The Kirk Above Dee Water XI.
James Dodson
A Galloway Herd’s Sunday: New Style. 119
XI.
A GALLOWAY HERD’S SUNDAY: NEW STYLE.
THE “kirk road” is still a via dolorosa [the sorrowful way; traditionally associated with Christ’s path to the cross], a painful series of stages to be traversed ere the House of Prayer is reached. But an active Parish Council has already done some little towards making it less of a slough of despond in wet weather, and a miniature avalanche of loose stones in dry. Those who “travel to the kirk” are smarter than of yore. There is less, on most days, of the homespun coat and heavy foot, more of the younger and sprightlier element. From the “Brig” [“Bridge”] one or two bicycles come spinning up, with bells tinkling as by law directed, and driven meantime by men only. We may yet perhaps see John Anderson and his faithful partner revolving gravely on a sociable tricycle, as they proceed to church. There is a rapid succession of neat gigs and dogcarts, whose docile horses swing round to the Manse stables in a manner highly cheering to the weary student of non-churchgoing. It is noticeable, to a Herd of some experience, that there are more young people, and fewer grey heads and feeble forms. That means, that the foundations laid in Sunday schools and Communicants’ classes are rising rapidly up to a firm and fixed habit of church attendance. May it be truly so !
120 The Kirk above Dee Water.
The “tunes” are chosen, five in number, and mostly hymns. It may be regretted, but the fact stands that metrical psalm and paraphrase are fast going out. Perhaps the psalm will ere long reappear in due place of honour as a “prose chant.” The paraphrase is doomed, unless to some extent it can be furbished up as a hymn. Rather than lose such noble and well-beloved lines as those of “O God of Bethel,” “O happy is the man who hears,” “Behold ! the mountain of the Lord,” “Ho ! ye that thirst,” “Come, let us to the Lord our God,” “Father of all, we bow to thee,” “While humble shepherds,” “Hark ! the glad sound !” “I’m not ashamed,” “Father of peace,” and others; rather than this, one would even consent to embody them in the Scottish Hymnal. One at least of these paraphrases can never be neglected in this church : the demure old Twelfth, with its Johnsonian phrases. And one other, to the hallowed strains of Communion, must ever be part, along with the 103rd Psalm to Coleshill and the “Old Hundredth,” of our Scottish Communion Office.
There is a comfortable little vestry now, whither one may go in good time and complete such slender “robing” as a Scottish minister is permitted to transact. These “bands,” the invidious distinction of a “placed man,” the relics of a faded fashion in lay attire—are they destined to persist in the New Style? Much irritating pulling and patting and fumbling would be saved if clerical fashions changed here. There is a schism on the subject of hoods, promoted mainly by persons who have none or ugly ones. We say, that this is for each man’s conscience and convenience. It is at best a badge of worldly honour, although a B.D.
A Galloway Herd’s Sunday: New Style. 121
hood [Batchelor of Divinity hood; i.e., proving his graduation] may inspire confidence in the preacher’s orthodoxy and safeness.
The bell has been bounding from side to side for five minutes; the thrilling moment, which never ceases to quicken the pulse even after many years, has come at last. Let the carefully prepared discourse be duly taken up in its worn old case. And take heed it be not upon sunshine and fair weather, if rain and east wind are without. There is a gentle echo of the simple opening voluntary. The beadle opens the door, and the short accustomed space to the pulpit is traversed. What different feelings one has had going over these few yards ! Often it has been sheer despair for lack of a “right spirit within,” to give a right message outwardly to a slender flock. Sometimes it has been exulting confidence, buoyed up by some unaccountable flush of religious fervour. “He is a very unequal preacher,” it was said of one born in this parish, now famous as a writer. In the last capacity, too, he is unequal. Is not genius a high peak towering among uneven and humble projections? Must not one preach often “out of the depths,” in order to preach sometimes from the heights? There is a brief pause for silent prayer. Let it be, that grace be granted and good voice. Strange that to-day we begin with “a purpose of marriage,” instead of “Let us worship God.” But young folks must be “cried,” although wild horses would not drag them here to listen to their own names, with the sweet “between” linking them.
There is a full choir, and all goes well, with a solemn Amen at each close. Let the daily collect be repeated as well as memory permits, and the Lord’s Prayer as its Author
122 The Kirk above Dee Water.
gave it, ere we plunge into the sermon. It is a good day if there is perfect stillness, or only a long-drawn sigh at intervals. Never was any congregation so sympathetic and responsive as a Galloway congregation. Every point is seized. The risk is to press any one emotion too far, with such sensitive hearers, who will smile as readily as they weep. And a smile in “the kirk” is deadly sin.
Now we have our closing prayers and hymn, but let no benediction go forth until the [collection] ladle has made its swift round, and all offerings have been received. Meantime, a quiet strain of harmony (we dare not yet call it an offertoire [offertory, i.e., it is not yet acknowledged as part of worship because of the popish overtones this language would convey]) floats over the church. The beautiful old way is kept of taking the minister’s offering last, and so sending him forth with the feeling that he too has worshipped and offered.
The blessing is pronounced, and all is hushed for a time. The New Style here is so customary, that we hardly now believe that men once pushed and nudged and shuffled, half-hatted, as the last words were said. But so it was, in this very place, but thirteen years ago. Then, every benediction caused an apparent panic, and all fled in blind haste from the place. Now, one here and there lingers to look at the sweet north window, and departs (we know) with tender thoughts of “Him that loved us.”
In the vestry, the ladles discharge their small burden, and the routine of session duty is gone through. The “discipline case” is still in the land. The foul blot on Galloway manhood seems no smaller. But opinion grows among educated men, that such discipline is a worn-out form.
Some miles off, there is Sunday school and service in a diminutive village hall. And then there are two baptisms
A Galloway Herd’s Sunday: New Style. 123
in private houses; for our kirk has still no font, nor willing people to use it if there were one. Baptism in private, though it be a misdemeanour, is yet a kindly social function, at which the chief Galloway beverage (I mean tea, and mean it seriously) figures honourably. The little ones, boy and girl (the boy first if one can) are named, and give their little cry of surprise ; and pleasant, cheery talk sends the Herd homeward refreshed. A friendly companion lightens a mile or twain with his equal step. Then good-night, and good-bye !
Still the river dreams and whispers among the rushes. A few lights gleam “across the water,” some fringing the opposite bank as if to signal some wayfaring boat. There are deeps and shallows out there, where the moon is on the water; and the deep is often but one step beyond the shallow. This day, one has touched both depth and shoal. In a worthy and inspiring “kirk” we have been plunged into the infinite, and in the common meetings outside we have found wholesome footing again. As to-day, so the whole week. The sublime will melt into the commonplace, and the commonplace may suddenly explode into the tragic. May we keep our balance in both, and learn from the shining river that “in quietness and in confidence shall be our strength !”