From Death into Life by William Haslam

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It excites me even now to think about it, though it is thirty-five years
since I made these discoveries. The old librarian at Oxford declared
that I was mad, and yet he could not keep away from the subject, and he
was never weary of hearing something more about it. This reverend Doctor
said, "If you are right, then all the great antiquaries are wrong." I
suggested that they had not had the advantage I possessed of placing
their various theories side by side, or of making their observations
from my point of view.

Notwithstanding all these external labours, which engrossed my earnest
and deep attention, I did not neglect my parish. I felt, however, that
my parishioners did not know anything about ecclesiastical antiquities
or architectural science; and that they knew nothing, and cared less,
about Church teaching. They did not believe, with me, that in order to
be saved hereafter, they ought to be in the Church, and receive the Holy
Communion--that there is no salvation out of the Church, and no Church
without a Bishop. They were utterly careless about these things and from
the first had been an unsympathetic and unteachable people. I feel sure
that had it not been for other interesting occupations which engaged my
mind, I should have been altogether discouraged with them.

I tried to stir them up to a zeal worthy of their ancestors, who were
such good and loyal Churchmen, that King Charles the First wrote them a
letter of Commendation, and commanded that it should be put up in all
the churches. I had a copy of this letter well painted, framed, and
placed in a conspicuous part of my church. Then I prepared an original
sermon, which I preached, or rather read, to inaugurate the royal
letter.

My text was taken from Heb. 12:22-24, "Ye are come unto Mount Sion, and
unto the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an
innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and church of the
first-born, which are written in heaven, and to God the Judge of all,
and to the spirits of just men made perfect, and to Jesus the mediator
of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh
better things than that of Abel." I applied these words to the Church of
England, and rather reproached the Cornish people for not being more
loyal and scriptural!

I think I was more roused by my sermon than any one else; and no one
asked me to print it, but I did for all that, with a copy of the king's
letter. I am sorry to say that the public did not care sufficiently
about it to buy copies enough even to pay for printing.

It fell very flat, but I attributed that to the degeneracy of the times,
and of Cornish people in particular. The fact was, they understood that
text far better than I did, and knew that "the Church of the first-born"
was something more spiritual than I had any conception of.

From the commencement of my ministry I did not, as a general rule,
preach my own sermons, but Newman's, which I abridged and simplified,
for in that day I thought them most sound in doctrine, practical and
full of good common sense. Indeed, as far as Church teaching went, they
were, to my mind, perfect. They stated doctrines and drew manifest
conclusions; but my people were not satisfied with them then; and I can
see now, thank God! that, with all their excellences, they were utterly
deficient in spiritual vitality.

Their author was one whom I personally admired very much, but by his own
showing, in his "Apologia." he was a man who was searching not for God,
but for a Church. At length, when he grasped the ideal of what a Church
ought to be, he tried by the Oxford Tracts, especially No. XC, to raise
the Church of England to his standard; and failing in that, he became
dissatisfied, and went over to the Church of Rome.

Once, when I arrived at a friend's house in the Lake district, I was
told that there was a most beautiful view of distant mountains to be
seen from my window. In the morning I lifted the blind to look, but only
saw an ordinary view of green fields, hedges, trees and a lake. There
was nothing else whatever to be seen. In the course of the day, a heavy
mist which had been hanging over the lake was dispersed, and then I saw
the beautiful mountains which before had been so completely veiled that
it was difficult to believe in their existence.

So it was with me. I could see ecclesiastical things, but the more
glorious view of spiritual realities beyond them, in all their full and
vast expanse, was as yet hidden.

Whether my extracts from Newman's Sermons were more pointed, or whether
I became more impatient with my congregation, I cannot tell, but it was
very evident that my words were beginning to take effect at last; for as
I went on preaching and protesting against the people and against
schism, my "bass viol" called on me one day, and said, "If you go on
preaching that doctrine, you will drive away the best part of your
congregation." "Excuse me," I answered, "not the best part; you mean the
worse part." "Well," ho said, "you will see."

