In 1975 and 1977, I wrote a series of articles called ‘The Godly Conversations of Mrs. Hinchcliffe’ for the Victorian – Tasmanian Methodist, then Uniting Church, paper.
The planned union of Methodist, Presbyterian and Congregational churches produced dissension in some and fear in others. Mrs. Hinchcliffe, the character I created, was among the latter.
She took her worries to God...
‘Well God, I went along to Your House last Sunday and I heard that they’ve got some scheme of letting the Presbyterians in. Of course it will be nice to see our church a bit fuller and they do say the Presbyterians round here are a wealthy lot. Their minister seems a nice young man.
Just the same, I must make it clear to Rev. Crawford that no one is to sit in my seat. I know I don’t use it often but it’s nice to know it’s there if I need it.
I hope those Presbyterians don’t take over our Sunday School. They don’t even know what we believe in. There’s nothing but Methodist blood flowing in my veins. We Methodists will have to stick together.’
At first Mrs. Hinchcliffe worried that some of the Presbyterians were not very nice people. Then it turned out there was a suggestion that the money from the Methodist Church fair was to go to the Freedom From Hunger campaign rather than for new heaters in the Methodist church. She had even heard rumours that this was because the Methodist church might be closed and everyone would have to go to the Presbyterian building.
In 1977, her worst fears were realized. Church union came about. Her church was now to be called the Uniting Church. A new hymn book was produced which no longer had some of her favourites among the mere 600 on offer.
Then it turned out that the Methodist minister was moving and the Presbyterian man was taking over. What’s more, his wife had a job, working in the High School library! How could she possibly do that and also complete the tasks as a minister’s wife, answering the phone, being president of the Ladies’ Guild and so on?
On top of all that the church service was no longer to be at the sacred hour of 11 a.m. but had been changed to 9.30!
‘Well God – just as I’d predicted! No more 11 a.m. services. I just hope you’ll be listening at 9.30 because the prayers won’t be rising at the hallowed hour they’ve been rising at for a hundred years from this part of the world.
Not only that but I went along to the 9.30 last week. I’d thought of staying home as a mark of protest but then I thought – where would the Methodist element be if we all did that? So I went along.
Well you wouldn’t recognize the service. Talk about modern! We have the round church – my word it’s hard to find a back seat. You can’t even work out which is the back seat.
Hats are out, not to mention gloves. And a young fellow in jeans took up the collection! I find them using one of those modern translations of the Bible. I said to the Rev. McDonald, “What was good enough for St. Paul is good enough for me.” I don’t know whether that will change his ideas on the Holy Scriptures.
I hope you’re keeping up with the times, God.’
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The planned union of Methodist, Presbyterian and Congregational churches produced dissension in some and fear in others. Mrs. Hinchcliffe, the character I created, was among the latter.
She took her worries to God...
‘Well God, I went along to Your House last Sunday and I heard that they’ve got some scheme of letting the Presbyterians in. Of course it will be nice to see our church a bit fuller and they do say the Presbyterians round here are a wealthy lot. Their minister seems a nice young man.
Just the same, I must make it clear to Rev. Crawford that no one is to sit in my seat. I know I don’t use it often but it’s nice to know it’s there if I need it.
I hope those Presbyterians don’t take over our Sunday School. They don’t even know what we believe in. There’s nothing but Methodist blood flowing in my veins. We Methodists will have to stick together.’
At first Mrs. Hinchcliffe worried that some of the Presbyterians were not very nice people. Then it turned out there was a suggestion that the money from the Methodist Church fair was to go to the Freedom From Hunger campaign rather than for new heaters in the Methodist church. She had even heard rumours that this was because the Methodist church might be closed and everyone would have to go to the Presbyterian building.
In 1977, her worst fears were realized. Church union came about. Her church was now to be called the Uniting Church. A new hymn book was produced which no longer had some of her favourites among the mere 600 on offer.
Then it turned out that the Methodist minister was moving and the Presbyterian man was taking over. What’s more, his wife had a job, working in the High School library! How could she possibly do that and also complete the tasks as a minister’s wife, answering the phone, being president of the Ladies’ Guild and so on?
On top of all that the church service was no longer to be at the sacred hour of 11 a.m. but had been changed to 9.30!
‘Well God – just as I’d predicted! No more 11 a.m. services. I just hope you’ll be listening at 9.30 because the prayers won’t be rising at the hallowed hour they’ve been rising at for a hundred years from this part of the world.
Not only that but I went along to the 9.30 last week. I’d thought of staying home as a mark of protest but then I thought – where would the Methodist element be if we all did that? So I went along.
Well you wouldn’t recognize the service. Talk about modern! We have the round church – my word it’s hard to find a back seat. You can’t even work out which is the back seat.
Hats are out, not to mention gloves. And a young fellow in jeans took up the collection! I find them using one of those modern translations of the Bible. I said to the Rev. McDonald, “What was good enough for St. Paul is good enough for me.” I don’t know whether that will change his ideas on the Holy Scriptures.
I hope you’re keeping up with the times, God.’
--
New Spectator, 1975
Carmyl Winkler
June 2024
June 2024
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