At the end of the year (1865) the Bishop wrote to an old friend in England:
“How much of the buoyancy of hope has been sobered down by experience! when instead of a nation of believers welcoming me as their father, I find here and there a few scattered sheep, the remnant of a flock which has forsaken the shepherd. I do not know how far it is right to go among my people, though, in former times, peace or war made no difference in their willingness to receive me. At present we are the special objects of their suspicion and ill will. The part that I took in the Waikato campaign has destroyed my influence with many. You will ask then ‘Did I not foresee this? and if so why did I go?’ I answer that I could not neglect the dying and wounded soldiers. Then there were many wounded Maoris brought in from time to time to whom it was my duty to minister. Add to this two of our mission stations had been occupied by a native clergyman and catechist, whom no threats could induce to leave their posts after the English missionaries were advised to retire. It was my duty to see they were not injured when our troops advanced.... This has thrown me back in native estimation more, I fear, than my remaining years of life will enable me to recover.... In the midst of these sorrows we have solid comfort in the sight of the stability of our native clergymen who have never swerved from their duty.... The real cause of war in New Zealand has been the new constitution, and the cause of the greater bitterness of the strife has been the new element of confiscation introduced by the colonists against the will and express orders of the Home Government.... A Maori cares more for his land than anything else.... We have every reason to think that the worst is now past.... We shall probably settle down upon the unsatisfactory basis of the questionable possession of one or two millions of very indifferent land, and of the entire repudiation of the Queen’s authority over the whole interior of the Northern Island. This is the result of seeking first ‘the other things’ instead of the ‘one.’”
The war was drawing to a close in 1864 when Bishop Hobhouse, after accompanying Selwyn on one of his journeys to the camp, wrote the following description of what he saw:
“He was still obliged to provide for the chaplain’s duties, though the army was no longer massed, but was spread into numerous out-posts stretching as far as ninety miles from Auckland. This involved his starting every Friday with such clerical companions as he could get; calling at the various stations throughout Saturday to do any pastoral duty required amongst the troops, and planning with the officers how to make the most of his services on Sunday.... After forty-five miles we reached the Waikato river ... when the steamer arrived it was found to be towing some barges filled with the families of the new Australian settlers, a corps which had been raised in the Australian towns.... The arrival of these families was an opportunity for pastoral work.... The Bishop plunged into the barges.... One woman, the mother of a family was nearing her end. He induced the captain to put her on shore opposite to a wooden church which had been riddled by shot and dismantled in the war. Inside that inhospitable ruin he proposed to stay the night as the comforter of the poor woman, and bade me proceed to the nearest military post and await his arrival. Early on the Saturday morning he arrived after an unbroken night watch, during which he had seen his poor patient’s death, had committed her body to the grave and had made arrangements for the charge of her children. Without any sleep, he then hastened to depart on foot to the missionary station, where we had been expected overnight. During the many hours of the day as we passed over the fields of action with their gloomy records of ruined churches, abandoned paths, down-trodden enclosures, the Bishop poured out his heart to me more freely than was his wont. The scene was sad enough to have overwhelmed him with acute regret and despondency for the future. The Waikato tribe more than 10,000 strong, the most advanced of the powerful tribes in civilization and churchmanship, with churches and a complete set of schools endowed by themselves, were now driven from their fertile valley, estranged from British rule, and perhaps alienated from the Christian faith. The missionary work of forty years seemed all undone and the Bishop himself was regarded as a traitor. Yet all these gloomy reflections were put away, and his only thought was how to minister to the new settlers now pouring in from the Australian towns.... As we passed over the scene of bloodshed he said: ‘I have been in every action I could possibly reach. It was my duty to minister to the wounded natives as well as to the British.... Indeed I always ministered to the fallen Maori first so as to give a practical answer to their charge against me of forsaking and betraying them. It was needful that I should be in the midst of each fray and between two fires; but I was never hurt. I lay on the ground at night and shared soldier’s fare.’”
