PERHAPS some of you, dear children, as you read the story, last month, of the sayings and doings of the missionaries from Iona, who, long ago, went about preaching in the north of England, may have wondered how it is we know so much about them. It is wonderful, in one way, that even their names have come down to us, for, you know, they lived nearly three hundred years before our King Alfred, the "great" and the "good," ruled over the south and west. But they were so beloved, that their sayings were treasured in the hearts of the people, and their names were "familiar on their lips as household words" long after they had left the scene of their labors.
There was, moreover, a remarkable man in the north country, who lived some years after Aidan and Cuthbert had passed away, who not only treasured in his heart the memory of these faithful and earnest men, but wrote the story of their work for the time to come. For his "Ecclesiastical History," as well as for his last great work, of which we shall speak presently, Baeda is remembered to this day with gratitude and affection, and is called our first-English scholar.
Baeda was born near the banks of the Tine, and when he was seven years old his parents sent him to be educated at Jarrow, for they thought he was a clever boy, and wished the monks there to teach him their learning. As the boy grew up he studied diligently, and soon from being a learner he began to teach others, still living the life of a student among the scholars at Jarrow. By and by the thought came to him that he would set down in writing the story of how Christianity had come to Britain, nearly two hundred years before. I am sure you have read this story in your English History, though you did not know who first wrote it down.
It is the tale we all remember so well of Gregory, the Roman monk. He saw, in Rome, one day, some British children who had been stolen from their country, and taken far over the sea to be sold for slaves. You must remember that the Britains were mostly heathens then. There they stood in the market, their bright, wondering faces and long, fair hair contrasting with the dark complexions of their companions. Gregory asked from what far land they lead been brought thither, and was told that they were "Angles;" he looked sadly at the children, and turned away, saying, "Ah, they might be angels, if they were but Christians!”
Baeda tells us that as Gregory left the slave market in Rome that day he carried with him an earnest desire. “Why should not he said to himself, "by the grace of God, be a missionary and apostle to the Angles?”
There were wild tales abroad of the fierce and cruel deeds of the foreigners who had conquered Britain, and had tried to root out the true faith; but these tales only made Gregory think with pity and longing of the land where the little ray of light which had once shone was being quenched in blood.
Years passed, and he became pope; "Gregory the Great" men called him. Baeda tells us in his History how he determined to send missionaries to win the land of the Angles to the faith of Christ.
When Pope Gregory sent Augustine and his, forty monks to “make Christians of the Angles," they crossed the sea and landed on our southern coast. Baeda tells us that the reason why Augustine chose to begin his work there was because, although Ethelbert, the king of the Kentish folk, was a pagan and a worshipper of Woden, the Queen Bercta was a Christian. She had learned the knowledge of God in France, and had brought with her to her English home a few Christian priests. Their faith and courage, however, was hardly proof against the fear of the powerful and cruel priests of Woden.
Finding at Canterbury the ruined walls of what had been a Christian church in the days before the Saxons came, the missionaries built them up again, but beside the little church towered a great pagan temple with its hideous image of the war-god.
It must have been a glad day for Queen Bercta and her countrymen when Augustine arrived and came to ask the king's leave to preach to his people. Ethelbert readily agreed to meet the missionaries and hear what they had to say, but the priests of Woden were sorely displeased, and tried to turn him from his purpose. "At least," they said, "let the meeting be in the open air, where sorcery will not have the power to hand' us.”
So on the Downs, near Canterbury, the king and queen, with a goodly array of heathen priests and warriors, waited for the missionaries.
Presently the sound of many voices was heard; Augustine and his forty monks were approaching, singing a psalm.
As the strain of their music died away, Augustine, by means of an interpreter, explained to the king the truths of the Christian faith, and begged him to allow him to teach them to his subjects. Ethelbert listened. For himself, he said, the faith of his fathers was enough; he was not minded to forsake it for a new faith of which he understood nothing. For his people, Augustine might teach them what he would; he and his fellows should have all they needed, and no man should do them hurt.
Before long, Ethelbert, rather yielding to the entreaties of Bercta than convinced by the words of Augustine, was baptized by the missionaries, and on Christmas-day ten thousand of the Kentish folk crowded to follow the example of their king.
Of this missionary work, with all its "pomp and circumstance," Baeda tells us, as well as of the lowly, quiet work of the missionaries from Iona, which began nearly a century later. The north country where they had preached was his own country, and many who had heard them were yet alive in his time, so that we cannot help wondering whether he noted in his own mind the contrast, and tried to find out from God's word which was the right way of preaching the gospel, as well as the right gospel to preach.
Baeda's History is very interesting, but his last work was his greatest, the work for which we have most cause to remember him. He died at Jarrow, after a life of study, just as he had finished translating the gospel by St. John into the tongue of the common people: the language we now call Anglo-Saxon.
Day by day he grew weaker, at last he could write no more, but lay on his bed while his scholars, who greatly loved him, wrote down the words as he bade them. They marked his wasting form and toiling breath with deep anxiety, and often besought him to spare himself. "We never read without weeping," one of them said afterward; but Baeda would not rest until his work was done. "Learn with what speed ye may," he said; "I know not how long I may last; I would not have my scholars read a lie when I am gone.”
So teacher and scholars wrought on until the end of the twentieth chapter was reached. "Rest, dear master," said the scribe, as he looked up from his task. "Nay," he replied, "take thy pen, dip it in the ink, and write quickly, write on, write fast.”
“It is finished now," said the scribe, as he laid down his pen at the last sentence.
“Thou halt said the truth," replied Baeda, and, as he repeated them, the words seemed fraught with a deeper meaning; "it is finished!" Then, bidding them lift his head and turn his face, so that he might look upon the place where he was wont to pray, with failing breath the master once more joined his beloved scholars, as they chanted the solemn anthem, "Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost," and then quietly closed his eyes in death. He had, as has been said of another, "all eternity to rest in." C. P.