The Henson Journals

[316]

22nd Sunday after Trinity, November 8th, 1925.

Lord, we beseech thee to keep they household the Church in continual godliness; that through they protection it may be free from all adversities, and devoutly given to serve thee in good works, to the glory of thy Name, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Sixty two years make up considerably more than average human life. Butler was only sixty when he died. Cosin was 78: Morton was 95: Tunstall was 85. Of the more recent bishops the ages were as follows: Shute Barrington 92: Van Mildert 71: Malty 89: Longley 74: Villiers 48: Baring 72: Lightfoot 61: Westcott 76: Moule 79. I have already exceeded the duration of two of my greatest predecessors and so far have achieved nothing of which my episcopate could be worth remembering. I have neither divided the diocese, nor multiplied its parishes. The creation of Rural Deanery of Barnard Castle, and the division of the "split" patronage between the Crown & the Bishop are hardly adequate foundations for any kind of flame! A continuous diminution in the number of the clergy working in the diocese will hardly help matters!

[317]

I motored to Durham taking with me Ella & Angel. Leaving them to attend the service in the Cathedral. I went on to Bede College, and preached to the students in their new chapel. It is an iron building, & smelt horribly of fresh paint. But it was filled with students – about 140 in number – and they were very attentive. Cruickshank attended me as chaplain. I got to the Cathedral just as the Preacher – R. J. Campbell – was entering the pulpit, & I heard the sermon. It was adapted to the theme of "Armistice Day", and was excellently delivered. He spoke for about 40 minutes. We returned to Auckland for lunch, & afterwards I revised my sermon in order to 'work in' some references to the Great War. Why is it that while I am very keen to perpetuate the memory of ancient triumphs e.g. Neville's Cross, I am by no means keen to keep up these Armistice Day celebrations? I motored to Darlington, & there preached in S. John's Church. A stumpy curate acted as my staff–bearer. There was an over–heated church, and an attentive congregation. My sermon was what I preached at Stranton on All Saints Day, laced with some allusions to the Great War. I returned to the Castle in a blizzard.

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