Whilst recalling all that he had gone through, the Bishop’s missionary zeal still enabled him to make plans for fresh enterprises and to sketch out new work amongst the settlers. But there were thoughts poured out too about what he could do when no longer fit for the active life New Zealand demanded. He thought he might best serve his Master by retiring to Canterbury, and helping to train the next generation of missionaries at St. Augustine’s College. But the time of retirement was not yet, and the next day after a night spent sleeping on the ground, he took eight separate services for the troops.
Many are the stories of his utter fearlessness during the war. One settler years afterwards wrote to an Auckland paper saying that he was sure many of the settlers owed their lives to Bishop Selwyn’s untiring watchfulness. He told how once when returning to their homes at Mauku, after a sudden flight, through fear of a Maori attack, the Bishop appeared and, refusing all refreshment, asked merely to be allowed to leave his horse for the night. He said he must go on at once to Purapura which was some nine miles away, and to be reached only by a bush track; that he needed no food as he had some bread in his kit, but would probably be back next morning. At 4 o’clock next morning he duly appeared, drenched to the skin, having walked all through the night and having had to ford a creek. He then told them that the day before he had heard that a band of the fiercest Maoris were on their way to attack the settlement, and he had gone to see the chiefs assembled at Purapura to persuade them to forbid their war party to go on. This they had promised to do, but said the Bishop, I will stay till all danger from these wild spirits is past. During the night he was up and out in a moment if there was any unusual noise. The following Sunday he held a service in the little schoolroom, preaching a sermon never to be forgotten, inspiring trust and confidence in God.
At the end of the war, Bishop Selwyn was granted the same medal as was given to the soldiers; and the officers and men among whom he had ministered subscribed to give him money to ornament his private chapel.
The prayer which he drew up to be used in all the churches in New Zealand, deserves to be recorded here as showing his inmost mind about the war.
“O Lord whose never failing Providence ordereth all things both in heaven and earth, we humbly beseech Thee to receive our prayer for the Governor of this land and for all who are in authority that they may be guided by Thee in all things, that the dominion of our Queen may be established in this land in justice and mercy according to Thy Holy Will.
“We commend to Thee oh merciful Father all our brethren who are gone forth from amongst us to bear arms and to be exposed to the peril of death, all who are thereby hindered from worshipping Thee in Thy house, that Thou wilt keep them from forgetfulness of Thee and of Thy holy law: all who are sick, all who are wounded, all who are drawing nigh unto death; all who are bereaved. And we pray that Thy Holy Spirit may so rule in all of us as to keep us from every unbecoming and unchristian temper; from all cruel, unmerciful and vindictive thoughts.
“And we beseech Thee, good Lord, to restrain the evil passions of men, and to deliver this land from the misery of strife and bloodshed and to pour upon all the people of the land the spirit of concord and obedience and peace. And this we pray through Him who is the Prince of Peace and Saviour of all men, our Lord Jesus Christ.”
It is to be noted that he did not bid them pray for victory.
The discovery of gold in the Southern Island had brought such a rush of new settlers that it seemed necessary to divide the Diocese of Christchurch and form a new Diocese of Dunedin. All were agreed about this, but unfortunately a controversy arose as to the actual appointment of the new Bishop. Selwyn, eager to see someone appointed as quickly as possible, wrote to the Archbishop of Canterbury, with more definiteness than the Rural Deanery Board at Dunedin was prepared for. The Archbishop with unexpected promptitude, appointed and consecrated Dr. Jenner, Bishop of Dunedin, but the Rural Deanery were not prepared for this, they said that the necessary money had not yet been collected and refused to recognise the appointment. This unfortunate incident shows the difficulties that lay in the way of the Colonial Church, and its relations with the Home Church in the early days, before experience had regulated the situation. During the period of delay, Selwyn went himself to Dunedin to try to promote the raising of the money needed. In this way he saw the goldfields and was able to judge of their needs. He wrote from there (1866) describing the hurry of the life, where everything had to be improvised to meet the rush of new arrivals eager for gold. “The traffic seems to go on Sundays and week-days alike, and a Scotchman whom I invited in vain to church, admitted that all the lessons of the old country were forgotten on the road.... Upon the whole as the thing had to be done I am not sorry to have had to go over this province. Part of my object is to visit as many of the diggers as I can and to hold services wherever I find them disposed to attend. There was a large party of them on board who assured me that it was a mistake to suppose that there were not many among them who cared for better things than digging gold. They have the character of being a manly and independent body of men, for the most part orderly and honest. It is a comfort to think that this is the last work of bishop-making in which it will be necessary for me to engage; and when this is done I may break my wand.” It is not necessary to follow the long controversy over the filling of the See of Dunedin, since after this the matter did not really concern Bishop Selwyn. It was not till 1871 that the difficulty was settled and a Bishop appointed.
