The words spoken were at first very solemn, but in a few minutes the Holy Ghost came on the minister with the most tremendous power, so that the word of the Lord was really like fire. About twenty of the children were pierced to the heart, and appeared to be in great distress, but the bigger boys still continued unmoved, and some of them even seemed disposed to laugh. In a short time however the word reached them, too, and they were smitten to the hearts with the most dreadful conviction of their sin and danger: it appeared as if the arrows of the Almighty had pierced their very reins. In about ten minutes the spectacle presented by their schoolroom was truly awfuclass="underline" out of fifty children present there were not as many as ten could stand upright: boys and girls, great and small together, were either leaning against the wall quite overcome by their feelings of distress, or bowed down with their faces hidden in their hands and sobbing in the severest agony. For some time after the minister ceased to pray, they continued where they were, not weeping, but literally deeply wailing. They expressed their desire henceforth to forsake their sins and pleasures, and seek the Lord.
It would be impossible to express in words, the awful sense of God’s presence and power felt by those who were in the schoolroom on that occasion. Four or five obtuse ploughboys were sobbing as though they had the hearts of women. Three of those most deeply smitten were hardened reckless boys, whom the minister had been obliged long before to turn out of the school, after which they used to come to the church and sit opposite the minister, and make faces at him as he was preaching the most solemn and affecting truths. Often he looked from his pulpit on these boys where they were grinning at him, and said in his heart, “What can God bring these boys here for? Surely he cannot intend to convert them.” Now only one was altogether unaffected: this boy stood upright, with a vacant stare of stupid astonishment on his face, in the midst of the children who were weeping around him, as though God had permitted him to come there to contrast between one on whom the word did not take affect, and on those whom it did.
Henry’s prayer meetings for adults in the rectory were often as passionate for he could be eloquent, with small, willing audiences.
After a sermon in December that year Starky made a peculiar announcement: “Christmas is nearly upon us — a joyful yet solemn time for all true Christians mindful of our Saviour’s coming, and who are willing to receive him. Our Belovéd Brother Prince and I will conduct the Christmas Eve service with prayer, fasting, exhortation and psalms from six o’clock to midnight, and the Christmas Day service, along with Holy Communion, from nine in the morning till nine in the evening, or later, if the Spirit so wills. We realize this will not please a majority who regard the Christmas Holy-Days, alas alas alas! as an opportunity to eat, drink and be merry, and the Yuletide services as pauses for digestion before again joining the revels. We do not wish those who view Christmas in that light way to attend our services. The time has come to make a separation between the concerned and the careless, the wheat and the chaff, sheep and goats. For three months God has been calling the faithful of this parish to him. A great many have answered that call and, though not yet converted, are struggling along the pathway to conversion. These will be heartily welcome. Our Christmas services can do the rest of you no possible good so please do not attend.”
Before most of his hearers had grasped the sense of this announcement he resumed the words of the prayer book, praying that, “At Christ’s second coming to judge the world, all present will be found an acceptable people, in the sight of Him who lives and reigns with the Father and the Holy Spirit, ever one God, world without end, Amen. O God, our Father in Heaven; have mercy upon us miserable sinners.”
Roughly half the congregation repeated the response to that while a few started whispering and buzzing. Speaking louder to overcome their noise he cried, “O God the Son, Redeemer of the world; have mercy upon us miserable sinners.”
The buzz became a clamour as many protesters stood up, looked round and spoke to each other. Starky shouted, “O God the Holy Ghost. .” before his voice was drowned by uproar. The concerned part of his congregation stayed kneeling and responding so loudly that their voices almost overcame the tumult of the rest and certainly greatly increased it.
So in Charlinch Church in 1841 Christmas Day was celebrated exactly as the rector and his curate wished, and as Henry later described it: The whole body of believers spent this day in fasting and prayer. It was a blesséd day: twenty-six believers, unaccompanied by any of the unconverted, met at the Lord’s table, and truly, the Lord Himself was present with them. The King sat at His table, a soft and loving Spirit pervaded all the people, and the Spirit knit all their hearts together into one. Can anyone resist the conviction that this is God’s work? If it be not His, whose work is it?
By 1842 the Royal Mail penny postal service was running smoothly, and over breakfast one morning Henry received a letter from his mother in Widdicombe Crescent saying that Martha’s health was much, much worse. He went at once to Bath leaving Starky to conduct the evening meetings and Sunday services, for he was now able to do both. A fortnight later Henry returned to the rectory in time for he and Starky to receive a messenger from the Bishop of Bath and Wells, who introduced himself as the Bishop’s chaplain then said, “We are sorry to hear your wife has been very ill, Mr Prince.” “No longer, sir. It is true that she suffered terribly at the end, but that is no longer the case. Martha Prince is now perfectly well and happy, in a better world than ours.”
“I am glad she is in a better world, but sorry that you are bereft of a helpmeet in these difficult times.”
“Why do you think the times difficult, sir?”
“Because you and your rector are both making them difficult for your Right Reverend Father in God, George Henry Law. He is now a very old man. Letters of complaint from your Charlinch parishioners have alarmed him extremely. I arrived here two days ago to investigate these complaints and find good cause for them.”
“What cause have you found?”
“Mr Starky, you have forbidden the Evensong service to many respectable Christians. Prominent farmers, dealers and artisans are now ordering their wives and servants not to attend any of the Sunday services. Women are threatening to leave husbands who will not go to Mr Prince’s prayer meetings and enraged husbands are threatening to kill wives who do go to them. Children are quarrelling with parents, servants with masters while the ungodly look on, laughing and hooting because they find these scandals highly entertaining. This is not Christianity. Christ is the Prince of Peace.”
Henry sighed and looked at Starky who murmured, “Christ said I come not to send peace; but a sword, for I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her — ”
“Yes yes, we know that, but Christ was referring to the sword wielded by Roman persecutors. He never rejected any who came to hear Him. You must allow all in Charlinch to attend Evensong. Those who pay life rent for pews are entitled to them under the law of the land.”
“Alas, our small church has no room for all who wish to hear God’s word from Brother Starky’s lips,” said Henry.
“That is because you have been poaching — attracting people from other parishes.”
Henry and Starky stared at each other but said nothing.