hundreds of Free churches in Scotland was similar
to that of Blinkbonny; and when we consider that the members were a
moiety of what those of the Established Church had been previous to the
Disruption, and that they had not been trained to systematic giving
(for it is matter of history that the contributions of the Church of
Scotland previous to 1843, for charitable and religious purposes, were
utterly disproportionate to her wealth, and fell far short of what
the Dissenters of the period raised), we are the more struck with the
stream of devout and intelligent liberality which flowed into the Free
Church treasury steadily and continually, and which is still flowing.
_MORE TO FOLLOW._
The years 1844–1847 were severe years for the country. Owing to the
potato disease and consequent dulness of trade, poverty and want came
to many a door, and hundreds not only denied themselves luxuries, but
many things formerly considered necessaries were more sparingly used,
in order to alleviate the distresses of suffering Ireland and the
Highlands, as well as the general poor; and instead of the one call
interfering with the other, both were promptly and nobly met, to an
extent that would have been declared unattainable a few years before.
I cannot refrain from making special mention of the cause of foreign
missions. It can readily be supposed that with churches, and manses,
and in many places schools, to build, and the ministry to support by
spontaneous contributions, with no fixed source of income, and little
experience of voluntary liberality, the Free Church would have had so
much to do at home that there was neither call nor means to undertake
foreign mission work.
The mission question was a perplexing one. The missionaries of the
Church of Scotland, being out of the arena of immediate conflict,
yet conversant with the matters in dispute, were as well qualified
as any men could be to judge of the points of contention; and their
decision as to whether they would declare themselves as adhering to the
Established or Free Church, was anxiously looked for.
To all human appearance the Free Church could do nothing for
them,—certainly could guarantee nothing. However willing their spirit
might he, their flesh seemed in this matter helplessly weak. Moreover,
the “Non-Intrusion” matter was a home question, and did not directly
affect the missionaries, and the Established Church had still great
wealth and power without any such extra call on her resources.
The decision of the missionaries was unanimously and resolutely
in favour of the Free Church. When this fact was announced to the
Assembly at its meeting in Glasgow in the autumn of 1843, it created
intense excitement. The enthusiasm was indescribable. For some minutes
the meeting was a Babel of cheering, and shouts of joy, and mutual
congratulations, friend rushing to friend to relieve their feelings by
violent shakings of hands; and every now and again during the meeting
the pent-up gladness exploded vociferously.
The Free Church had already undertaken enormous responsibilities. Would
they assume this additional one? Dared they? Was it not a question of
the certain king who had ten thousand soldiers to meet twenty thousand?
Had they a clear call to go forward? It was a solemn question. Yes
required strong—very strong faith. Would they say Yes? No was the loud
answer of sight,—clearly, unquestionably, No.
_FROM POLE TO POLE._
The foundation of the Home Church had been laid in a way that was
wonderful in their eyes. Was the building ready for this grand
cope-stone?
“It will crush it to atoms,” said the adversary.
“Never!” was the triumphant reply. “Who art thou, O great mountain?
before Zerubbabel thou shalt become a plain; and he shall bring forth
the headstone thereof with shoutings, crying, Grace, grace unto it!”
And the support of the missionaries and mission stations was undertaken
with enthusiasm.
All the funds collected for the mission cause were of course in the
hands of the Church of Scotland, and retained by it, although these
had been largely supplied by those who now formed the Free Church.
The mission premises abroad were also kept by them, and even the
mission libraries and educational appliances, although these had been
mostly brought together by the personal efforts or friends of the
missionaries, so that the Free Church got the living men only.
This was according to the _letter_ of the law, but many of the best men
in the Established Church strongly insisted on the funds, etc. being
partly apportioned to the Free Church, and that the property should go
with the missionaries, as equity and consistency alike indicated, even
in the things that were Cæsar’s. A reverend father of the Established
Church thus expressed himself on this subject:
“The question yet to be settled is, are they ours? Did I say yet to be
settled? That depends on the court in which the question is tried. In
the highest court, the decision of the greater than Solomon would be in
this matter in favour of the Free Church. ‘Give her the living child,
she is the mother thereof;’ this has already been done, and it is a
mean thing to send her empty away.”
When it was proposed to contribute regularly for foreign missions in
Blinkbonny, the more experienced members deemed it inexpedient until
our home affairs were put on a sure basis, but some of the ladies
espoused the cause keenly. They with some difficulty prevailed on Mr.
