S
OMETIMES
it is the scent of a clover field, of a
burning tree in a fir woods, or of apple blossoms in
spring, that brings thronging in memory the scenes and
experiences of other days. Sometimes it is a fleeting
view that meets the eye—a cloud effect at sunset, a wild
spring flower or a far horizon softened in the haze of
Indian summer. Sometimes it is a sound: the song of a
meadow lark, the rippling laughter of a brook, a snatch
of an old melody; and—sometimes, sometimes it is the voice.
For some years, as we attended Yearly Meeting sessions hither and
yon, and listened to the reading of the
London Epistle, the Clerk whose signature was attached
was a name, just a name and little more. In 1920, in
company with many other American Friends, we voyaged
to England. We entered the World Conference of Friends
and there we found—a voice. And so, the other day, in
the first shock of the news of the passing of John Henry
Barlow, there came back to us the sound of that voice.
From the days of that significant Conference to the
present hour, when we wish to bring hack the sense of
that wonderful gathering, we think not of the addresses
given, not of the discussions, not of the messages agreed
upon, nor even of the friendly fellowship, fine as it was.
No, when we wish to live again the experience of those
days, we recall that appealing, resonant voice of John
H. Barlow.
It was not alone the distinctive timbre of his voice
that keeps it fresh in memory, and that makes it so
admirable an expression—an interpretation—of the spirit
of the Conference. It was also the character behind the
voice and the force and beauty of the message which it
conveyed. We have been re-reading those wonderfully
written Minutes in which he expressed so accurately, so
fairly and so exquisitely, the sense of the Conference on
the many subjects under consideration. What remarkable
ability to grasp a situation, what fine discrimination in
emphasis and how rare a gift in finding unity in diversity,
do those Minutes disclose! On the printed page they are
literature—when proceeding graciously from his lips they
breathed very eloquence of the spirit of God.
We turn again to the words of greeting with which he
welcomed the visitors in that opening session. “We come
from far and near, representing many nations, many varying points
of view,” we hear him say, “but we believe
that God will help us to forget our differences and to
remember how much we have in common. We are one
in our belief in the infinite unweariable love of God. We
are one in our thankfulness for the supreme revelation of
that love in Jesus Christ, the Jesus of History, the Jesus
of Bethlehem and Nazareth and Jerusalem, of Gethsemane
and Calvary and the empty sepulchre; the Jesus of inward revelation,
who makes himself known to those who draw near to him and accept the
revelation. We are one in the belief that God has made of one race all
nations of men and we wish to show our practical belief in brotherhood
by serving our brethren.... Let us join our hearts as the heart of one man,
and unite in the prayer: ‘O Lord, make wars to cease unto the end
of the earth, break the bow, cut the spear in sunder, burn the chariot in
the fire; and—help us to be still and to know that Thou art
God’.” And through the days that followed, that voice led
us on, now gently constraining, now deeply inspiring, now boldly
challenging—that voice which became the expression, yes, the
very embodiment of the new unity, the larger fellowship and the deeper
devotion, for which it appealed Thus it is that we, too, may say in
memoriam—
“Thy voice is on the rolling air:
I hear thee where the waters run;
Thou standest in the rising sun,
And in the setting thou art fair.”
[1]
In a life of tireless industry and distinguished service, John Henry
Barlow was a living expression of Quakerism at its highest and
best—he was both a preacher and a doer of the word; and eloquent
as was his preaching it was not more so than the steadfast devotion and
the fine capacity with which he served his fellow men.
His voice was the voice of conviction and courage. Behold him at the
head of a large company of Friends appearing at the Guildhall court to
stand boldly for free speech and free conscience in that memorable
war-time incident when a few Friends were being prosecuted for
publishing an anti-war leaflet entitled, “A Challenge to
Militarism.” And when the magistrates retired to consider the
verdict it was in response to the call of his clear voice that Friends settled
themselves in silent prayer, and the court room was strangely turned into
a Friends Meeting.
