Oliver Hatch, my fourth great-grandfather through the line of my grandfather, Ed Sprott, was a London merchant with a thriving business. His death in 1828, when he was middle aged, inspired a sermon in his Parish church. The full text of the sermon is included here.
CHRISTIAN READINESS.
A SERMON,
PREACHED AT
ST. ANDREW’S, HOLBORN,
ON
SUNDAY AFTERNOON. MARCH 2,
MDCCCXXVIII.
OCCASIONED BY THE SUDDEN DEATH OF
OLIVER HATCH, ESQ.
LATE TREASURER OF THE CITY OF LONDON
NATIONAL SCHOOLS, &c.
BY THE REV. ROBERT BLACK,
CURATE AND ALTERNATE AFTERNOON
LECTURER OF THE SAID PARISH, AND HONRARY SECRETARY TO THE CITY OF LONDON
NATIONAL SCHOOLS.
“We speak that we do know."
John iii. 11.
PUBLISHED BY REQUEST.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR C. & J. RIVINGTON,
ST. PAUL’S CHURCH-YARD, AND
WATERLOO-PLACE, PALL MALL.
1828
i
LONDON:
PRINTED BY R. GILBERT,
ST JOHN’S SQUARE
TO THE
RIGHT HONOURABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND
WILLIAM,
LORD BISHOP OF LONDON,
PATRON OF THE CITY OF LONDON NATIONAL SCHOOLS,
The following Attempt
TO PERPETUATE THE MEMORY
OF
THE PRIVATE VIRTUES AND PUBLIC WORTH
Of THEIR
LATE MUCH-ESTEEMED AND LAMENTED TREASURER,
IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED,
BY
HIS LORDSHIP’S VERY OBEDIENT AND FAITHFUL SERVANT,
THE AUTHOR.
A
SERMON,
&c.
Luke xii. 35, 36.
Let your loins be girded about and your lights burning; and
ye yourselves like unto men that wait for their Lord, when
he will return from the wedding; that when he cometh and
knocketh they may open unto him immediately.
The repeated warnings given by our Lord of the
uncertainty of life, and the consequent necessity
of habitual readiness for death, are so important
in themselves and so interesting to the best feel-
ings of our nature, that, how lightly soever we may
be disposed to regard them while “careful and
troubled about many things,” they cannot be for
ever excluded from our thoughts.
If the public administration of the word and
sacraments, — if private reading and meditation;
should fail to bring them home to our hearts with
sufficient force to make a permanent impression,
still there are not wanting innumerable other
means by which we become unavoidably sensible
of our own individual concern in them, and are
roused from the day dreams of a worldly life to
contemplate the awful realities of eternity.
The very circumstances in which our life is
passed, the daily occurrences to which we are ex-
posed, and the unexpected calamities we are com-
pelled to witness, all conspire to remind us of the
uncertain tenure of our present existence, and to
re-echo in our ears the imposing and solemn ad-
monition of the Prophet “prepare to meet thy
God.”
If great and tremendous accidents, such as we
have lately seen* are sometimes sent “as with
the voice of a trumpet,” to call the world in general
to repentance, the ordinary events of private
life are always holding forth from day to day the
same affecting lesson:
“Each moment has its sickle
Emulous of time’s enormous scythe:”
which, however circumscribed the sphere of our
society, will certainly ere long invade it, and “cut
down like a flower” the object of our best affec-
tions. Then it is, if not before, that the heart
responds to the voice of its Maker, — then it is,
(when death comes so near that we feel, by sym-
pathy, the fatal shaft rebounding upon ourselves,)
that Religion with all its vast, its everlasting con-
cerns, will force itself upon our attention, and
oblige us to confess that the care of our immortal
soul is “the one thing needful.”
*Alluding to the fall of the Brunswick
Theatre, and several other awful calamities which
occurred about the same time.
