The Henson Journals

[164]

23rd Sunday after Trinity, November 11th, 1928.

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Armistice Day. [Oxford]

Before descending to breakfast I read through my sermon, and decided, though very regretfully, to shorten it by cutting out the first five pages. In view of all the traditions of the pulpit, this modern craze for limiting sermons to 20 minutes is as preposterous as it I humiliating. Especially in these days of secular education & secularised homes, where no knowledge of Scripture can be assumed in the congregation, & the preacher, if he quotes the Scriptures, which he can hardly avoid doing, must at least quote them at sufficient length to make the quotation apparently relevant, this excessive shortness of time creates immense difficulty.

At breakfast I had some talk with the Bishop of Bangor (lately of Monmouth) about the Welsh language. He said that the reason why he had been transferred to Bangor was that he could speak Welsh, & was, therefore, suitable to preside over a Welsh–speaking diocese. He said that he thought the Welsh language an adequate instrument for expressing modern culture: [165] that there was real intellectual advantage in being bilingual: and that he should regret the dying out of the Welsh language. I pointed out that the 3 dying languages of Europe – Erse, Flemish, & Welsh – were barricades against modern ideas, behind which religious fanaticisms could develope & grow strong. Papalism & Dissent found in these sheltered communities their main strong–holds.

I walked over to the Common Room, & found Wilkinson reading the paper. Rather to my surprize he agreed with me in thinking it desirable that the observance of Armistice Day should now cease. Hodson, one of the two new fellows, came in: a bright young spark specializing in economics.

There was a large congregation in S. Mary's at 11.30 a.m., when a special service was held. The gallery was three parts filled with undergraduates. My sermon was listened to very closely, but evidently did not command universal agreement, for after the service as I walked back to All Souls I was accosted by a cadaverous–looking young man, who assured me that 'my message was the message of the fiend'!! The service was followed by the Holy Communion, when I communicated & assisted.

[166]

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I lunched with Chute in his sumptuous rooms on Magdalen College, and had much talk with him. He entirely confirms Streeter's view that Oxford is now in a morally sound state. He spoke of Buchmanism, this strange quietistic doctrine which is being preached in the University. He had met Buchman himself, & described him as an unprepossessing fellow. The effect of his teaching on undergraduates is to make them morbidly introspective, & to incline them to various excesses of "enthusiasm", to the prejudice both of their studies and of their careers. He said that under the present Warden, New College was losing its old influence in the University, & that there was a marked tendency for the abler men from Winchester to come to Magdalen.

I preached in New College Chapel. The congregation consisted mainly of undergraduates, a fact which was the more satisfactory since I addressed my sermon directly to them. They were very attentive. The singing of the final hymn, "For all the saints who from their labours rest", was something not easily to be equalled, & never to be forgotten. The Warden (Fisher) [167 symbol] expressed his approval, and asked my permission to have the sermon printed. I gave him the MS. willingly enough, though indeed the discourse was too slight for publication. Then I dined in Hall, sitting between the Warden and Matheson. After Common room, Fisher took me to his lodgings, & there about a dozen undergraduates came in to drink coffee, & talk. At 10.15 p.m. I returned to All Souls.

And here, in face of these undergraduates, I missed a great opportunity, & talked lightly and jestingly, when I might have driven home the message of my sermon by a graver discourse. Partly, it was the amiable desire of putting the shy, tongue–tied youths at their ease, and partly the pleasure of seeing them brighten and laugh. But it was a rare chance wasted, & I felt that I had failed in my clear duty. Perhaps, indeed, – and this may in equity be regarded as some extenuation of my fault – there was the physical reaction after the exalting emotions of the preaching. For it is ever so with me. Whenever I have been more than commonly moved, I find myself afterwards in the mood of extravagant absurdity, in which I "let myself go" in very reckless and incongruous talking. "Thou knowest whereof we are made: Thou remembrest that we are but dust."

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