Stones of the Temple; Or, Lessons from the Fabric and Furniture of the Church

CHAPTER XVI

THE PULPIT

"I suppose we must not expect you to conform to all our usages at first, Mr. Dole," said Mr. Acres, as they walked out of the churchyard one Sunday, after the Afternoon Service; "but no doubt you will soon see the fitness of our several forms and ceremonies, and then you will do as we do. Of course these things are – compared with others – of no great importance; but still it is better, even in small matters, to avoid differences in our mode of worship."

"Yes, that is so, sir; but you must give me time, and I shall be glad if you will tell me what you have specially noticed in my manner different from others? I don't wish to seem particular."

"Well, to be candid then, Mr. Dole, it seems strange to us to see a man when he comes into church stand up and say his prayers in his hat, instead of reverently kneeling down."

"I never thought of that before, but I dare say it does; but then you know, sir, that is our way at the meeting. I see, however, that it is much more proper in God's house to obey the precept of His Holy Word, and 'fall low on our knees before His footstool.'"

"Then for the same reason you will, I am sure, see that, instead of sitting during the other prayers, as I notice you do, it is proper to kneel at those times too. You will find that all in our church, from the oldest to the youngest, except poor Old Reynolds and Tom Barham (who are too infirm to kneel), do so. Then again, when the Creed is said, I see you do sometimes stand up, but not always; and I notice you don't turn to the East, as all the rest of the congregation do."

"No, I confess I don't do that. I like the idea of repeating our Confession of Faith whenever we meet at church: I suppose the want of this practice is one reason why the different leading sects of Dissenters are constantly being broken up into fresh divisions. Yes, there is certainly something very supporting to a Christian in so declaring with the Church every where, his belief in the great doctrines of their common Faith; but the fact is, I have some scruples about turning to the East at that time. Even old Mrs. Tubbs, who, you know, is a Church-woman, says she thinks it is superstitious."

"All I can say, then, is, that Mrs. Tubbs doesn't know the meaning of the word she uses; and in this she is like a great many more people who think themselves very wise about these matters. Now, my good friend, when you next come to church, stand up with the rest, and turn to the East as the others do, and first say to yourself some such words as these: – 'We all stand, to signify that we are not ashamed of our Belief, and that, if need be, we will manfully defend it. We all turn in one direction, to signify that we all hold one and the same faith. We all turn to the East, because there in the east of our churches every thing reminds us of the presence of Him in whom we profess our belief; because there, in remembrance of Him, we celebrate the highest and most sacred mysteries of our Faith; and because the East specially reminds us of the holy life, the Divine teaching, the miracles, the suffering, the death of our Blessed Lord – "the Sun of Righteousness," "the Day-spring from on high" —in the East77.' Do this, Mr. Dole, and you will never again be disposed to regard this custom as superstitious. Why, some people even think it is superstitious to bend the head reverently at the name of Jesus, when it is mentioned in the Creeds and the other parts of the Service."

"I don't think so, though once I did. Since I have considered more about it, it has seemed to me that some outward show of reverence at the mention of the Sacred Name is quite Scriptural78. But as I am yet only a learner about these outward forms, will you kindly tell me, sir, whether there is any rule of the Church about this custom?"

"The Vicar will be able to answer that better than I can."

"I could not help overhearing our friend's question," said Mr. Ambrose, "as I was close behind you, and I will answer it at once. The rule of our Church is very plain on this point; it is this: 'All manner of persons present shall reverently kneel upon their knees, when the general Confession, Litany, and other prayers are read; and shall stand up at the saying of the Belief, according to the rules in that behalf prescribed in the Book of Common Prayer; and likewise, when in time of Divine Service the Lord Jesus shall be mentioned, due and lowly reverence shall be done by all persons present, as it hath been accustomed: testifying, by these outward ceremonies and gestures, their inward humility, Christian resolution, and due acknowledgment that the Lord Jesus Christ, the true eternal Son of God, is the only Saviour of the world79.'"

"Thank you, Mr. Ambrose, nothing could be plainer, or more reasonable than that direction; but, you see, I have for so many years sat under Mr. Scole, who never taught us any thing of this sort, that you will forgive me if I seem a little more ignorant than those who have been all the time sitting under you."

"What do you mean by 'sitting under,' my friend?" said the Vicar, very innocently.

"I mean hearing you preach," was Mr. Dole's reply. "It's a curious expression, now I come to think about it."