But if in the ordinary course of nature we are
so frequently admonished of approaching death,
and warned to stand prepared for it, the many
other instances which we have to witness of some
extraordinary and unexpected blow, cannot fail to
manifest the folly of deferring that preparation for
a single hour. When we see a man in the summer
of his years, flourishing in all the external signs of
health and vigour, fallen as in a moment, by the
stroke of death, who among ourselves shall pre-
sume to hope that his continuance here is more
secure? — Which of us can think it safe to put off
for a more “convenient season” those indispensable
duties on which eternal happiness depends, and
which, if neglected now, many never be accom-
plished?
Surely, my Christian Brethren, if ever there
were a season peculiarly fitted for pressing this
consideration upon your notice, it is the present.
When you reflect that one from among yourselves,
who, when I last addressed you, occupied his usual
place in this assembly, mingling his prayers with
yours, — has since been summoned to the assembly
of the “just, made perfect,” that ere another sab-
bath dawned upon the earth his soul had entered
into an eternal Sabbath, you cannot be surprised,
if with the earnestness of one whose duty it is to
“watch for souls,” I seize the opportunity, of ex-
horting you, “as you love your own salvation,'” to
take heed “lest that hour overtake you unawares;”
that you will, after the example of that worthy
man, “let your loins be girded about, and your
lights burning; and ye yourselves like unto men
that wait for their Lord, when he will return from
the wedding; that when he cometh and knocketh,
they may open unto him immediately.”
But that we may not rest content with a vague
and indefinite notion of the duties imposed on us
by this precept, it shall be the object of the pre-
sent discourse to explain what appears to be the
spiritual sense of the passage before us, illustrated
by the character of our departed brother whose
private virtues and public worth demand at least
some notice in this place. Not that I design to
gratify my own or others’ feelings by a vain-glori-
ous panegyric of the dead, but to convince the
living, from an instance within their own know-
ledge, that there is nothing expressed or implied
in the precepts of Christianity, which may not, by
divine assistance, obtained through the ordinary
means of grace, be easily rendered compatible with
the most busy scenes of life.
The text, it is to be observed, does not merely
enjoin a watchful expectation of death, but im-
plies also certain specific duties which are neces-
sarily consequent upon such an expectation. To
be prepared for death is not merely to have an
abiding sense of its approach, a persuasion of its
uncertainty, and a conviction of the awful conse-
quences to which it leads; for all these sentiments
may be familiar to the servants of an absent Lord,
and yet leave them unprepared “when he cometh
and knocketh” to '”open unto him immediately.”
In such a case, it would be idle to profess that they
had been perfectly aware of the suddenness of his
return; it had been as well, aye, better that they
had not been aware of it; for ignorance in the one
case might plead their excuse, whereas knowledge
in the other would but aggravate their guilt.
Even so, unless the consideration of our latter end,
produce an appropriate effect upon our minds and
conduct, we shall only share the condemnation of
“that servant which knew his Lord’s will and pre-
pared not himself.” What then is Christian pre-
paration? The words of my text will direct us
to the answer, and show us, if I mistake not, that
it consists of two parts, principle and practice.
1. We are commanded to have our “loins
girded about.” This rule is given in allusion to
the custom of the Jews and other Eastern peo-
ple, who, being clothed in long garments, were
obliged to gird them up about the loins, when about
to engage in any thing which required strength,
promptness, and agility. Analogous to this, is the
spiritual duty of those who would make ready for
the return of Christ. They must “stand having
their loins girt about with truth.” “The word of
truth, the Gospel of our salvation,” must have such
a binding influence upon their soul, as to secure
them from all loose, vain, and sceptical imagina-
tions.
That this is the Scriptural sense of the phrase,
is clear from the admonition of St. Peter, who, ex-
horting his converts to steadfastness, perseverance,
and alacrity in the Christian warfare, says “Gird
up the loins of your mind,” &c. For the perse-
cutions to which the first Christians were exposed,
rendered their life extremely uncertain, and none
but those whose minds were well made up on the
subject, could be in constant readiness to encoun-
ter all the dangers which awaited them, choosing
rather “to suffer affliction with the people of God,
than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season.”