Writing to E. Coleridge at the end of 1865, Bishop Selwyn had said: “I do not see my way to another visit to England. It is more congenial to my present feelings to sit among my own ruins, not moping, but tracing out the outlines of a new foundation, than to go through another course of public life in England. So much has been said or written of late about my order that I have begun to think it will be well for us to be more sparing of our visits.” When, however, he received a summons from the Archbishop of Canterbury to attend the first conference of Bishops of the Anglican Communion, which was to be held at Lambeth in 1867, he felt bound to go. He had always regarded it as a duty to obey the orders of a superior in the service to which he had given his life, and his desire for the general restoration of synodical government in the Church, made him consider the proposed Lambeth Conference as of supreme importance. He left his work in New Zealand with deep regret and there was much sorrow amongst his people at parting with him even for a time, increased by a lurking fear that he might never return. Before he left, his friends met in the little Chapel at Auckland for a last Communion together. There were seventy communicants too many for the chapel to hold and they overflowed into the study behind. One who was there writes:
“I doubt if there was a single dry eye in the chapel; and the Bishop’s voice at times was scarcely audible, for the sobs which were heard on every hand.”
It was a disappointment to Selwyn to find on reaching England how little interest was shown in the Lambeth Conference, how few even of the clergy realized its importance. He wrote:
“From our distant point of view we look upon this Conference as the most important opening for good which has ever been offered to our Anglican Church; but I have not yet seen any signs to lead me to believe that it is so considered here. I have invitations to meetings of all kinds up to the very day of the meeting, and the clergymen who write to me do not seem to be aware that I came to England for one object and that I am prepared to devote all my time and attention to that, and that therefore I must be free in mind and time to prepare for it beforehand, and, after the meeting is over to work up its results.”
At the Conference he was described as “well nigh the most conspicuous figure and certainly the most attractive spirit there.” Mrs. Selwyn writes that he came back from the meetings “sometimes quite happy, and sometimes quite desponding, the precious time being so frittered away.” He was distressed at “the want of previous arrangement, at the lack of all formality or of anything to give dignity in the eyes of the public or honour to the brethren.” After the Lambeth Conference, he went to the Wolverhampton Church Congress. There he had the support of other Bishops from overseas in claiming that the Church in the Colonies should have the right to manage its own affairs. He himself spoke on Missions “doubtful how he could concentrate the lifetime of twenty-five years into twenty-five minutes.” He did express the spirit in which he had worked when he said: “I do not know what failure means.” He ended with an earnest appeal for unity, the appeal which comes with ever growing force to the Church at home from the mission field, and which again and again falls on deaf ears:
“The best assistance you can give to us in our missionary work is to be united amongst yourselves.... I have learned in that great Pacific, on which my islands lie like little gems, to pray for the grace of God to distil from the great ocean of the Catholic Church this essential salt of unity, and with that salt to season all sacrifices, whether prayer, praise or almsgiving, and whether at home or abroad may that sacrifice be acceptable to God.”
