1772: An Invitation to Join the Sacred Profession: Being a Modest Discourse on the Ecclesiastical Path for Gentlemen of Birth and Education
By The Right Reverend Dr. Ambrose Lanyard, Lord Bishop of Midchester, Published at the Bishop’s Press
The calling of the Church is, to many a modern spirit, a matter neither of celestial bolt nor of sudden trembling at the sound of trumpets, but of peaceful bloodlines and practical faculties. I have long thought that Providence, being a kindly and deliberate artificer, arranges callings as He arranges hedges—in such wise that the son who cannot inherit the land may yet tend the soul, and thereby perpetuate the family’s gentility by other means. There is, I am persuaded, a piety in the proper use of surplus sons.
When a gentleman’s eldest son is destined to the estate and the second to the army, the third—thoughtful, literary, given to contemplating psalms rather than manoeuvres—may fittingly be turned toward the altars of the Church. This is not to say that all who serve there do so from fiery conversion; yet one finds in deliberation its own form of devotion. My late friend Canon Jerningham wrote in his Letters to a Reluctant Levite that “the calm choosing of a sacred duty is nearer to God than the hot tears of an unstudied zeal.” I subscribe wholly.
The University Path
The first requisite, therefore, is the passage through Oxford or Cambridge—those twin cradles of our English clerisy. Theological instruction there is not so much a hammer of conversion as a polish of mind. A youth who reads Virgil without yawning and can translate a line of Chrysostom without terror will find himself well-fitted for the House of God. The mind so groomed may not yet be saintly, but it will be supple, which in church service is a sound beginning.
Each college keeps its peculiar temper: St. Boniface’s at Oxford favours a gentleman’s drawl over his doctrine; whereas St. Eusebius’s, of which I myself am an unworthy alumnus, exacts neither but cultivates instead a tragic patience. The aspiring clergyman will take from his college a Testimonial of his moral life—or at least a signed declaration of plausible virtue—for presentation to the bishop.
Examinations and Decent Latin
The examination before ordination alarms many a delicate mind, though it is rarely fatal. The bishop or his examining chaplain will question the candidate upon such divinities as Scripture, liturgy, and the Thirty-Nine Articles; but Latin fluency, a hearer’s modesty, and clean linen do much to carry the day. In many cases, the more obscure dogmas are waved aside in favour of evident gentility and a solid signature upon one’s testimonial. We examine for eligibility, not for ecstasy.
Of the Deacon and His Duties
Having proved himself grammatically sound and theologically harmless, the gentleman receives ordination as deacon. He is then permitted to read the Gospel aloud and perform tasks of graceful assistance, while learning the quieter arts of the pulpit—the tone of reassurance, the maintenance of moderate homilies, and the avoidance of enthusiasm. As my predecessor Bishop Rathbone remarks in On the Sculpting of Souls, “The fiercest element in the Church’s forge is discretion.”
After a year (or occasionally less, for those whom Providence hastens), the deacon may seek priest’s orders, thus becoming empowered to administer sacraments, bury relatives, and sound authoritative upon sin.
The Question of Livings and Patrons
Now, the truly delicate mechanism of the ecclesiastical craft lies not in ordination but in provision—that is, securing a “living.” This is a benefice or rectory from which one may live both piously and comfortably, drawing tithes as the farmer draws milk, without unseemly exertion. Patrons, often family or noble friends, grant such livings as one might grant a summer house—out of benevolence, strategy, or gratitude for having borrowed Latin quotations without acknowledgment.
Many an estate carries with it the “advowson,” the right of presentation to its parish living. Thus are younger sons gracefully disposed of: one inherits the land, another inherits the pulpit, and the family’s moral front remains secure. It is a system that prevents both idleness and irreligion, though it must be confessed, it fosters a certain domestic theology. For, as Dean Polwhele observes (rather shrewdly) in The Comfortable Gospel, “He who owes his income to his cousin’s estate rarely preaches against property.”
The Bishop’s Encouragement to Candidates
Let not any gentleman suppose that the sacred path demands the thunder of the apostles or the nerves of martyrs. What it asks is the steady dignity of an English conscience: a cultivated reason, a composure in manners, a robe well dusted, and a sincere if temperate affection for the Almighty. If these may be exhibited in the parlour, they may equally grace the pulpit.
If I may presume advice, let each young candidate read before bed some edifying volumes such as Divine Idleness by Dr. Carfax, or The Theology of Politeness (anonymous, but widely attributed to a dowager of high learning). In the former he will find caution against needless labour; in the latter, instruction upon the cadence of civility as a form of worship. As the poet William Corfe puts it, “Etiquette is only ethics in a powdered wig.”
Closing Reflections
I write these words not in zeal but in hope—that more sons of houses and halls may adorn the pulpits of our mild land with that particular English blend of grace, intelligence, and restraint which pleases Heaven without alarming it. For there are souls enough who shout of salvation; what the Church craves are gentlemen who can sit through it.
Therefore, may you who are debating your vocation think not of thunderbolts but of steady lamps, of parish roofs glimmering through ivy, of the modest meal and the learned walk to evensong. In such company, one may grow holy by degrees—and that, I think, is the only safe pace to Heaven.
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