Such trials as these, do not, thank God! beset us
of the present day: but yet the same concentra-
tion of thought, and firmness of resolution, are no
less essential to a due preparation for our final
summons. No longer, it is true, does Satan '”walk
about as a roaring lion,” to deter us by alarming
circumstances from the path of duty: but he is
often “transformed into an angel of light,” in order
to allure us from it, and under the semblance of
exalted wisdom, suggests to the minds of men such
principles and opinions as are even more danger-
ous, (because more captivating) than all the ter-
rors of open persecution. In the midst of these
insidious machinations of the tempter, while senti-
ments of the most pernicious tendency are often,
put forth under names so specious, and colours so
attractive, that like a sweet poison, they can be
known only in their baneful effects, “the loins of
the mind” have need more than ever to be “girded
about.” As long as the sentiments of a man on the
subject of religion are suffered to hang so loose as
to be caught by every specious argument, and to
flutter in “every blast of vain doctrine” which may
be raised by “the sleight of men” who “lie in wait
to deceive,” it is impossible that he should be pre-
pared for that active, diligent, and undeviating
attention to the things belonging to his everlasting
peace, which alone can secure him from surprise
and confusion when his Lord shall come. This is
so manifestly true that it would seem almost su-
perfluous to call your attention to it; but that the
fashionable profession of modern times is libera-
lity, in a sense which goes far to rob us of all fixed
principles, and to do that for religion now, which
scepticism did for philosophy two thousand years
ago. Liberality, in its genuine and Christian
meaning, is a virtue not only honourable, but es-
sential to the Christian character. But when li-
berality degenerates into that laxity of sentiment
which deems all creeds and all religions equally
good, if conscientiously maintained; it betrays a
vacillation and indifference of heart equally in-
consistent with the faith, and ruinous to the hope
of a Christian. How shall that man be ready to
meet his Lord, whose mind is not yet made up
about the way ? How shall he hope to attain
“the end of” his “faith,” who is still undecided
in his choice of the means ?
We know that, even in temporal concerns, such
indecision of character often proves, and deservedly
so, fatal to the wishes and expectations of the best
intentioned. For what effectual exertions can ever
be made, while the mind is wavering between
rival expediencies, and calculating, with cautious
exactness, how far the world will approve or dis-
approve ? whether some will be more pleased than
others displeased, or whether a different course of
action will secure the favour of all ? The result
of such speculations, which must necessarily waste
much valuable time, will generally prove, the loss
of all usefulness and the destruction of all confi-
dence. And what better result can be expected
in matters of religion? “A double-minded man,”
saith St James, “is unstable in all his ways.”
Like a vessel with ungoverned sails and bereft of
its helm, he is ever in danger of being “tossed
to and fro, and carried about by every wind of
doctrine:” now with the Antinomian, glorying in
the pririlege of sinning; now with the Socinian,
denying “the Lord that bought” him; and now
with the Deist, making “shipwreck of his faith.”
Such was not the character of him whose ex-
ample we have now to consider. His mind had
its “loins girt about,” in the strictest sense, with
all necessary and saving “truth.” His religious
sentiments were carefully collected, and securely
fixed in the sound principles of our venerable
Church. Convinced that she was the authorised
and faithful interpreter of the Sacred Oracles, he
received her doctrines, not, indeed, with the blind
attachment of a bigot, but with the unaffected re-
verence, rational humility, and heart-felt gratitude
of one who delighted to know “the truth as it is
in Jesus.” Feeling, therefore, that any deviation
from her doctrines and discipline must be as dan-
gerous as it was needless, he shunned, with a pious
dread, every attempt at religious innovation, per-
fectly content to “worship the God of” his “fathers”
in the same pure and orthodox faith in which the
“glorious company of the apostles, the goodly
fellowship of the prophets,” and “the noble army
of martyrs,” had lived and died.
A man thus alive to the paramount claims of
religion, and thus attached to the sacred forms
which it assumed in the earliest and purest ages
of the Church, was not likely to waste much time
in canvassing new opinions, and to risque the sal-
vation of his soul in a masse of futile speculations.
It was enough for him to know that the Church,
of which he was so sound a member, was in all
its essential properties, a constituent part of the
"Catholic and Apostolic Church;” and that every
individual in it, whose faith was evidenced by a
holy, just, and charitable life, would, by the grace,
of God in Christ Jesus, undoubtedly be saved.