Shortly after the Wolverhampton Congress, the Bishop of Lichfield died and Lord Derby asked Selwyn to be his successor. Selwyn answered immediately that after having taken counsel with no one but God in prayer: “I have been led to the conclusion that it is my duty to return to New Zealand (1) Because the native race to whose service I was first called, requires all the effort of the few friends that remain to them; (2) Because the organization of the Church in New Zealand is still incomplete; (3) Because I have still so far as I can judge, health and strength for the peculiar duties which habit has made familiar to me; (4) Because my bishopric is not endowed with more than £80 per annum and I have no reason to expect that the C.M.S. will continue their annual grant of £400 to my successor.” These were the chief reasons he gave to Lord Derby and he ended his letter with these words: “I could work with all my heart in the ‘black country’ if it were not that my heart is in New Zealand.”
The matter was not allowed to rest there. The Archbishop of Canterbury wrote to Selwyn asking him to reconsider his decision. The Queen sent for him and expressed her wish that he would accept the bishopric. Selwyn then wrote to the Archbishop:
“I had no other reason for going (to New Zealand) than because I was sent. Upon this question of obedience I am still of the same mind. I am a man under authority.... As a soldier of the Church I shall probably feel bound to do whatever my commander-in-chief bids me.”
To his dear friend, Sir W. Martin, he wrote first:
“My own desire to return to New Zealand is so strong, that I cannot altogether trust my own judgment on a question of conscience.... How I wish I could take counsel with you. I have no one here, except Sarah (his wife), who can even feel the force of the argument on the New Zealand side.... The point of obedience is the only one upon which I see any light.... You may be sure that I shall not rest until everything is made as sure as I can for my dear old land if I am obliged to leave it.”
A month later, when he had felt it to be his duty to obey commands and accept the bishopric of Lichfield and all was settled, he wrote again:
“I shall go to work immediately to raise an endowment fund for the bishopric. Most of the furniture in the ‘palace’ will be left as an heirloom to the See, with the library.”
He had told the Archbishop before his appointment that it would be absolutely necessary for him “to go back to New Zealand, if only for a few weeks. Everything there was left at short notice.”
On January 9th, 1868, he was enthroned at Lichfield and for more than a year he was Bishop both of New Zealand and of Lichfield. How he viewed his new work is shown by his determination to give up at once Eccleshall Castle, the house in the country twenty-five miles from Lichfield in which his predecessors had lived, and to settle in the old palace in the Cathedral close. He set to work at once to visit the forty-six rural deaneries in his immense diocese, in order to gain some idea of what his work would be, and he began to lay plans for synodical organization in the diocese. Punch had some verses about his appointment in which it was said that he had been called “to his work among savages this side the main,
In the Black country, darker than ever New Zealand
Mid worse ills than heathenism’s worst can combine,
He must strive with the savages reared in our free land.”
He sailed for New Zealand in the summer and reached Auckland in time for the General Synod of the Province in October, when six Bishops were present. Patteson was there, having come from Melanesia in the Southern Cross, filled with intense grief at the prospect of losing Bishop Selwyn. He wrote:
“I don’t think I ever quite felt till now, what you have been to me for many a long year,”
but he went on to say:
“It is perfectly clear to my mind that you could not have done otherwise. I don’t grudge you to the mother Church one atom.”
In his address to the Synod, Selwyn dwelt upon the advantages of the independent position of the Church. “I earnestly entreat you as one who has seen the work of the Church on both sides of the world, hold fast to your voluntary compact: make it as perfect as you can: seek for Communion with all branches of our Anglican Church now scattered over the world: aim at one common standard of faith and ritual in all essential points, treasure up the memory of all the blessings and privileges which we have inherited from our Holy Mother, that it may be seen that by none is she more honoured and beloved than by the most distant of her children.” The address which was presented to him by the Synod shows how he was regarded. It is only possible to quote some sentences from it. “It seems as if you had been sent first to warn the most distant members here, and were called now to quicken the very heart of our dear mother Church at home, so that the life blood may circulate with fresh vigour throughout the body. How can we ever forget you? Every spot in New Zealand is identified with you. Each hill and valley, each river and bay and headland is full of memories of you; the busy town, the lonely settlers’ hut, the countless islands of the sea, all speak to us of you.”
