The Henson Journals

[141]

3rd Sunday after Epiphany, January 27th, 1924.

What though in poor and humble guise

Thou here didst sojourn, cottage–born?

Yet from Thy glory in the skies

Our earthly gold Thou dost not scorn.

For Love delights to bring her best,

And where Love is, that offering evermore is blest.

Keble's lines are apposite, since I must preach tonight at Willington where the people are so greatly pleased with themselves for raising money enough to pay the parochial debts that they have designed the services to be a kind of parish thanksgiving. There is, perhaps, more of the Pharisee's prayer in it than of the Publican's but in Religion as in less sacred matters, you must not look a gift–horse in the mouth. We are mostly shut up to the evil choice between the contrasted hypocrisies of ostentatious gift–giving, and lowly–speaking parcimony [sic]!

I celebrated the Holy Communion in the Chapel at 8 a.m. After breakfast I prepared notes for tonight's preaching, and wrote to Fawkes thanking him for his Hereford sermon, and asking for leave to quote it in Convocation. After lunch I walked round the Park with the dogs. The weather was spring like, and the views at their best.

I motored to Willington, and preached at a curious kind of improvised Festival. The parochial debts have been cleared off, & the congregation desired to thank God and – blow its own trumpet!

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