“Why, then,” he would often argue, “why should
we let our minds wander over the wide ocean of
controversy, in doubt and uncertainty, while the
truth is to be found ‘in the ark of Christ's Church?’”
I do not say, indeed, that we are to hold the doc-
trines of our venerable Establishment for no other
reason than because the Church says so. It is an
apostolical injunction, that we should “prove all
things;” but we are not therefore to keep our
judgment for ever in suspense, seeking, like the
Athenians of old, to “hear some new thing.”
The doctrines of our Church are plain and in-
telligible; they are the result of the most learned
and pious labours of all preceding ages, are easily
lulled to the test of the inspired Scriptures, and
as easily proved agreeable to them. When once
then we are satisfied that they are so, let not dis-
puted points confessedly non-essential, distract
our thoughts from the main business of “our so-
journing here.” Let us, regardless of the vain
cavils and objections of the sceptic, “hold fast
that which is good.” “Let us hold fast the pro-
fession of our faith without wavering;” and while
others are occupied in thinking, let us “arise and
be doing, and the Lord will be with us.”
Such singleness of heart, such firmness of re-
solution, and steadfastness of purpose, as our la-
mented friend uniformly exhibited, might proba-
bly make him appear, in the eyes of worldly wis-
dom, too rigid and uncompromising for the present
state of society; but those who knew him best had
the best reasons for believing, that, in maintaining
through “evil report and good,” those principles
which he deemed the soundest, he was as free as any
man from the bitterness of party-spirit, and was
actuated only by the deepest convictions of a well-
regulated understanding. In him they could, with
heartfelt satisfaction, recognise “an Israelite in-
deed, in whom" was " no guile ;" who, having em-
braced the truth, was too honest to use any am-
biguous or equivocal expressions in declaring his
sentiments, and too candid to have recourse to
bye-ways or plausible artifices in discharging his
duty. This open and manly conduct, while it
secured the confidence of friends, afforded no just
ground for the resentment of enemies. Indeed,
among those who most materially differed from
him in principle, there were few, I believe, who
did not regard him as a generous and upright
Christian, whose character was entitled to the re-
spect of every one.
Having his “loins” thus “girded about,” he
was well prepared to perform the other part of
the precept in my text, which directs us to have
our “lights burning.”
2. This figure of speech is so frequently used in
Scripture to denote the practice of all Christian
virtues, that a formal explication to that effect,
appears altogether needless. When our Lord
commanded his disciples, “Let your light so
shine before men, that they may see your good
works,” he fixed the meaning of the phrase be-
yond all doubt or dispute.
Since, then, the practice of good works is thus
declared by our heavenly Master to be essential
to a due readiness for his coming, it follows, from
the acknowledged uncertainty of the time, that
such practice, to be of any avail, must not be con-
fined to stated periods and seasons, but daily,
habitual, unremitted. This might be proved by
many weighty arguments, if time would permit;
but our Divine Teacher has, in the parable of the
ten virgins, superseded the necessity of such ar-
guments: for there we perceive, at once, the ex-
treme folly of not providing for a constant and
unceasing light. The difference between the wise
and foolish virgins was, that the wise, though sur-
prised in an hour of slumber, had their lamps
burning, and, at a moment’s notice, arose, and
trimmed them; but the foolish found, to their
utter confusion, that, through their former negli-
gence, their lamps had gone out, and left them
to irreparable darkness, and final exclusion from
the “joy of their Lord.”
Seeing, therefore, that all are alike prone,
through infirmity, to slumber, and all alike liable
to a sudden call, they only can hope to be in a
state of readiness, who have taken prompt and
effectual means to keep their lights always burn-
ing; who, by making religion the habitual spring
of all their actions, have so “stirred up” the spi-
ritual gift that is in them, that, “whether they
eat or drink, or whatsoever” they “do,” they “do
all to the glory of God.” This, I say, is the only
way to ensure that kind of preparation for eternity
which will avail in the hour of sudden necessity.