[3]
There was constraining reason in the voice of J. H. Barlow. Under a
feeling of responsibility for a more wholesome public sentiment and a
sane national policy, leading a group of Friends, he visited the House of
Commons when the fires of war hatreds leaped and hissed, and reasoned
with members of Parliament in favor of a course of Christian
moderation.
It was the voice of justice and conciliation. When the “Black and
Tan” regime, that sad climax to the years of internecine and
bloody strife in Ireland, stirred English Friends with deep concern, it was
to John Barlow they turned to head a small commission to visit the
troubled country to learn better where truth lay and to find if possible
pathways leading toward reconciliation.
With consummate tact the extraordinarily delicate and difficult
mission was performed. His typically frank and impartial statement
was published in the London Times and his report was given careful
consideration in authoritative quarters.
That voice was rich in human sympathy—a sympathy Which led
him for long years to spend himself for others, especially the unfortunate.
Faithful and diligent in business during business hours, he gave much of
his leisure time to distinctly Christian work—in the Y.M.C.A., in
temperance reform, in preaching and in various forms of social service.
A practical expression of this human sympathy is found in his work in
the Juvenile Court as a Magistrate of Birmingham.
The message of Christian unity was ever carried by the voice of our
friend. His was a remarkable gift for bringing together on common
ground those whose differences, were apparently great. There has been
accorded him the recognition of a great service in helping so largely to
keep English Friends together, and purposefully together, during the war.
“His gift was to find where the roots of spiritual unity
lay.”
John Henry Barlow spoke with a prophetic voice that called to the future.
“Remembering the Conference of Young Friends from all parts of
the world, to be held at Jordans next week,” reads his Minute of
greetings from the London Conference, “we, the Conference of
All Friends, assure you of our loving interest in your gathering, and our
earnest desire that God’s blessing may rest upon you in great
fulness. ‘Forgetting those things that are behind,’ so far as
they discourage, divide and hinder, may you ‘reach forth to those
that are before.’ Strong, clear-sighted, courageous, free, may you
play well your part now and always, and be privileged to help in
translating into reality that ideal of a better world for which men have
toiled and prayed so long.” Renewing ever his own strength from
the fountains of eternal life, he breathed the spirit of youth and held
youth’s outlook.
In that last Minute, the reading of which closed the London Conference,
how truly and how beautifully he phrased the common experience of
those uplifting days! “God has been better to us than our highest
hopes,” he said, in referring to the long-expected Conference as a
“Holy Experiment” that had been abundantly justified.
“We have been privileged to worship together, together to
see something of the glory of God in the face of
Jesus Christ, together to enter into the holy place. We
have seen how much we have in common, how strong the
links that unite us. We have learned more clearly than
before that brotherly love is the soil from which unity
springs, and have realized something of what is possible
to those who are one in heart and purpose.
“We have in some measure at least been baptised into
the suffering of the world, have striven to speak a word
of healing and desire now to return to our far-separated
homes carrying with us the new inspiration we have received,
dedicated to the service of God, seeking by our
lives to interpret him as he is revealed in Jesus Christ.”
And then, just before he paused to “turn a benediction into
a prayer, a prayer for all the family of mankind,” that
clarion voice uttered these words of aspiration and loving entreaty:
“May we ever be amongst those who reach after the
highest, who wait for the Morning, believing that it will
surely come.”
John Barlow was a world Friend—he is ours as well
as England’s—and his memory is dear to us all. We do
not mourn the sound of a voice that is still. His voice
is yet vibrant yes, even more vibrant with life, as he calls
us on to that highest, which he now finds in the Morning
so “surely come” for him.
“O living will that shalt endure
When all that seems shall suffer shock,
Rise in the spiritual rock,
Flow thro’ our deeds and make the pure,
“That we may lift from out of dust
A voice as unto him that hears,
A cry above the conquer’d years
To one that with us works, and trust,
“With faith that comes of self-control,
The truths that never can be proved
Until we close with all we loved,
And all we flow from, soul in soul”
[2]