CHAPTER XVII.
THE CHURCH OF TO-DAY.
(1878-1914).
Thus onward still we press,
Through evil and through good.
—H. Bonar.
The earliest stage of church-life in colonial New Zealand may be called the Eucalyptus or Blue Gum period. These dark-foliaged trees mark from afar the lonely sheep-station, and are often the only guide thereto. It is in the station-house or in the adjoining woolshed that the service is held. Seldom is it conducted by an ordained minister, for the number of such is small, and each priest has a large territory to visit. His arrival on horseback is not always known beforehand, but in the evening the "squatter" assembles his family and dependants, the men of the station, and perhaps a few neighbours. Everyone is glad of the opportunity. The dining-room or woolshed is made to look as devotional as possible. The old prayer books brought out from England are produced. There may be no musical instrument available, but some well-known hymn is raised by the lady of the house. The priest, in his long surplice, preaches a practical sermon, for he understands his people and knows their lives. The service revives old memories in the worshippers, and carries them back in thought to ancient churches and devout congregations in the land from which they come.
This early stage merges gradually into what may be called the Pine period. The large sheep run is broken up into farms, each marked by its sheltering plantations of pinus insignis. The typical place of worship is now the school. To it the worshippers drive on Sunday, in buggies or gigs. The services are carried on with some regularity: different Christian denominations generally use the building on successive Sundays of the month, and the same congregation gathers on each occasion. The arrangements are awkward, the seats are comfortless, but the singing is hearty and the feeling good. Memories of the old land are less vivid: the young men and maidens are mostly native-born. There is not the deep feeling of devotion, nor is there the old sense of the overwhelming importance of divine things. Fewer of the labouring men are present than were seen in the old woolshed services.
Years pass by, and a village springs up amidst the farms. Small church-buildings rise almost side by side. The attendants of the schoolroom no longer worship together. It is the Cypress or Macrocarpa period, when trim hedges divide the gardens—and often the people—from one another. But the little church, with its cross and other sacred emblems, grows dear to some. The choir learns to chant and to sing an anthem on a high festival. Perhaps now there is a vicarage beside the church. Classes and guilds are carried on. "Church work" begins.
Such is the history of the Church in New Zealand during the latter period of our hundred years. The frame of the picture is that supplied by the originally treeless plains and valleys of the South Island. But the picture itself, in its essential points, would represent other regions as well—whether mining, maritime, or forest. As a picture, it is not as bright as we should like it to be; but its shadows as well as its brightness are but extensions of the phenomena of the religious world outside. The divisions of Christendom did not originate in New Zealand.