Taylor to introduce the subject at a general meeting. His speech was
far from being hearty; it was a mere question, “Could the members give
to any scheme they liked?”
“Certainly,” replied the chairman.
“Well, there are some that want to give to the missionaries, and I
think we should appoint a committee.”
This was done, and before a year had passed £42 were collected. Strange
to say, the other schemes seemed to suffer so little, that even George
Brown, who was one of the most timid, “thocht the folk were made o’
siller.”
_GUDE SILLER._
How different this was from what we had done for missions in the old
Church! I remember of the well-to-do farmer of Ramsay lands asking me
for two sixpences for a shilling, adding, “Isna this a collection for
the missionaries? I fancy we’ll hae to gi’e them a saxpence.” Next week
he gave to a curling club a silver medal.
He was justly esteemed as a good, kind man, but his “saxpence” not
unfairly represents the ideas of the times on the subject of missions.
It took a considerable time to reconcile the older folks to the
exercise of missionary liberality. As I was coming from a meeting
in which the missionary treasurer had announced that there had been
collected for foreign missions during the previous year upwards of £42,
James Wilkie, an old gamekeeper, spoke thus:
“Mr. Martin, did I hear richt, think ye? did our treasurer say that we
(?) had gathered forty-twa pound for thae missionars?”
“Quite right,” said I; “forty-two pounds odds, James.”
“It’s a great heap o’ siller,” said he; “div ye no’ really think that
it’s a pity to see a’ that gude siller gaun out o’ the country?”
I will close this chapter with two reminiscences of Dr. Duff in the
Free Church General Assembly.
The Home Mission report was being commented on by Sheriff Monteith. He
said that home missions had not the romance about them that foreign
missions had.
Dr. Duff sprang to his feet with a bound like a tiger springing on its
prey, and said something like this:
“Romance, sir! Romance did I hear you say!—romance? Are the burning
suns of India romance? leaving home and kindred, and ease and comfort,
romance? exposing your family to the horrors of heathenism, romance?”
At each sentence he stepped nearer Sheriff Monteith, until, while
saying something rather personal about not leaving his comfortable
table to visit the dens of infamy in the Cowgate, his clenched fist was
dangerously near the Sheriff’s face. It was not a long speech, but the
look of burning indignation with which he delivered it, and the energy
of his gesticulation, told powerfully. At the last words, “Romance,
forsooth!” he sat down exhausted.
_THE FLOWERS O’ THE FOREST._
Never was “oil thrown on the waters” with more quiet force and effect
than by Dr. Buchanan on that occasion. A few words sufficed, words
of remarkable dignity and tenderness, and at their close he took
Sheriff Monteith by the one hand, and Dr. Duff by the other, and with
great heartiness they shook hands on the platform of the Assembly
amidst the loud applause of the audience. I thought then, and I think
yet, that I never saw three as fine-looking, noble-hearted Christian
gentlemen,—certainly never grouped on such a striking occasion. It
seemed to me to be a living group representing Faith, Hope, Charity,
but I would not undertake to determine which was which.
My other reminiscence is of the evening meeting after the union of the
Free Church with the Original Secession Church. I can recall Dr. Duff’s
massive, sunburnt face, his thick, erect, bristling hair, and his
perfervid eloquence.
He spoke of looking out on his return from India for the grand old
ministers he used to meet in his younger days. “Where were Dr. Andrew
Thomson, Dr. David Dickson, old Dr. McCrie, Dr. Chalmers?” Not in
the haunts of living men. He had to go to the graveyards and content
himself with honouring their memories; and it made him feel as if
‘The flowers o’ the forest were a’ wede away.’
But when he returned to the familiar streets, he forgot his grief as
he saw Dr. McCrie, the worthy son of a worthy father, Dr. John Brown,
Dr. Grey, Dr. Glover, and such men carrying aloft the standard of the
Master. Truly great was the multitude that published the good news
in Scotland, but what of India with its tens of millions? How was the
Church discharging its duty to the heathen world?
He then said with a persuasive smile: “A mother in Scotland thus showed
her loyalty for an earthly prince:
‘I hae but ae son, my brave young Donald,
But gin I had ten they wad follow Prince Charlie.’
Why not the same, why not greater devotion to the Prince of Peace, the
King of kings? I ask not the tens, although that would be but right,
but in this day of small things I ask but one in ten.”