An address from the Maoris in the Waimate was brought to him by their own Maori Priest which said:
“Sire our thought with regard to you is that you are like the poor man’s lamb, taken away by the rich man.... Go, Sire, we shall no more see each other in the body, but we shall see one another in our thoughts. However we are led and protected and sanctified by the same Spirit.... This is our lament for you in a few words:
Love to our friend who has disappeared abruptly from the ranks!
Is he a small man that he was so beloved?
He has not his equal among the many.
The food he dispensed is longed for by me.”
The general Maori address said:
“You leave here these two peoples—the Maoris and the Europeans.... Go to your own country; go, the grace of God accompany you. Go on the face of the deep waters. Father take hence with you the commandments of God leaving the peoples here bewildered. Who can tell that after your departure things will be as well with us as during your stay in this island. Our love for you and our remembrance of you will never cease ...”
Selwyn left New Zealand full of hope for its future, confident that the Maori Church would revive and that “The remnant is taking root downwards and bearing fruit upwards.” He exhorted his Synod not to forget that remnant of the faithful Christian Maoris, saying that no increase of European population should make them “forget that it is still a remnant in the great congregation of Christ.” His departure from Auckland was a sort of triumph. All shops were shut, and he and Mrs. Selwyn, who was raised up aloft in a high seat, were dragged by four horses to the pier in a brilliantly coloured triumphal car, amidst the hurrahs of the excited people, the Bishop stretching out his hand for a last shake as he passed through them.
The pain of parting did not prevent him from looking on with eagerness to the work which lay before him. At Sydney he wrote to his dear friend, Judge Martin, and told how he had watched for the last time the familiar landmarks of the coast as he passed them, adding:
“And then the thought came upon me with great bitterness that I should never see the dear old land again. But the mind has now settled down upon its new bearings, and the magnet of English interests and work begins to draw me on.”
Six months after he had left England he was back again, and at the age of 59 he settled down to the great new work that lay before him. With the details of that work we are not here concerned. During the ten years of his work as Bishop of Lichfield, he showed the same unbounded energy and devotion which had characterised his life in New Zealand. The experience gained there was turned to account in all he did and planned. From his clergy he demanded the same energy and devotion to work which he showed himself. He gave much attention to the training of the clergy and to the development of the Theological College which had been established at Lichfield. Sometimes he was considered exacting and hard because he demanded and expected so much of others. He had no patience with slackness and was not one to tolerate excuses. When a student to whom he remarked: “I have not seen you at chapel lately,” answered, “No, my Lord, I have had a bad cold,” he retorted: “I think your cold must have been bad since the beginning of term.” Always exact and punctual in keeping engagements himself, he could not tolerate failure in this respect in others. But the students recognized his anxiety to help each one in the College and knew that he was unsparing of his time in guiding their studies. One of them writes:
“We felt as we went forth to our work that we knew our Bishop, and that he knew us.”
The missionary spirit which had inspired him in his work in New Zealand and Melanesia, found its opportunity in the work he did in the Potteries and the dark places of his diocese. It was inspired alike in the Pahs of the Maoris, in the Pacific islands and the slums of England, by his profound conviction that under every human skin God has planted a human heart, and that it is the business of God’s servants to go and find it. So he visited workhouses, gaols and infirmaries, and started a barge mission amongst the people on the canals.