On the following Sunday, I gave out my text, and had scarcely read three
pages of my manuscript when I heard a voice say, "Now we will go." With
this, the "bass viol," the other fiddles, the clarionet, the ophicleide,
and the choir, came stumping down the gallery stairs, and marched out.
Some of the congregation followed their example, with the determination
never to come back to the Church again. I waited till the noise was
over, and then went on with my sermon meekly, and thought myself a
martyr for Church principles.

I little thought that the people were being martyred; yet they were
right, and enlightened in the truth, while I was altogether in the dark,
and knew nothing about it. From this time there was a constant feud
between the parishioners and myself. I thought that they were
schismatics; and they knew that I was unconverted, and did not preach
the Gospel.

One day, a Dissenter called to pay a burial fee for the funeral of his
child, which he had purposely omitted paying at the proper time because
he wished to tell me a piece of his mind. I was absent on the occasion
on some architectural or archaeological business, which was to me all
important. "I know," he said, "why you went away and would not bury my
child." "Do you?" I asked. "Yes; it was because I am a Dissenter." "Oh!"
I said, "I would bury you all to-morrow if I could; for you are no good,
and can do none either."

This went round the parish like wildfire, and did not advance my
popularity or do my cause any good.

Seriously at this time I thought that separation from the Church of
England was a most deadly sin--it was schism. Idolatry and murder were
sins against the Mosaic law; but this was a sin against the Church. I
little dreamt then that many of the people with whom I thus contended,
and whom I grieved so much, were real spiritual members of Christ, and
had only ceased to be members of the Church of England because I did not
preach the Gospel; that, in fact, I was the cause of their leaving the
services; that I was the schismatic, for I was separated from Christ:
they only, and that for a good reason, had separated from the communion
of the Church of England, which I misrepresented.

The Church of England's teaching since the Reformation, like that of the
primitive Church, is based not on baptism, but conversion. Baptism was
intended according to the Lord's commandment (Matt 28:19), for the
purpose of making disciples*--that is, to graft members into the body of
Christ's Church outwardly. Whatever special grace is given to infants
and others at baptism, is given upon the condition of personal faith and
repentance. Until a baptized person has been enabled by the Holy Ghost
to repent and believe the Gospel, he is not really a new-born child of
God, or raised from death into life, though nominally, in the words of
the Catechism, he has "been made a child of God."

__________________

* See Greek
___________________

Since the feuds and dissensions in my parish, the church was almost
deserted, and left chiefly to myself, my clerk, and a few poor people,
who, for the most part, were in ill favour in the chapels.

One day I was absorbed in writing, or rather rewriting, a text over the
porch door of the church. It was, "This is none other but the house of
God, and this is the gate of heaven." A man who was standing at the foot
of the ladder said, "Heaven is a long way from that gate, I reckon." I
pretended not to hear him, but his speech stuck to me. I knew only too
well from this, and many other indications, that the people had no
respect for the church under my ministrations.

CHAPTER 5

The New Parish, 1846.

About this time the news reached us that the Vicar was dead; and thus
ended my connection with Perranzabuloe. As the Dean and Chapter would
not appoint me to succeed, I had no alternative but to make arrangements
for my departure.

In one sense I was not sorry to go; but for various other reasons I much
regretted having to leave a place where my health had been so
wonderfully restored and sustained, and in which I had received so many
tokens of God's favour. It is true that my labours were of an external
character; but these I thought most important, and did them with all my
might as unto the Lord. I took the work as from Him, and did it all to
Him, and for Him, thanking Him for any token of success or commendation
which I received.

I also regretted leaving the place before I had done any good to the
people; for, with all my endeavours, I had not succeeded in persuading
them to receive my idea of salvation by churchmanship.

However, the door was shut behind me; and this crisis happened at the
exact time of another important event in my life. I was just engaged to
be married, and therefore had an additional interest in looking for a
sphere of labour which would suit me, and also the partner of my choice,
who was in every respect likely to be an effectual helpmeet This was
soon found and we agreed together to give ourselves to the Lord's work
(as we thought) in it.

