I have spent a lifetime sitting in pews and so have developed an eye and an ear for what is being said from the pulpit. I have also developed a posterior that is sensitive to the artisan skills of the pew maker. Nowhere can it be said that the pew is a comfortable place to sit for a long period, and as a consequence Anglican sermons nowadays tend to be brief. This is helpful to keeping the mind alert until a numbing sensation occurs at the other end of the body.
On the other hand, the Methodist sermons of my youth were long and delivered by a dedicated group of men known as Local Preachers. There was a full time minister and he spent his time going round groups of churches in what was known as a circuit. He lived in a Manse and had a wife who was famous amongst the youngsters for her ham sandwiches and jam tarts. On Sunday evenings young people from around the circuit would travel by bus to visit the Manse and eat her jam tarts whilst taking part in scripture and hymn book competions. In those days Methodists were proud that they all knew how to sing, unlike the Anglicans who needed a choir to lead them.
A long list of local preachers included Dr. Brettle, Headmaster of the local grammar school, Mr. Johnston a local farmer and my great uncle George. Without a doubt, Dr. Brettle was the most boring; my great uncle (at 21 stone) filled more of the pulpit, whilst Mr. Johnston attracted the most interest.
It was not the things he said that I remember but the obvious sincerity with which he said them. He was a stock farmer and I think his love for his animals came through in his sermons. A favourite saying was, “O my dear friends,” and I remember on one occasion winning half a crown because I accurately predicted that the phrase would appear seventeen times during a sermon on Nicodemus and the fig tree. This prediction was however not entirely random as unknown to my fellow punters, I had already heard that particular sermon whilst visiting another chapel in the company of a young lady who subsequently stood me up.
My memory of Nicodemus was stirred recently by a most unusual happening at St John’s the Evangelist Pauntley. It occurred during a service conducted by Dr. Peter Newing who true to modern practice keeps his sermons short and pithy. He told us that Nicodemus was a senior member of a Jewish Council that was in cahoots with the Romans and was probably not liked by ordinary people of the time. It was possible he said, that some people likened Nicodemus to the unfruitful fig tree which, according to the parable, was worthy only to be cut down and burned.
It was very soon afterwards whilst Rev. Newing was serving communion that parishioners noticed a strange odour of charred wool and blue wisps of smoke rising upward and filling the chancel. Within seconds the unfortunate Vicar had burst into flames as a spluttering candle ignited his robes. Only decisive action by communicant Dr. Simon Holland of Pool Hill, who leaped the altar rail to beat out the flames with his walking-stick averted a disaster.
In true Anglican tradition the service then continued its uneventful course.
View from the Pew 