"It certainly is so, and the meaning of it is not very clear. But in our Church we don't talk about sitting under, or hearing this or that preacher. We simply say we attend this or that church, as the case may be. And the reason is, that – although very important in its proper place – we consider preaching of little moment (and the preacher of far less), when compared with the other objects of Christian worship, —Prayer and Praise. We look upon God's House as pre-eminently 'a House of Prayer.'"

"Well, I do think we used to make too much of the sermon at the meeting; and I remember all our conversation afterwards was about the sermon or the preacher. One Sunday we had a young gent. from London, Mr. Sweetly, to preach, and our people never ceased to talk about him. I believe, however, none of them recollected a word he said; but they could remember well enough 'his lovely voice,' and 'how nice he looked in his beautiful black silk gown' (you know, sir, our people always preach in black gowns), 'and those charming lavender gloves! and then the sweetest embroidered white lawn pocket-handkerchief imaginable!' It had just been presented to him, he told me, by a young lady – Miss Angelina Gushing – who sat under him at his London meeting-house. I never was a preacher-worshipper myself, sir."

"Save me from the man with the lavender gloves and the white embroidered pocket-handkerchief, I say," said Mr. Acres. "If there is one thing in nature I shrink from more than another, it is a fop, and a fop in the pulpit is beyond endurance."

"A most offensive person, indeed," said the Vicar, "and one that brings great discredit upon the ministry; but it can be no matter of surprise that men sometimes a little over-estimate themselves in some of our fashionable towns, where the people (specially the ladies) flock to hear 'dear' Mr. Somebody, and so abundantly supply him with those articles of personal furniture which are usually the reward of a popular preacher. It is not so very long ago that in our own church every thing was made to give way to the sermon. You remember, Mr. Acres, when many of the people in St. Catherine's used to sit and sleep through the prayers80, and just wake up for the sermon. Then the pulpit was every thing, and little else could be seen by the people; the galleries were built so that the people might sit and see the preacher, and the pews were likewise built up only with a view to sitting comfortable during the sermon. It is all different now, I am thankful to say, and the pulpit takes once more its old and appropriate position. But we must take care not to esteem too lightly the office of the preacher, in our contempt for one who preaches merely to please the people. To 'preach the Word' is one of the solemn duties laid upon us at our ordination; and woe be to us if we neglect to do so earnestly and faithfully!"

CHAPTER XVII

THE PULPIT

"It's curious to note," continued the Vicar, "how the Pulpit and the Gallery have kept company in rising higher and higher. At first the pulpit was placed at a moderate height above the congregation, and then the church improvers (?) were usually contented with erecting a small low gallery at the west end of the church81. It is true, that was bad enough; for in order to construct it, it was nearly always thought necessary to fill in the tower arch and to hide the western window – often the most beautiful features in the church; and then the organ was taken up into this gallery, and the singers followed it; and nothing, you know, could be more inconvenient than that those who help to lead the services of the Church should be behind those they profess to lead. But when people had once tasted the luxury of sitting in a church gallery, the demand for it rapidly increased, and my Lady Pride, who had very comfortable crimson-cushioned seats in her box at the theatre, could not be content without an equally comfortable and elegant box in the gallery at her church, where she could see all the people quite as well as in her box at the theatre, and had such a good view of the pulpit and its occupant, that, with a good opera-glass, she could even read the manuscript from which the clergyman was preaching. As the taste spread, of course galleries multiplied, and not only extended in a lateral direction over all available parts of the church, but sometimes mounted up one above another (as witness many of our London churches) till they almost touched the very roof. Indeed, to build a new gallery was one of the most popular things a local magnate could do; and even Members of Parliament, who desired to make sure of their next election, could hardly adopt better means for recommending themselves to their constituents than by disfiguring their church with one of these hideous structures, and recording the same on some conspicuous part of the church82. But worse still; these galleries were sometimes even still more nearly connected with the political parties of the day. I know one church83– and that is not the only instance – in which are galleries, having complete opera-boxes, furnished with luxurious chairs, stoves, &c., and every box is a two-pound freehold, and the boxes are, from time to time, advertised for sale, with the inviting recommendation that each one gives a vote for the county. One great piece of presumptuous vanity connected with these galleries, is the numberless instances in which the names of churchwardens, that otherwise would have been unknown to fame, have been emblazoned upon them."