One of the "Peel" districts in the neighbourhood of Truro, which I had
designed, called Baldhu, was on the Earl of Falmouth's estate: it came
to his Lordship's mind to take an interest in this desolate spot; so he
bought the patronage from the commissioners, and then offered it to me,
to Be made into a new parish. This I accepted, with many thanks, and
began immediately to dream about my plans for the future.

It was a time of great distress in that place amongst the tenants, on
account of the failure of the potato crop; so his lordship employed some
hundreds of the men in breaking up the barren croft for planting trees;
there he gave me a good central site for a church.

Now I made up my mind to have everything perfect, and with my own rules
and regulations, my surpliced choir, churchwardens, and frequent
services, all after my own heart, it could scarcely fall to be
otherwise. I thought that having free scope, mine should be a model
place. The district was in a barren part of a large palish; three
thousand souls had been assigned to me; and I was to go and civilize
them, build my church, school-house, and, indeed, establish everything
that was necessary.

To begin with, I took a room which was used for a village school in the
week, and for a service on Sunday. This succeeded so well, that in a few
months I determined to enlarge the building in which we assembled, as
speedily as possible. Having made all necessary plans, and procured
stones, timber, and slate, we commenced operations at five o'clock one
Monday morning, and by Saturday night had a chancel (which I thought
most necessary) ready for Sunday use!

All the world came to see this sudden erection. This temporary church
now held three hundred people; and with the addition of a new choir and
hearty service, it was a great success, or, at least, so I imagined, for
in those days I did not look for more.

I entered upon my work here with renewed energy and sanguine hope. I
had, of course, gained more experience in the various duties of my
ministry, and had, moreover, a clearer perception, as I thought, how
sacramental teaching, under the authority of the Church, ought to work.
I preached on holy living, not conversion, for as yet I knew nothing
about the latter.

In 1847, I went on a visit to a very remarkable man, who had a great
effect upon me in many ways. He was the Rev. Robert Hawker, of
Morwenstow, in the extreme north of Cornwall.*

____________________

* See his "LIFE," by Rev. Baring Gould.
____________________

This friend was a poet, and a High Churchman, from whom I learned many
practical lessons. He was a man who prayed, and expected an answer; he
had a wonderful perception for realizing unseen things, and took
Scripture literally, with startling effect. He certainly was most
eccentric in many of his ways; but there was a reality and
straightforwardness about him which charmed me very much; and I was the
more drawn to him, from the interest he took in me and my work.

He knew many legends of holy men of old, and said that the patron saints
of West Cornwall were in the calendar of the Eastern Church, and those
in the north of Cornwall belonged to the Western. His own patron saint,
Morwenna, was a Saxon, and his church a Saxon fane. He talked of these
saints as if he knew all about them, and wrote of them in a volume of
poems thus:--

"They had their lodges in the wilderness,
And built them cells along the shadowy sea;
And there they dwelt with angels like a dream,
And filled the field of the evangelists
With thoughts as sweet as flowers."

He used to give most thrilling and grand descriptions of the storms of
the Atlantic, which broke upon the rocky coast with gigantic force, and
tell thrilling stories of shipwrecks; how he saved the lives of some of
the sailors, and how he recovered the bodies of others he could not
save. Then in the churchyard he would show you--there, a broken boat
turned over the resting-place of some; here, two oars set up crosswise
over several others; and in another part the figure-head of a ship, to
mark the spot where the body of a captain was buried.

The Vicarage house was as original as himself. Over the door was
inscribed--

"A house, a glebe, a pound a day;
A pleasant place to watch and pray.
Be true to Church, be kind to poor,
O minister, for evermore!"

The interior was furnished with old-fashioned heavy furniture and the
outside was conspicuous for its remarkable chimneys, which were finished
off as models of the towers of churches where he had served. The kitchen
chimney, which was oblong, perplexed him very much, till (as he said) "I
bethought me of my mother's tomb; and there it is, in its exact shape
and dimensions!"

He had daily service in his church, generally by himself, when he prayed
for the people. "I did not want them there." he said. "God hears me; and
they know when I am praying for them, for I ring the bell."

He had much influence in his parish, chiefly amongst the poor, and
declared that his people did whatever he told them. They used to bring a
bunch of flowers or evergreens every Sunday morning, and set them up in
their pew ends, where a proper place was made to hold them. The whole
church was seated with carved oak benches, which he had bought from time
to time from other churches, when they were re-pewed with "deal boxes!"

