[British Critic, Oct. 1839]
1.
Few passages in the history of the Church are better calculated to raise the Christian heart in admiration and gratitude to the Giver of all good, than her fortunes in the United States, fortunes which have a still greater promise in the future, than a present accomplishment. Her power in withstanding persecution, in overcoming heresy, in retaining her hold over nations, in absorbing into herself and exercising the functions of political bodies, nay, her mere continuance in the world, though always to appearance losing ground and breaking up,—all these signs of an ever-watchful Providence are most wonderful; yet not less than any is the spectacle of the mustard-seed cast upon the wilderness, finding a lodgment in the hard soil, and taking root, no one knows how, and promising to become a large tree. In her first planting, and almost wherever she has been propagated, the Church went out as a whole, completely organized, fully furnished in all things, even though one or two individuals were the keepers of the treasure. A bishop issuing forth, to convert the heathen, evolves a Church from himself by his apostolical powers, and transmits to it the perfect creed which he has brought with him. Far otherwise was it with the Church’s planting in America—she found her way thither in the most feeble and destitute condition. She had no bishops, no visible form of government, churches but here and there, scanty ordinances, few teachers. She was overrun and overborne by other forms of Christianity, and, when the Revolution came, she lost the provisions which had been made for her support. By that rough tempest the tender or rather sickly vine which the mother Church was rearing as she best might, was torn down from the props and lattices on which she had been trained; and lay along the ground to be trampled under foot by passers-by. How were those broken branches ever to bear fruit? How was that to grow which could not stand? Who would have prophesied anything hopeful of her, who thought it worth while to prophesy at all? Yet the principle of life was there; the holy stranger was for a while silent and was forgotten; but at length “the fire kindled, and at the last she spake with her tongue.”
Even then though we had no especial connexion or concern with the American Church, we should be led as Christians to dwell upon her history as a signal instance of Almighty God’s faithfulness to His own appointed ordinances, so that what seemed “born out of due time” lived and throve, and “out of the mouths of very babes and sucklings” praise was perfected. But to us English Christians the sight has a nearer and deeper interest. The English Church, the glory of Christendom, where Bede taught and whence Boniface went forth, now sits solitary among the nations. The Queen of the Isles, how has she suffered amid the passions of men! how straitened within her seas, who once had a continent for her range, and its bishops for her hosts or guests! It avails not to look at the past; what was done is (as they say) “a matter of history,” which means, we may entertain our own private opinion about it. The result is pretty clear; Christendom is broken up, and we have suffered not less than other nations from the convulsion. Rome, Greece, and England, all have suffered; but just at this moment we are speaking about ourselves. We then have lost the sympathy of the world; and those who deprived us of it have felt in duty bound to do what they could to make up to us our loss. The civil power, which has cut us off from Christendom, has done, it must be confessed, its utmost to reconcile us to our degradation. It has maintained, of course, our captivity as a first principle of the Constitution, but it has taken very great pains to keep us from fretting. If the Church was to exist at all in England, it was like a law of the Medes and Persians, that she must exist for England alone; she must be a prisoner if she was to be an inmate; but, that being taken for granted, she has been accorded a most honourable captivity. Nothing has been denied her short of freedom; power, wealth, authority, rank, consideration, have been showered upon her, to make her as happy as the day is long. She has been like Rasselas in a happy valley, or like the Crusader in Armida’s garden; what want was unsupplied? Yet even of our first parent it is said under far more blessed circumstances, “For Adam there was not found a help-meet for him.” “Aliquid desideravere oculi,” which neither fawning beast nor painted bird could supply. He found a want in Paradise itself; and so upon this our poor Church of England, which is not in Paradise, this evil has fallen, in spite of “princes and other children of men,” that she has been solitary. She has been among strangers; statesmen, lawyers, and soldiers frisked and prowled around; creatures wild or tame have held a parliament over her, but still she has wanted some one to converse with, to repose on, to consult, to love. The State indeed, to judge by its acts, has thought it unreasonable in her, that she could not find in a lion and a unicorn a sufficient object for her affections. It has set her to keep order in the land, to restrain enthusiasm, and to rival and so discountenance “Popery;” and if she murmured, if she desired to place bishops in the colonies, or to take any other measure which tended to Catholicity, it has used expostulation and upbraiding. “Am I not,” it has seemed to whisper, “am I not your own parliament? pour your griefs into my bosom. Have I not established you by law? Am not I your guide, philosopher, and friend? I am ready to meet all your desires. I will decide any theological point for you, or absolve vows and oaths for you, as easily as I send soldiers to collect your tithes.” And if this did not succeed, then in a gruffer tone, “Are not you my own Church? Have I not paid for you? Have I not cut you off from Christendom to have you all to myself? Is not this the very alliance, that you should take wages and do service? and where will you find service so light and wages so high?”