Sermon preached at the funeral
The hand of God has fallen heavily on our country of late. Mourning and sorrow are on every side. There is scarcely a house which the Angel of Death has not visited, hardly a home without a vacant place that will never be filled again. And what is saddest is that those who have gone have been the best, the bravest, the noblest of our race, the young, the enthusiastic, the generous, who, when a sacrifice was called for, never counted the cost or heeded the wounds, but for their country, for us, rushed forward and offered themselves in what has been the holocaust of this terrible war. We are proud of them, we are grateful to them, we have the heritage of their noble example, which, please God, we shall always cherish; but we cannot but lament, we shall feel for years to come, that the promise of the future has been marred, that the best of those to whom that future was entrusted, have been cut off in the flower of their youth, in the strength of their early manhood, before the flower had borne the fruit, before they had the chance of fulfilling the hopes we had placed in them.
To-day we have a contrast. We are met to pay the last rites of religion, the last duties of affection, not to one who was cut off prematurely by the cruelty of war, but to one who has been blessed with length of days beyond most men, one whose long life has been lived in the spacious days of peace; whose seedtime was not interrupted, and who lived to see the harvest; one who finished his course in every sense, and who has now gone to his eternal reward, full of years and honours, bearing in his arms the sheaves garnered by his virtue and his labour. There is nothing sad, there is nothing to lament in a death like this. Though we shall miss his genial presence for many a day to come, though things can never be the same again for many, and no one may ever quite fill the same place, yet we feel that we could hardly wish it otherwise. There is a feeling of completeness, of a full day's work accomplished, a feeling that the labourer has worthily finished his task and earned his rest. If there is room in Our Father's House for the martyr whose short, sharp sacrifice atones by its completeness for much that is unfinished, there is surely room there also for the aged Confessor who has borne the burden of the day and the heats for a lifetime, who has worn 'the white flower of a blameless life' for eighty-two long years, and can say with confidence, 'I have finished the work Thou gavest me to do, and now, Father, I come to Thee.'
The Very Rev. John Ildephonsus Brown, Monk and Priest of the Order of St Benedict, Cathedral Prior of Chester, and for twenty-six years the Incumbent of this Mission, was born close to this very place as far back as July 10th, 1835, so that he was within a few months of completing his eighty-second year. In his early days he was weakly, and threatened with consumption. It sounds strange now to us who can look back on eighty-two years of strong, robust manhood, in which his tall commanding figure and his fine handsome presence gained distinction in any company - but so it was. He was sent, in company with an elder brother to Ampleforth at the early age of nine, in the hope that the air in the Yorkshire moors might invigorate him. How it succeeded you are all witnesses. Owing no doubt, to his delicate health, he was an unusually long time in finishing his course of studies, and did not leave the school until he was twenty. He was then wavering about his vocation. He had always wished to be a priest, but for a short time visions of Sandhurst and the glamour of arms crossed his mind, and he was undecided. He put his difficulty before the good Prior of the time, who recommended a year at home to clear his views. 'But,' he said, 'if I once go home I feel I may never come back.' 'In that case,' said the old Prior, and his reply is characteristic of the time, 'in that case, on had better give God the first chance, so you will begin your novitiate to-night.' He was clothed with the habit of St Benedict that very evening, in 1855, and, as he used to say, he never had a moment's doubt to the end of his life as to his vocation. If the British Army lost a fine officer, the Army of Christ gained a wholehearted soldier.
He was professed after a year's probation, and entered upon his seven years of study for the Priesthood. I never used to hear any of his contemporaries speak of him as distinguished in his studies. He was a hard student, plodding and conscientious - a man of character rather than of letters. He had a great taste for literature, and to the very end he was a great reader with wide interests, but he never produced anything. Sometimes a man of mediocre talent attracts attention merely because those around him are weak, and, as often, a man of real ability is overlooked because his lot is cast among those more distinguished. It explains a good deal, to those who know, if I say that among his fellow students at the time were an Oswald Tindall, a Jerome Watmough and a John Cuthbert Hedley.
After his ordination he taught for a few years in the College, and became Procurator. Then in 1868 he was moved to the sister Monastery of Downside. Here, after a few months, he was elected Prior by the Community, a very unusual occurrence, and after his two years of office were over, there is reason to believe he obtained their suffrages a second time. Though so long ago, and though, I believe, he never saw Downside again after 1870, it was one of the periods of his life to which he always referred with the greatest interest. Even at the very end, when his interest in most things was failing, he could always be aroused to talk of that time. He remembered everything about the place and every person, and was as proud of its present position as though he had never left it.