"You remember, no doubt," said Mr. Acres, "the inscription, in large gilt letters, that covered the front of our old gallery – 'This gallery was erected A.D. 1716, Thomas Grubb and Matthew Stokes, Churchwardens; enlarged, and newly painted and ornamented, A.D. 1760, Peter Jenks and Samuel Styles, Churchwardens.' I believe I have read that inscription thousands of times, and those names used even to haunt me in my dreams. Had those churchwardens been four of the greatest saints in the calendar, it would have been gross impiety to emblazon their names so conspicuously as thus to force them upon one's notice during the whole service. If, however, tradition does not speak falsely of them, those men were by no means too correct either in their private life or in their parish accounts. But let them be never so good, people who go to church for Christian worship, don't wish to have the names and exploits of these worthy or unworthy men staring them in the face every moment they are there. But I beg your pardon, Mr. Vicar, I interrupted you when you were speaking of the pulpit."

"Well, you know, when the gallery had reached the ceiling, it could go no higher; but then its upper tenants could no longer see the preacher. So the pulpit rose too, and, to enable all to see it, sometimes took its place just in front of the altar, so as completely to hide that from most of the congregation; nay, I have seen it even over the altar itself84. Then the prayer-desk came climbing up after the pulpit; and then the clerk's desk came creeping up below them, till that, too, became one of the most conspicuous and important objects of the church. Thus the three together grew into that clumsy, unsightly mass which has been not inaptly called the Three Decker!"

"Ah, I shall never forget poor old Mowforth's perplexity," said Mr. Acres, "when he looked about for his peculiar box in our restored church. First he looked doubtingly at your prayer-desk; then he examined the lectern from which you read the lessons; then he looked with some faint hope at the pulpit; at last he came to me, and said, 'Please, sir, which of these is to be my place?' and his look of dismay was indescribable when I told him that, as you intended that henceforth the choir should lead the responses, he would be absorbed in the congregation, and would in future be able to take his place with the rest of his family. But the man is a sensible fellow, and he confessed to me the other day that he considers the new arrangement a great improvement, and wonders that the people could have so long endured the duet service in which only the voices of the parson and himself could be heard. But we have again wandered a little from our subject. Let us go back to the pulpit; it must have a history of its own, like every other part of the church. Will you kindly enlighten me and our friend here on the subject? for it must be one of much interest to us both."

"Well – to begin at the beginning – I suppose we must look for the origin of our pulpits in the 'brazen scaffold' which Solomon set 'in the midst of the Temple85,' and the 'pulpit of wood86' from which Ezra read the Book of the Law.

"There are in this country many very beautiful examples of ancient pulpits; these are, with but very few exceptions, constructed of stone, and very generally of the same date as the church itself. Sometimes they were erected outside the church87, but usually in the place where we are still accustomed to see them. Sometimes stone pulpits were quite separate buildings, erected in some much frequented place, usually near a cathedral or other church88. 'In the ancient rites of Durham there is mention of a "fine iron pulpit, with iron rails to support the monks in going up, of whom one did preach every holiday and Sunday at one o'clock in the afternoon." This was situated in the Galilee, or western division of the church, which was open to the public even when the entrance to the rest of the church was interdicted89.' Although the most beautiful pulpits, both ancient and modern, are of stone – many of them being richly carved and inlaid with costly marbles – yet the greater number of the more modern pulpits are made of wood90. By an injunction of Queen Elizabeth in 1559, pulpits were ordered to be erected in all churches91, and by a canon of 1663 it was ordered that pulpits should be placed in all the churches of the country not already provided with them. The pulpits then erected were in almost every case made of wood, and their pattern has since then been generally, though by no means universally, followed.

"A curious appendage to the pulpit sometimes found is the horologium, or hour-glass. Whether this was placed there for the information of the congregation as to the progress of the hour, or to teach them its own solemn moral, or as a guide to the preacher respecting the length of his discourse92, I cannot say. Another adjunct to the pulpit is the sounding-board, or, as it should rather be called, the lid or cover of the pulpit; and a thing more useless, and usually more ugly, one cannot conceive93. It certainly always seems to me rather to impede the sound of my voice than to assist it; and then it has, to say the least, a most uncomfortable appearance; and though I never heard of the accident really happening, yet it always appears to me to be on the point of falling and crushing the poor preacher below it. It is not, however, difficult to trace the origin of these covers to the pulpit; they were really necessary where the pulpits were separate buildings– as at St. Paul's Cross – in order to protect the preacher when the weather was inclement. At St. Paul's Cross, and at the Cross Pulpit at Norwich, and probably elsewhere, not only the preacher, but also the audience, were provided with such a shelter94."