The temporary glare of a splendid act of Chris-
tian charity, issuing from an extraordinary excite-
ment of religious affections, however captivating
in the eyes of the world, or gratifying to the re-
flections of the individual, is not always to be re-
lied on as the genuine light of a truly Christian
spirit. Unless fed by the fuel of heartfelt devo-
tion, it may prove no better than the meteor in
the sky, transient and deceptive, and leave us,
after all, to “the blackness of darkness” for ever;
The light of which our Saviour speaks, is the
light of faith, which working by love of God and
man is an inexhaustible principle, and like its
divine origin, is “the same yesterday, to-day, and
for ever.” The light of the true Christian is not
confined to the sanctuary. He carries it with him
“whithersoever he goeth” and even though en-
gaged in a daily round of worldly occupations,
can make those very occupations the means of
glorifying his “Father which is in heaven.”
Of this we have a most convincing instance, in
the case of our lamented friend.
If any one might plead excuse for neglecting
the momentous concerns of religion, or limiting
his attention to it, within the narrow bounds of
the Sabbath and the sanctuary, it would be one
whose extensive mercantile connections seemed
to demand his incessant care. But he had early
learned to ponder the important question of his
Redeemer, “what shall it profit a man if he shall
gain the whole world and lose his own soul?”
And estimating rightly the incomparable difference
between the gain and the loss, he gladly conse-
crated his secular employments to the service of
his heavenly Master, and though never “slothful
in business,” was always “fervent in spirit serving
the Lord.” While he relied with humble confi-
dence on the merits of Jesus Christ for acceptance
with God, and confessed that when he had done
all he could he was “an unprofitable servant,”
yet that reliance did not relax but rather stimu-
lated his exertions to abound in “all the fruits of
righteousness which are by Jesus Christ, to the
glory and praise of God.” “Pure religion and
undefiled” shone so manifestly in the daily trans-
actions of his life, that without making it the sub-
ject of formal professions, or needlessly introduc-
ing it into common conversation, it was suffi-
ciently evident to all who had the happiness of
familiarity with him, that he “used this world as
not abusing it,” and valued it only so far as it
afforded him the means of attaining to a better.
While many, with much inferior means, are
constantly aiming at a show of greatness which
they do not possess, and with a culpable emula-
tion of their superiors, straining every nerve to
keep up a fictitious splendour, insomuch that they
have nothing left wherewith to “lay up treasures
in heaven;” this good Christian, actuated by that
charity which “vaunteth not itself, is not puffed
up,” was content to “renounce (according to his
baptismal covenant) the vain pomp and glory of
the world,” that he might “have to give to him
that needeth.” His many acts of charity were in
the purest sense disinterested. Situated as he was,
it is impossible to conceive him to have been in-
fluenced by the hope of any other benefit or re-
ward than what he has been called to receive.
How many hundreds—aye thousands, of poor chil-
dren in this metropolis--)and some hundreds of
them are now before us,) owe it to his exertions,
under, divine Providence, that they have been
taught the way of salvatiom, and “brought nigh
unto God*!” How many “poor, and blind, and
maimed,” and destitute, of his fellow-creatures
have obtained by his means, relief and comfort!
These were the objects of his unceasing attention.
And though ever ready to :use hospitality with-
out gruding,'” to his “friends and rich neigh-
bours,” who could make him “a recompence,”—
he never forgot that these poor members of Christ’s
* The indefatigable and extensive exertions of Mr. Hatch,
as Treasurer to the City National Schools, are too well known
to need any detailed account of them here. That a layman
in his situation should devote himself, as he did, to the pro-
moting of Religious Education among the children, of the
poor, is perhaps no more than might have been expected from
one who felt as he did the value of religious knowledge.
Neither is it surprising that, attached as he was to our vener-
able Establishment, he should prefer that system of education
which unites them to the faith and worship of the Church of
England. But it may be interesting to those who do not feel
quite so strongly upon these points as our departed friend did,
to know that in addition to his religious motives, which were
ever predominant, he was influenced in the support of these
Schools by the fullest conviction that if ever the education of
the poor is to be made a national benefit, it must be under the
conduct and superintendence of the National Clergy.
body were recommended to him by the head of
the Church, for this special reason, “they cannot
recompense thee, but thou shalt be recompensed
at the resurrection of the just.”