In 1870 he returned again to the Lancashire which he loved so well, and which for forty-seven years he was never to leave again. His first parish was Hindley, where Abbot Bury, had just built church, house, and schools. After a little over a year there he was made Rector of St Peter's, Liverpool, in succession to Father Scarisbrick, who was made Bishop of the Mauritius. In 1874 he was moved to Brindle, and then began that long course of life on country missions, which suited him so well, and for which he was so well adapted. He was at Brindle ten years, till 1884, and though a third of a century has since passed away, his memory is still cherished there, and true hearts have come to-day to pay their last tribute to their old Pastor. In 1884 he went to Grassendale, near Liverpool, and was there till 1892, when he came to his last home in Parbold. Here he has lived since, here he has died, and here his hallowed remains will rest till the great Resurrection Day.
Such is a brief summary of the outward life of Father Brown - a long life, a simple life, a life of devotion to duty, without any remarkable events or upheavals a life such as is led by hundreds of priests similarly placed, in hundreds of humble homes throughout the land. But throughout that long life, with its many changes, there run two golden threads, which bind it together, which are its outstanding features, his simple unaffected piety and his large-hearted love of his fellow-men - his devotion to the two great Commandments - Love of God and neighbour.
There was nothing affected or obtrusive about his piety, but it was solid and real, and touched his whole character. He began it with the greatest blessing that God can give to man - a good Catholic mother, and her influence permeated his whole life. He had promised her when he went to College, as a little boy of nine, that every day he would recite five decades of the Rosary, and he could say as his Nunc Dimittis when an old man of eighty- two, 'I can't remember a single day that I have ever omitted it.' You, my brethren of the priesthood, with the duties of Daily Mass and Meditation and visits to the sick and parish work and long hours in the Confessional, and administrative work, will appreciate what that must have meant on many days. It is an index of his life and his character. No display, no show, no seeking after effect but silent, solid devotion to duty. You who have known him so long here can bear witness to that - to his regularity, his punctuality at all his services, to the fervent unction of his prayers, to the unremitting attention to the sick and dying, to his care of his children, and above all to his assiduous devotion to the Holy Mass. It was the trial of his life when advancing years and feeble limbs prevented him from standing at the Altar of God and offering the Holy Sacrifice. Over and over again during the last two years he said, 'I should like to get well enough to say Mass again, but if that is not God's will, then I don't care how soon He takes me.' Once for several days, in spite of doctor's orders and without my knowledge, he rose before the household had risen and tried to say Mass.
Many times during that period he has gone during the day and practised standing at the Altar and going through the ceremonies of the Mass, hoping against hope for the strength which never came again. And how humble and how edifying was his conduct under that trial! I hope you, my brethren of this congregation, will never forget that picture of the venerable old man with his crown of silver hair and his noble countenance, seated there by that pillar, morning after morning, no matter what the weather, a full hour before Mass, and then when he could no longer act as priest coming with all humility to the Altar rails, among his own people, to receive the Bread of Life. And this he continued to the very end, with scarce one single break, to the last fortnight of his life. He never spared himself. During his twenty-five years here he was never known to take a holiday, though it would have been beneficial to himself, and all his people would have wished it. I never knew an old man who had fewer of the foibles and weaknesses of old age. He looked for no privileges, he sought no pampering; everything he could do for himself he did without seeking assistance from others. His one anxiety was not to cause trouble to others. He was a man to the very last.
And God in His mercy repaid that life of sacrifice with a death of peace. He took to his bed finally on Saturday week last. Each day while consciousness lasted he was cheered by the presence of his God in Holy Viaticum. Those who were present will never forget how eagerly he sought it, how fervently he received it. On Thursday last he grew worse and seemed unconscious, but when those around him began to pray, he joined earnestly in the prayers. He said the Litany himself and part of the Rosary, and then, though his eyes were closed it seemed as though his soul were passing through a great conflict. In a loud voice, with all the fervour of his soul, he cried out, 'Oh God, be merciful to me, a sinner; Oh God, be merciful to me, a sinner. Thy will, O God, not mine, be done.' Over and over again he cried it out, and then the venerable head fell back and he never spoke again. It was as though the struggle was over and victory had been won - as though the wrack of the storm had passed and the winds had been hushed and there had come a great calm - the calm of peaceful twilight, in which without a struggle, without a sigh, he breathed his soul into the hands of his Maker. 'May my soul die the death of the just and my last end be like to his.'