"Will you kindly tell us," said Mr. Dole, "why you discarded the large handsome velvet cushion that was once on your pulpit, and have, instead, adopted the embroidered piece of velvet which now hangs in front of the pulpit?"

"Well, as a matter of taste, I think you will agree with me that the present beautiful frontal, with its richly-embroidered cross, is an improvement upon the old cushion. But I discarded the old big pillow– for such, indeed, it was – not only because it was unsightly, but also because it was useless, for my head is not so much more tender than that of other persons, that I, any more than they, should require a pillow to rest it on during my private devotions; and as I am not accustomed to perform the part of a mountebank in the pulpit, or, as some say, to use much action when preaching, I need no such protection in order to preserve my limbs safe and sound. But, besides this, there is a manifest objection to these huge cushions; undoubtedly they tend to impede the sound of the preacher's voice95; so I was very glad to get rid of your handsome cushion, and adopt our more convenient and more beautiful pulpit frontal."

"I often think," said Mr. Acres, "if the old pulpits could speak, what a strange account they would give of the various preachers that have occupied them. Take our own old stone pulpit, for instance. In early times, of course, there were only sermons at long intervals, perhaps often dependent upon the occasional visits of some old preaching friar. At length there came the quaint old Homilies of the Church; then there came an interruption to all true religion and order, and the old pulpit poured forth the mad ravings of the fanatical Puritans who got possession of it. Now and then came a noisy soldier to hold forth, and there was – as our old registers show – the Reverend Ebenezer Bradshaw, the Presbyterian, who left his snuff and tobacco shop to enlighten our poor benighted people; next came the Reverend Obadiah Brent, late of the 'Green Dragon,' the Independent preacher; and then the Reverend Jabez Zanchy, the baker of Starchcombe, the Anabaptist preacher96; then there was a century of long learned essays freely interspersed with Greek and Latin, so that, if the prayers were said in a language 'understanded of the people,' the sermon certainly was not. Following upon this came what we may call the muscular style of preaching – usually extempore – requiring the pillows of which you have been speaking to save the knuckles of the preacher from entire demolition. Thank God, amid these many changes, there have always been some good men to be found in our pulpits; but, for my part, I like the quiet, sober, persuasive style, which – saving your presence, Mr. Vicar – I am thankful to say, characterizes the sermons at St. Catherine's. I think sermons cannot be too practical; and, whilst they should be addressed both to the heart and the intellect, they should most of all be designed to touch the heart."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE NAVE

"Ah, Mr. Beeland, I'm so glad to see you!" said the Vicar, as, on leaving the church, he met his neighbour the newly-appointed Vicar of Droneworth. "I have been much grieved to hear of the sad opposition you have had to encounter in restoring your fine old church; but this was sure to be the case in a parish like yours, which has been so long neglected; indeed it must be so, more or less, in every parish, so long as there are people who honour themselves much more than they honour God; and such, I suppose, there will be till the end of the world. You may be sure, my friend, the woe of universal commendation97 never yet fell upon any church restorer."

"Never, certainly. But what makes our position often so difficult and so painful is the fact that, whilst we are fully sensible of the rectitude of our own course, we cannot help, to some extent, sympathizing in the feelings of those who blame us. For instance, in almost every case of church restoration it is necessary to disturb a large number of human bones, and yet we can but sympathize in that feeling of respect for the departed, which sometimes expresses itself in the most strenuous opposition to any work involving this painful necessity. Then, you see, there is the rooting up of long-cherished associations. We have a case in point close at hand. There's the grand old church of Rainsborough will be left in its miserable condition so long as the present Vicar lives, and for no other reason than this: – ten years since he lost a favourite daughter, and she had always been accustomed to sit in one particular corner of their large pew." Now the Vicar fears (and no doubt justly) that should the church be altered, the old pew with its fond associations would be swept away – and so the church will never be improved as long as he lives98. We must respect the old man's tender love for the spot sacred to the memory of his dear child, yet we plainly see it is all wrong that for the sake of the private feelings (however praiseworthy) of any one person, God's house should remain in a state of neglect, and the poor should be uncared for therein. This, however, is an oft-told tale. But most of all, we have to contend against wounded pride in its most cherished strong-hold – alas! – the Church of God; and the enemy is all the more fierce because it is prostrate.