Aug 15th — I protest that I die daily. My inward life is undergoing a gradual destruction. I perceive life lies substantially in the will; and only Spirit of God can destroy the will, the iron-hearted will of man, keeping it in a state of continual crucifixion, cutting asunder soul and spirit like a two edged sword. O Love. Whose life is the Light of Thine unsullied truth, it is Thou art that “devouring fire” — Thou art those “everlasting burnings” of eternity. O, who shall dwell with Thee?
Oct 28th — I have had no permission from God to write this journal since I made my last entry. It would not be possible, if indeed it were lawful to describe the marvellous work God has been carrying on in my soul in the last seven weeks. I have passed through the middle of self, and now, at length, come out at the other side into God.47 God has answered my prayer and condescended to teach me Himself by His own Spirit. For the last two and a half years this journal has been penned under the guidance and Spirit of God within me, faithfully recording the long and toilsome journey from the creature up to God. Though the expectations behind my prayers were almost unbounded, yet God, in answering them, has done exceeding abundantly more than I could either ask or think. I, being routed and grounded in love, can comprehend the breadth, and depth, and length, and height of Christ’s love and can say in all sobriety and seriousness “I am filled with all the fullness of God.” Unto Him in the church of Christ Jesus, throughout all ages, world without end Amen! Amen! and Amen!
— These Amens are the last words of Henry James Prince’s published diary. In the three years it covers he had introduced his sister to Arthur Rees, at first his closest friend at Lampeter, and they had married. No entries refer to these events. When he gave his manuscript to the printers twenty years later his sister and Rees had no place in this spiritual autobiography.
23: CHARLINCH
Before leaving St David’s College as an ordained clergyman Henry James Prince visited the Principal for the customary exchange of farewell civilities. Dr Ollivant, though glad to be seeing this troublesome former student for the last time, offered Prince a glass of wine and no flicker of annoyance changed his bland, ruddy face when the offer was quietly refused. Standing aside his hearthrug he said, “I wish you joy of your curacy, Prince. Charlinch, eh?”
“Charlinch, near Bridgwater.”
“Rural and secluded. I thought you would have preferred a busy parish in an infernal manufacturin’ town where you would have had scope to evangelize. Agricultural congregations are brutish and dull rather than vicious and lost — Charlinch doesn’t even have a public house. But the rectory is quite large, I believe. I hope Mrs Prince did not come to you empty-handed, I know you are not a rich man.”
“Her fortune is sufficient for us,” said Henry quietly.
“Good. Good. The Church of England is like the British Army: you can’t go far in it without money or connections. Sam Starky, your rector, is well connected. Nephew of Lady Alicia Coventry, related through her to half the nobility of England. If not exactly a foot-hold it is a good toe-hold, if you know how to climb. I was impressed by how adroitly you set up your own little establishment here — The Lampeter Brethren, no less! Enthusiasm was thought a disease of the labourin’ classes when I was young. Our aristocracy were nearly all atheists, though it was bad form to say so — they knew the Church of England was needed to hold the rabble down. French aristos were open atheists and look what happened to them! But times have changed, Prince. Yes, nerve and imagination can work wonders. However, Starky is a sickly fellow, a valetudinarian if not exactly a hypochondriac, always takin’ the cure at waterin’ places and south coast resorts. I doubt if you’ll ever actually see him.”
There was a brief silence in which Henry was about to take his leave when Ollivant said abruptly, “You are a good soul and mean well, Prince, so I am moved to offer advice. I hear that — apart from readin’ a few heady mystics — you despize erudition.”
“The disciples Jesus called were not erudite, Dr Ollivant.”
“Quite so, but then Jesus instructed them, and He taught those ignorant fishermen so well that by their eloquence the whole Roman Empire was at last converted.”
“And by the miracle of Pentecost, sir.”
“O yes. Tongues of fire from Heaven givin’ everyone the gift of tongues. Well, we must not look for that miracle nowadays, for if we do it will turn us into lunatics, charlatans, or dupes like poor Edward Irving. He prayed for the gift of tongues and got it with a vengeance! Hysterical women where he preached started babblin’ nonsense until they and their supporters took Irving over and made a new religion of him — The Catholic Apostolic Pentecostal Church, no less! A church that rejects the doctrine of Original Sin. The Church of Scotland must be glad they excommunicated him before that happened. The Churches of England, Rome and every decent non-conformist sect would have done the same. Irving saw the error of his ways before he died but fools rich enough to know better still keep Catholic Apostolic churches goin’ strong, not just in London and Edinburgh but France, Germany, Switzerland and the United States. They must think they’re buyin’ places in the Kingdom of Heaven. Any danger of you goin’ Pentecostal, Prince?”
Henry slightly smiled and slightly shook his head.
“Good. Now, I have no wish to hurt your feelin’s but I hear that compared with your impromptu prayers, your sermons are, shall I say — less adequate?”
“I have had little pulpit experience, sir.”
“Most of us are shaky at the start. I certainly was. On preachin’ my first sermon before a Bishop I tried to impress him by sayin’ it all without notes. Result: young Ollivant dries up halfway through and stumbles as fast as he can into the blessin’. A disgustin’ performance. I see you pull a wry face at the word performance. Is that because it suggests play actin’?”
Henry nodded.
“No matter. An honest intelligent clergyman can learn to do better from the theatre. Well, the Bishop was a good old soul and a relative of mine. Over dinner afterward he said what I have never forgotten and will now pass on to you. Every old rectory and vicarage in England, said he, has a shelf of sermons, the best of them written by great clerics who founded the Anglican church when English prose was at its best, as is proved by our prayer book and the King James authorized Bible. Read those sermons. Memorize passages whose truth and beauty strikes you. Of course, you have six days a week to write sermons of your own, but few vicars of Christ preached as mightily as Latimer, for example. When your pulpit eloquence falters you should find support in the words of men who were (dare I say this to you Prince? Yes. .) men who were wiser and wittier than you will ever be. I put that to you, Prince, and leave it with you.”