My love for it when I was at Richmond once brought me into a serious difficulty with the late Bishop Wilberforce, and taught me his marvellous power in controlling the minds of men. He was at that time Archdeacon of Surrey, and as such he proposed a scheme for doing away with all especial interest in particular societies, and to raise one general fund to be laid “at the feet of the Apostles,” and divided by them according to their discretion.
We did not exactly know who the Apostles were. We thought that probably they were to be the Archdeacon and the Bishop, as they were to be the distributors.
Against this scheme the friends of the Church Missionary Society rose as one man. We held a meeting to consider what should be done. We decided that we would all attend the Archdeacon’s meeting in order to oppose the plan, and engaged conveyances accordingly. When the morning came I had such a headache as I never remember to have suffered from, either before or since, and I was utterly unable to leave my bed, so off drove the others, full of zeal and holy courage. But what was my astonishment when they returned in the afternoon, and one of the most faithful, earnest, and trustworthy of the whole party came to tell me the result. He said they had found the plan was not so objectionable as they had thought, and at length reluctantly acknowledged that the Archdeacon had not allowed them to separate till he had made every one of them, dear old Mr. Hough included, sign a paper agreeing to the introduction into their own parishes of the Archdeacon’s scheme.
So then I stood alone, and thanked God for the headache which had saved me from the fascination.
But Richmond was the parish that was doing more than any other in the rural deanery for Missions, and it was most important for the success of the plan that Richmond should be included. So nothing was left undone that could induce me to join the others. But I was still free, as all my other brethren began to wish they were, and I stuck to my point. I was invited in the most cordial manner for a visit, with my dearest wife, first to Alvenstoke and then to Farnham Castle. I was addressed in the language of warm affection, not only towards myself, but to my beloved mother. But I considered that by the Providence of God I had been preserved from the fascinating power, and that my only wisdom was to keep clear of it when I was free; so we went on independently till the next visitation of the Bishop. My heart was filled with thankfulness when I heard him announce in his charge that he had advised his beloved friend, the Archdeacon, to give up his scheme.
This curacy I held for more than nine years, for seven of which I had the unspeakable help of my dearly beloved, most faithful, and most able wife. During the time I had different livings offered to me, and I believe that, if I had regarded my worldly interest, I should have accepted some of them. But I had a great conviction of the importance of my position, and strong belief that the Lord had called me to it. So we both agreed that we were most likely to do His will if we persevered in the curacy.
To Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham at Lowestoft Rectory:—
“Richmond, February 19th, 1837.
“My dearest Uncle and Aunt,—You will be glad to hear that I am myself very comfortable. Of course there is a large field of enjoyment from which I am wholly excluded; I am no longer a social being. In all the difficulties and responsibilities of this place I am absolutely alone. I have no dear Rector within two miles, whom I may consult over all my affairs and discouragements. I compare myself to a ship finding its way alone across the ocean, and sometimes well-buffeted in the journey. I certainly miss friendship wonderfully, and I cannot say how greatly I long after you all. My heart this day has been full of tenderness to Pakefield. I think of that attentive congregation at Kirkley, of the prayer-meeting, of the schoolroom lecture, and of that close and, I trust, heavenly bond of union which God permitted us to enjoy, and I know not how to bear the thought that we are separated. However, the more I look at my present position, the more am I satisfied that the change is of the Lord. The need of this place is grievous. The little flock is scattered and disheartened; the poor have been totally neglected, the sick unvisited, and the societies are all fallen to decay. The short time that I have been here has not been without its encouragements. Our tender Father has been pleased to favour me with some cases in which my private ministry has been greatly valued, and I hope blessed. I think also He is with me in the pulpit; the evening congregation is rapidly increasing, and we have had some very solemn occasions. All this is encouraging, but I desire not to build upon it, for I well know that such encouragement has not strength enough to bear weight. In health I think I am better than I have been since August. I find my power for work increases, and the cough is gone. Join with me in praising a merciful Father. ‘Praise God, from whom,’ etc.”
To Mr. Cunningham:—
“Richmond, Surrey, September 24th, 1838.
“My dear Uncle,—You ask how we are getting on here, and you must know how difficult it is to answer such a question. I think that, whenever God permits encouragement, He sends at the same time some drawback, as if to prevent encouragement lapsing into self-confidence, and self-gratulation taking the place of a spirit of thankfulness. And this is just the case with our parish: there is much to call forth the most unfeigned thanksgiving—great kindness amongst the people, large congregations, a capital collection yesterday for the Pastoral Aid Society—but on the other hand a continual worry about our schools, and, what is most of all to be considered, very little evidence of the regenerating power of the Holy Ghost in individuals. I see that the messenger has a far wider influence than he once had, but I do not see the message itself attended with the same saving power. This is a cause of great sorrow to me, and the more so because I fear it may be in a great measure explained by a want of spirituality in myself. There is a wonderfully close communion between the power of preaching and the power of feeling, and when a man’s own heart is very dead, he is not likely to produce much life in others. I think, moreover, there is great danger of spending our energy on our machinery. I am doing all I can to work the parish efficiently, and set all the machine in active operation, and I feel the effect of it in a forgetfulness of the spiritual end of the whole. It is something bordering upon leaving the Word of God to serve tables. However, in the midst of all, I trust there is a real progress. I find unspeakable comfort in Hebrews xii. 2, and whether a want of spirituality in myself or a want of spiritual power in my ministry be the cause of sorrow, I find the universal remedy in ‘looking unto Jesus,’ and I believe that to be the whole of the Christian’s secret. The more we can keep our eye on Him the stronger shall we be in every point of view, and one moment’s forgetfulness of Him must produce weakness, if not a fall.”