Leaving Otley for Acton was one of the greatest trials to his singularly affectionate nature, and to the end of his life Otley and its people were very dear to his heart. But, much as he loved his first parish, he felt that he could not resist the call to a wider sphere of duty. Of his work at Acton, his successful crusade against Sunday cheese-making, and his unflagging work and labour, both spiritual and sanitary, in the fatal cholera year, we have left ourselves no space to speak. We must pass to the last and longest chapter of his life at Brenchley, of which for thirty-four years he was the Vicar. Succeeding the Rev. Richard Davies, the faithful and devoted Secretary of the C.M.S., he accepted as a sacred legacy the furtherance of the claims of that Society. How successfully he pleaded its cause is shown by the fact that in 1886 Brenchley, a rural parish with no resident squire, sent up a larger contribution than the whole of Scotland. The chief proportion of this came from the coppers of missionary boxes, and the proceeds of a missionary basket to which an old servant of the family was “told off.” During his incumbency the growing district of Paddock Wood, and the off-lying hamlet of Matfield, were made into separate parishes. If all parishes had had an Incumbent like the Vicar of Brenchley, we may confidently say that the question of extraordinary tithe would never have arisen. Each defaulter was treated by him as a tenant in arrears with his rent would be treated by an indulgent landlord, and in bad years some remission of tithe was freely granted at a time when such indulgence was unknown, at least in Kent. Nor were the labourers less cared for than the farmers. No man or woman who could show a plausible case of distress was ever sent empty away from the Vicarage, and relief was always, if possible, given in kind or by providing employment. For the hop-pickers who swarmed each autumn from the slums of London one or more Scripture-readers from the London City Mission were always retained; field meetings, magic-lantern entertainments, &c., were got up; pressure was brought to bear on the farmers to supply more decent sleeping accommodation—in a word, they were treated for the time as members of the flock, and, as far as time and opportunity permitted, Christianised. Of his private life this is not the place to speak, but this much we may venture to state—no man since Dr. Primrose numbered so many poor relations, for the plea of poverty or distress was at once admitted by him as a claim of kinship. And he never lost sight of a friend. Curates who had worked with him forty years ago would still write to seek his counsel and help in any difficulty.
For the last ten years of his life it pleased God to afflict him with the hardest of human trials—the total loss of sight. Yet he found a way to turn his loss to gain, and his noble example of cheerful and almost joyous resignation to the will of his Father more than compensated for any diminution of his energy as a pastor. Not indeed that he relaxed or slackened his work to the very end. In his eightieth year it was his habit to take the Communion Service and Sermon in the Morning, and to read Prayers in the Afternoon; and, though he had necessarily to depend more on others for seeking information and carrying out his behests, no household in the parish was unknown or uncared for.
His last prayer, ἐν φάει καὶ ὄλεσσον, was granted him, and he died in harness, quietly, almost painlessly, and with consciousness to the last. One minute only before he was taken, he asked one of his sons on what text he had preached the previous Sunday, and on being told, “Our Father, which art in heaven,” he whispered, “Our Father—in those two words, rightly understood, lies the whole of the Gospel.”
I.
SERMON
BY
Rev. Canon Hoare, M.A.
Sunday Morning, February 26th, 1888.
Ezekiel xxxiii. 33: “And when this cometh to pass (lo, it will come), then shall they know that a prophet hath been among them.”
You can see at a glance the application of these words to the solemn occasion that has brought us together this day. They were spoken to Ezekiel. He was a very popular and attractive preacher. The people sat before him, and his words were unto them “as a very lovely song of one that hath a pleasant voice, and can play well on an instrument.” But they produced no effect; for the people heard his words, but they did them not. These words were therefore spoken to warn them that when certain predicted troubles should arise, they would learn the truth of Ezekiel’s ministry. Those troubles are described in verses 27, 28; and these words were added to warn the people that when all this should come to pass—which it most surely would do—they would then learn the awful fact that there had been a terrible reality in the message of the prophet, and be taught by too late experience that, although they had regarded him not, they had had a prophet among them.
Now, the word “prophet” is not applied only to those persons who were moved by the Spirit to predict the future, such as Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel. It means one who speaks forth the Word of God, and proclaims the message of God in the Lord’s name. It is a term therefore that, in this its wider sense, may well be applied to your late beloved pastor, our dear and honoured brother now taken from us, of whom it may be said with the most perfect truth that for thirty-four years he went in and out a true prophet among you.
He was a prophet in the true meaning of the word, for he spent his life in publishing or speaking forth amongst you the hidden mysteries of the salvation of God. We quite acknowledge that he was not a prophet like Ezekiel, carried away in lofty flights of inspired ecstasy; nor like John the Baptist, feeding on locusts and wild honey; but he was one who was in his own quiet, devoted life a true prophet, and who for fifty-five years laboured for souls and faithfully preached Christ Jesus his Saviour.
I have no words to express my profound reverence for such a man. He was a true specimen of that most honourable class, the country clergymen of the Church of England. He did not take much part in things outside the parish. Most thankful should we often have been if we had had more of his valuable help and counsel in matters concerning the Diocese and the Church. But the parish was his sphere, the parish was his home, and the parish was the great object for which he spent his life.
Remember him, then, in his Pastoral work. For thirty-four years (the best part of his ministry) you have enjoyed this privilege. I am speaking, I know, to a bereaved flock; and I want you to look back on your past privileges. He went in his pastoral work into the homes of his people. Think of him: how kind, how faithful, how full of sympathy, how diligent in visiting, even in his blindness. Was he not in very truth a true friend to you all? I am sure every heart must answer, “He was.”