Heritage Column for September 22, 2005
By Fred Anderson
Land of our birth, O gem of God's earth,
O Island so strong and so fair;
Built firm as Barool, Thy throne of Home Rule
Makes us free as thy sweet mountain air.
Then let us rejoice
With heart, soul and voice,
And in the Lord's promise confide;
That each single hour
We trust in His power
No evil our souls can betide.
PEEL, Isle of Man – Our English friends in Liverpool took us by auto ferry out into the Irish Sea to another world called the Isle of Man. We were hosted by one of their close friends, Ruth, a native of the island who treasures its heritage. We stayed at Peel, a fishing village with more seagulls than people and with a magnificent castle ruin. The smoked Manx kippers are the food of choice. For a little while we were “come overs,” the name for those who came to island from other lands.
The native language is Gaelic and similar to that of Ireland and Scotland. By the 19th century it was unfashionable and English had become dominant. Today there is a renewed interest in the lost language.
There is a pride of place among the Manx on the Isle of Man. We stopped at Tynwald Hill, a grassy step pyramid, where the Parliament still gathers on occasion. The earliest account of such ceremonies dates to 1417, but the local Parliament may be older than the Icelandic Parliament established in 930.
The people of the island have heavily invested in history museums. Using high technology, the interpretive exhibits rival anything found in a large city. At Castletown, the home of the old parliament building, visitors sit at a council table and participate in debates on historical issues in Manx history. One issue was over woman's suffrage and it was noted that in the 1880s the Isle of Man was the first country to extend the vote to women. During the mock debate the council speaker, a mannequin whose face is projected by laser, guides discussion; and the portraits on the wall come alive before your eyes as actors portray historical figures from the past.
Peel is an unpretentious ancient fishing village, yet it, too, has a fabulous museum. When we first tried to enter, the attendant refused our admission. “Not enough time!” he insisted, adding that it took a minimum of two-and-a-half hours to go through the museum. We wondered what on earth a small town would have that would require such a long museum visit. Several days later, we tried again and discovered that the attendant was right. There are numerous interesting and well presented exhibits.
On Sunday the narrow lanes led to a Baptist church. Over the course of three months in Europe, we worshipped from St. Peter's to St. Paul's and had visited many cathedrals. Some were still functioning houses of worship, but some were little more than museums. Indeed one in Amsterdam dating from the 1600s had been converted into an art museum.
Grace Baptist Church in Peel consists of a small room with about 50 upholstered chairs. A substitute organist tried his best at an electronic organ. A hymn board listed several numbers. By actual count there were 23 worshippers wearing their Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes. In August some wore wool jackets and sweaters.
At about the time for the service to begin, the pastor, carrying a big satchel, walked in and shook hands. There was no choir, no lay reader. When the pastor took off his suit coat, I knew he was warming up for a long service. For 90 minutes the pastor guided worship. His sermon emphasized the need for believers to be willing to go where they are sent by God and he often referred to the “rrrath of God.”
The little congregation has a mighty ministry. The pastor announced from the pulpit that the collections for the previous two Sundays had been over 600 British pounds each. They support missions work in India, especially an orphanage with 80 children. They also arrange for medical treatment for the orphans. They contribute to work in a leper colony. They publish and distribute 2,500 copies of sermons of the great Charles Spurgeon.
The pastor probably was typical of ministers who had served on the island across the ages. Thomas Edward Brown, a 19th-century Manx poet and teacher, described one of those ministers in his poem on Parson Gale:
He was a simple pazon and lovin' and wise;
That's what he was and quiet uncommon.
And never said much to man or woman,
Only the little he said was meat
For a hungry heart, and soft, and sweet;
Just like an ould angel, the way he was spreading
The peace around him, lek shook from wings,
Bless him, he'll wear the Crown, will Pazon Gale.
Fred Anderson is executive director of the Virginia Baptist Historical Society