On the Sunday, I was asked to help him in the service, and for this
purpose was arrayed in an alb, plain, which was just like a cassock in
white linen. As I walked about in this garb, I asked a friend, "How do
you like it?" In an instant I was pounced upon, and grasped sternly on
the arm by the Vicar. "'Like' has nothing to do with it; is it right?"
He himself wore over his alb a chasuble, which was amber on one side and
green on the other, and was turned to suit the Church seasons; also a
pair of crimson-colored gloves, which, he contended, were the proper
sacrificial colour for a priest.

I had very little to do in the service but to witness his proceedings,
which I observed with great attention, and even admiration. His
preaching struck me very much; he used to select the subject of his
sermon from the Gospel of the day all through the year. This happened to
be "Good Samaritan Sunday," so we had a discourse upon the "certain man
who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho," in which he told us that "the
poor wounded man was Adam's race; the priest who went by was the
Patriarchal dispensation; the Levite, the Mosaic; and the good Samaritan
represented Christ; the inn was the Church; and the twopence, the
Sacraments."

He held his manuscript before his face, and read it out boldly, because
he "hated," as he said, "those fellows who read their sermons, and all
the time pretend to preach them;" and he especially abhorred those who
secreted notes in their Bibles: "Either have a book, sir, or none!"

He had a great aversion to Low Church clergymen, and told me that his
stag Robin, who ranged on the lawn, had the same; and that once he
pinned one of them to the ground between his horns. The poor man cried
out in great fear; so he told Robin to let him go, which he did, but
stood and looked at the obnoxious individual as if he would like to have
him down again and frighten him, though he would not hurt him--"Robin
was kind-hearted."

"This Evangelical," he continued, "had a tail coat; he was dressed like
an undertaker, sir. Once upon a time there was one like him travelling
in Egypt, with a similar coat and a tall hat; and the Arabs pursued him,
calling him the 'father of saucepans, with a slit tail.'" This part of
his speech was evidently meant for me, for I wore a hat and coat of this
description, finding it more convenient for the saddle, and for dining
out when I alighted.

He persuaded me to wear a priestly garb like his, and gave me one of his
old cassocks for a pattern; this I succeeded in getting made to my
satisfaction, after considerable difficulty.

I came back to my work full of new thoughts and plans, determined to do
what was "right" and this in spite of all fears, whether my own, or
those of others.

I now began to think more of the reality of prayer, and of the meaning
of the services of the Church; I emphasized my words, and insisted upon
proper teaching. I also paid more attention to my sermons, having
hitherto disregarded them; for, as I said, "the Druids never preached;
they only worshipped."

I help up my manuscript and read my sermon, like Mr. Hawker; and I wore
a square cap and cassock, instead of the "saucepan" and the "tails."
This costume I continued to wear for several years, though I was
frequently laughed at, and often pursued by boys, which was not
agreeable to flesh and blood; but it helped to separate me from the
world, and to make me feel that I was set apart as a priest to offer
sacrifice for the people.

In course of time I began to make preparations for my permanent church.
I drew the designs for it, passed them, and obtained money enough to
begin to build. There was a grand ceremony at the stone-laying, and a
long procession. We had banners, chanting, and a number of surpliced
clergy, besides a large congregation.

The Earl of Falmouth, who laid the stone, contributed a thousand pounds
towards the edifice; his mother gave three hundred pounds for a peal of
bells; and others of the gentry who were present contributed; so that
upwards of eighteen hundred pounds was promised that day. Just twelve
months after, July 20, 1848, the same company, with many others, and the
Bishop of Exeter (Phillpotts) came to consecrate the "beautiful church."

In the meantime, between the stone-laying and the consecration, the
Parsonage house had been built, and, more than that, it was even
papered, furnished, and inhabited! Besides all this, there was a garden
made, and a doorway, after an ecclesiastical mode, leading into the
churchyard, with this inscription over it:--

"Be true to Church,
Be kind to poor,
O minister, for evermore."