Many great questions agitated the Church during the ten years of Selwyn’s English episcopate, and in all of them he took active part. He laboured especially to make the Councils of the Church a reality and to bring about that Synodical government which he had always believed to be so desirable. In consequence, he used his influence to promote a second Lambeth Conference, as a means of bringing into close federation all the branches of the Anglican Church. But as was to be expected what lay nearest to his heart was to make his Church a really missionary Church. When he first came to Lichfield he found that about two-thirds of the parishes in his diocese did nothing for foreign missions, but he soon made Lichfield a centre of missionary activity for the whole Church and the place to which missionaries from far distant lands looked for help and counsel. No fewer than five missionary bishops were chosen from among the clergy in the Diocese. In 1871 at the invitation of the American Church, Selwyn went to the Triennial Convention held at Baltimore. Intercourse between the different branches of the Anglican Church was not then so close and intimate as Selwyn longed for it to be and as it has since become, partly through what he himself was able to accomplish. During the Convention, the American Board of Missions held its Jubilee, and to it Selwyn gave one of his great missionary addresses. He spoke of the coldness and backwardness shown in regard to Christian missions, which he attributed in part to the imputation of failure and asserted that there is no such thing as failure in the works of God, and asked how with the feeble efforts made, we could hope to evangelise the world; in part also he attributed this backwardness to the idea that there were races incapable of being taught, and contradicted this error by asserting “that there is not one single being on the face of God’s earth, who is shut out from the promises of the Gospel by any difference of intellectual or of moral capacity.” This belief he was able to illustrate from his own experience. The success of missions he attributed to the fact that “missionaries had been found who, instead of expecting wild men to conform to ours have made our habits conformable to theirs, who have followed them from place to place and won their confidence, who have lived the same rough lives that they have lived.” He told the Americans of the immense privilege that was theirs, owing to their vast population, of undertaking the charge of the larger nations of the earth. The Bishop of Quebec, who was present on this occasion, spoke of it as the grandest missionary meeting he had ever witnessed, and said that Selwyn held the magnificent audience under the spell of his burning thoughts.
It was after Selwyn’s return from America, that he heard in the year 1871, the crushing news of the murder of Bishop Patteson in one of the Melanesian Islands. Patteson was dear to him as a son, he called him the most perfect of men, and the news which he felt to be so disastrous for the Melanesian Mission seemed to make him at once ten years older. Patteson’s death bore abundant fruit, for it attracted attention to the cause in which so gifted a man had laid down his life. Those who had scoffed at missions were forced to think, and when we compare the way in which they were spoken of by Sidney Smith with the estimation in which they are held now, we can believe that the death of the martyr bishop was one of the causes of the change. Two years afterwards, Selwyn’s own son went out to work in the Pacific and in 1877 was chosen by the General Synod of New Zealand to be Bishop of Melanesia.
It is impossible here to give any account of Bishop Selwyn’s many activities and interests during these last busy years of his life. He never spared himself, nor sought the ease and comfort which he had long learned to do without. Sometimes his indignation with those unwilling to face hard work and self-denial showed itself in sharp and hasty words, which he afterwards regretted, for he was really one of the meekest and tenderest of men. To one whom he had reproved perhaps too sharply for neglected work he said: “I seem Sir, to have two duties to perform, first to take you down and then to take myself down.” Sir William Martin who had so closely watched his work in New Zealand wrote of him:
“To him work was no drudgery. He was the willing servant of a loving master; paying little regard to praise from men, rather turning aside from it, and giving to others the credit of what he had done or spoken well. There was no moroseness or asceticism about his religion. He enjoyed as few do, the beauty of the world. Being strong in faith he was daring, direct and fearless; stern too, when sternness was needed; yet withal tender as a woman to the sick, the suffering, the penitent and to children.”
In March 1878 his splendid strength began to fail. But, though weak and suffering, he would not give in, and held a Confirmation at Shrewsbury on the 24th. When in the vestry someone remarked on the vigour he had shown, he answered: “Yes, but it was like holding on to a ship in a storm. I held on by my hands and feet.” Sinking into a chair he added, “The end is come.” This confirmation was his last public act. He went back to Lichfield the next day. Then came days of weakness and suffering during which he still followed the work going on in his diocese, and bade farewell to those near and dear to him. In his wanderings he thought of the work to be done and said: “I ought to be there, I fear I am getting idle.” When Sir William Martin came to see him, he turned to thoughts of New Zealand days. His beloved Maoris were present to his mind and he repeated several times “They will all come back.” Maori words rose to his lips in his wanderings and almost his last words were in Maori, “It is light.” He died on April 11th, 1878, glad to pass from his work to that fuller light in which he so fervently believed.
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z