Nor let it be supposed that these remarkable
evidences of his faith proceeded from any misun-
derstanding of that text of Scripture which says,
“Charity shall cover the multitude of sins.” He
had too just a sense of the attributes of God, to
think that any act can be pleasing to him which
proceeds from a bad motive, or to imagine it pos-
sible to secure an interest in the blood of his Sa-
viour, by attempting to substitute a few deeds of
benevolence for a life of “holiness, without which,”
it is declared, “no man shall see the Lord.'” — No,
“The multitude of sins” which he sought to cover
by charity, were those only of inadvertency and
infirmity, which, according to the present consti-
tution of our nature, will ever cling to the best,
even while “the heart is right in the sight of
God.” But for wilfuI and habitual offences he
neither expected nor wished to compound. In him
godliness was as influential as charity. As both
issued from the same source, so each had an equal
share in his heart. The same faith which made
him instruct the ignorant, clothe the naked, and
succor the destitute, made him “worship God
in spirit and in truth,” not only by attending the
outward forms, of religion, and “walking in all
the commandments and ordinances of the Lord
blameless” himself, but by carrying religion into
the bosom of his family, and like the Father of
the faithful, commanding “his children and his
household after him, to keep the way of the Lord,
to do justice and judgment.”
He was not content with allowing his domes-
tics, if they wished, to be religious, but consi-
dered himself bound in duty both to them and to
his Saviour, to exert the influence and authority
with which Providence had invested him, to make
them so.
Unincumbered by that false delicacy which ra-
ther than “interfere with the liberty of private con-
science,” would neglect this first and chief care of
a good master, he felt persuaded that it was con-
ferring on them an incalculable benefit io make
them “faithful servants of their common Lord;”
and much more consistent with the true spirit of
Christian charity, to bind their conscience, if pos-
sible, to their eternal interest, than to allow them
the liberty of having, (as might probably be die
case,) no conscience at all upon the subject.
Every opportunity therefore which was afforded
him, he gladly devoted to the moral and religious
improvement of himself and his family, resolving
with the pious Psalmist to “walk in” his “house
with a perfect heart,” discountenancing every kind
of deceit and wickedness, and suffering none but
such as would “lead a godly life” to be his “ser-
vant*.”
Thus throughout his short but useful career,
godliness and charity might be observed mutually
succeeding and aiding each other, with so much
constancy and perseverance, that where the duties
of the one ceased, there the exercise of the other,
began.
Sudden, therefore, and untimely as his depart-
ture is to us, to him it could never prove surprise
ing. His “light” was always “burning:” he
was in that blessed state of readiness that when
his Master came and knocked, he could “open
to him immediately.” And it is a fact which
must ever afford consolation to those who love his
memory, that the herald of his Judge found him
not “overcharged with surfeiting and drunken-
ness, and cares of this world,” but labouring in
the cause of charity+. Suitable to such a life were
the manner and circumstances of his death. It
* The reader will find at the end of this discourse a copy
of a private meditation and prayer compiled by himself, which
is given not so much on account of its originality, as of the
evidence it affords of his habitual care for spiritual and eternal
things.
+After having attended divine service on Ash-Wednesday,
Mr. Hatch presided at the Committee of the City National
Schools, from whence he went home, under an apparently
slight indisposition: the following Saturday terminated his life.
pleased the Lord to carry away his servant, as in
a moment, from the discharge of that work in
which he delighted, to the enjoyment of its re-
ward. He escaped, by divine mercy, from the
pains of a protracted illness. The garment of
mortality easily dropt off, and the soul fled to his
eternal rest.
“Mark the perfect man, and behold the up-
right, for the latter end of that man is peace.”
“Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord,—
they rest from their labours, and their works do
follow them.” May the memorial of that righteous
man remain for ever with us ! May it stimulate
our piety, enlarge our charity, and awaken us to
an active, steady, unceasing exercise of every
Christian duty; that while we remember how well
he lived, and how suddenly he died, we may learn
to be “ready also,” seeing that “at such an hour
as we think not, the Son of Man cometh.”