In this church there were super-altars, candles, triptych, and also a
painted window; organ, choir, and six bells; so that for those days it
was considered a very complete thing. "The priest of Baldhu," with his
cassock and square cap, was quite a character in his small way. He
preached in a surplice, of course, and propounded Church tactics, firmly
contending for the Church teaching. The Wesleyans and others had their
distinctive tenets, the Church must have hers: they had their members
enrolled, the Church must have hers; therefore he would have a "guild,"
with the view of keeping his people together. Outwardly there was an
esprit de corps, and the parishioners came to church, and took an
interest in the proceedings; but it was easy to see that their hearts
were elsewhere. Still I went on, hoping against hope, "building from the
top" without any foundation, teaching people to live before they were
born!

CHAPTER 6

The Awakening, 1848-51.

He more earnestly I wrought among the people, and the better I knew
them, the more I saw that the mere attachment to the Church, and
punctual attendance at the services or frequency of Communion, was not
sufficient. I wanted something deeper. I wanted to reach their hearts in
order to do them good.

Whether this desire sprang up in the ordinary progress by which God was
imperceptibly leading me, or from a story I heard at a clerical meeting,
I know not--perhaps from both. My mind was evidently as ground prepared
to receive the warning. The story was about a dream a clergyman had. He
thought the Judgment day was come, and that there was, as it were, a
great visitation--greater than the Bishop's. The clergy were mustering,
and appeared in their gowns, but instead of being alone, they had part
of their congregations with them. Some had a few followers, others had
more, and some a great many; and ail these received a gracious smile
from the Judge when their names were called. The clergyman who dreamed
was waiting, as he supposed, with a large number of people at his back
When his turn came he went forward; but, as he approached, he saw that
the Judge's countenance was sad and dark. In a sudden impulse of
suspicion he looked back; and lo! there was no one behind him. He
stopped, not daring to go any further, and turning to look at the Judge,
saw that His countenance was full of wrath. This dream had such an
effect upon him that he began to attend to his parish and care for the
souls of his people.

I also was beginning to see that I ought to care for the souls of my
people-at least, as much as I did for the services Of the Church. As a
priest, I had the power (so I thought) to give them absolution; and yet
none, alas! availed themselves of the opportunity. How could they have
forgiveness if they did not come to me? This absolution I believed to be
needful before coming to Holy Communion, and that it was, indeed, the
true preparation for that sacred ordinance. I used to speak privately to
the members of the Church Guild about this, and persuaded some of them
to come to me for confession and absolution: but I was restless, and
felt that I was doing good by stealth. Besides this, those whom I thus
absolved were not satisfied, for they said they could not rejoice in the
forgiveness of their sins as the Methodists did, or say that they were
pardoned. In this respect I was working upon most tender ground, but I
did not know what else to do.

I used to spend hours and hours in my church alone in meditation and
prayer; and, while thinking, employed my hands in writing texts over the
windows and on the walls, and in painting ornamental borders above the
arches. I remember writing over the chancel arch, with much interest and
exultation, "Now is come salvation, and strength, and the kingdom of our
God, and the power of His Christ." (Rev. 12:10).

I imagined, in my sanguine hope, that the kingdom of Christ was come,
and that the "accuser of the brethren" was cast down. I thought I saw,
in the power of Christ given to His priests, such victory that nothing
could stand against it. So much for dwelling on a theory, right or
wrong, till it fills the mind. Yet I cannot say that all this was
without prayer. I did wait upon God, and thought my answers were from
Him; but I see now that I went to the Lord with an idol in my heart, and
that He answered me according to it (Ezek. 14:3).

One day I saw a picture in a friend's house which attracted me during
the time I was waiting for him. It was nothing artistic, nor was it over
well drawn, but still it engaged my attention in a way for which I could
not account. When my friend came down we talked about other things; but
even after I left the house this picture haunted me. At night I lay
awake thinking about it--so much so, that I rose early the next morning,
and went to a bookseller's shop, where I bought a large sheet of
tracing-paper and pencil, and sent them out by the postman, with a note
to my friend, begging him to give me a tracing of the picture in
question.

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