'And the second commandment is like this. Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.' As he was faithful to his God, so was he loyal to his neighbour. I think it is no exaggeration to apply to him, the words of the text: 'The ear that heard me blessed me, and the eye that saw me gave witness to me: because I had delivered the poor man that cried out and the fatherless that had no helper. The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me, and I comforted the heart of the widow. I was an to eye to the blind and a foot to the lame. I was the father of the poor.' I need not labour this point, for it is well known to all who knew Father Brown. I have known him for full fifty years, for thirty intimately, for the last two years I may say very intimately, and I speak of what I know when I say that I have never known a bigger-hearted man than Father Brown. His heart and his hand were open to every cry of trouble and distress, whatever quarter the cry came from, whatever the colour or creed of the sufferer. His one question was, 'Can I help?' - if he could, there was an end to it, he did. Many a time in those years I have seen his eyes well up with sympathy at the mere recital of some tale of sorrow. There was no need to ask. His hand went to his pocket, and he gave all he could. And what he gave he gave with no stint, no thought of reward, with no hope of return. No one in this world will ever know the good he has done in this way, the numbers he has helped their first start in life, the numbers he has helped in dark days of affliction and suffering, the numbers whose lives have been brightened and cheered by his benefactions. As I have said, I speak of what I know, and I could give many instances. I take only two which are typical of the man. Once, years ago, when it was the saying in difficulties, 'Go to Brown,' I remember putting a deserving case before him. 'How much will it take to help?' I had thought of asking for £10. I made bold to ask for £20. 'All right, I will send you a cheque for £20.' Next day the cheque came with a small note - he never wrote at length - ' £20 is no use in a case like this. I send £40.' - and that year I know he went short himself. Another time a good priest, long since gone to his reward, had got into difficulties. They were serious, and official mind would be inclined to look upon him with caution, if not with coldness. Not so Father Brown. His answer was, 'Always welcome; doubly welcome if in trouble.' This is typical of the man, and though it took years to settle, his confidence and his kindness were amply vindicated in the end.
Though he was so anxious to help, he was equally anxious to avoid all that could savour of display or advertisement. How many times have I known him buy things which he never needed and never wished for, which he gave away as soon as they were bought, and which he bought merely to alleviate distress without appearing to dispense charity. How many times has he bought Echoes which he did not want, not from the bookstall, but from the bareheaded women and barefooted children at the station gates, who knew him well and blessed him warmly. He never appeared to have the exact coin, but he never asked for change. That was Father Brown. Many a time he has taken a cab he did not need, and no doubt many thought he was 'doing himself well'. More than once I have expostulated, 'You can walk well enough.' 'Yes' he would say, 'I can walk well enough, but the poor man he has only one horse and he has a big family, and I must do what I can.'
I know what is in some of your minds, my brethren. You will say he had means and opportunities which were denied to others. He had. He belonged to what we called the old régime - he is, in fact, the very last of those whom all who knew them look up to with reverence and with honour. He had opportunities it is true, but it is surely to his credit that he used them to the full, and if so, no one can begrudge them. It was not to gratify the mere natural luxury of giving that he gave, to save himself the trouble and nausea of refusing. It was from high supernatural principles. It was done in the Lord and for the Lord, who has said, 'Inasmuch as you did it for the least of My little ones you have done it for Me.' He was not always wise in his giving, you may think. Perhaps not. He was often deceived. Perhaps so. There was nothing of the cold, calculating, inquiring, Charity Organisation Society philanthropy in Father Brown. He gave because the Charity of Christ urged him to give, and he gave to the full. He has left nothing behind him. Except a few books, all his belongings are not worth much more than a few shillings. But he has laid up for himself treasures in heaven, and if there are many to-day who lament the loss of their best friend and benefactor, there are also many who will meet him at heaven's gate who owe their place there, under God, to his devotion and benevolence. God send us more priests like Father Brown; they are the very salt of the earth!
And now, my dear brethren, we have our duty towards the dear departed one. In a few minutes we shall reverently lay to rest in the tomb all that is mortal of him. But our duty will not end there. A Catholic funeral is no mere empty ceremonial. We know that it is in our power to help him who has gone from us, to help him by our prayers, 'to pay the heavy debt of responsibility to God's justice incurred through so long a life. You, my brethren in religion and in the priesthood, will pray earnestly for the repose of his soul, for he has left you all a worthy, a noble example of priesthood. And you my dear brethren, amongst whom he has spent himself without reserve, whom he has baptised, whom he has consoled, whom he has married, whom he has tended so carefully in health and in sickness, will, I hope, remember for many a day to come the Father to whom you owe so much, will pray earnestly that in the eternal joys of heaven may rest the soul of John Ildephonsus Brown.
JOHN ILDEPHONSUS BROWN 10 February 1917
1835 10 Jul Born Wigan
1844-55 Educ Ampleforth
1855 Jan Clothed Ampleforth
1856 4 Mar Professed
17 May Minor Orders Bishop Grant
1857 6 Jun Subdeacon Bishop Briggs
1859 18 Jun Deacon Ampleforth Bishop Brown
1862 19 Oct Priest " Bishop Cornthwaite 1868-70
1868 Sep Prior of St Gregory's Downside
Scaristrick for a few weeks
1870-72 Aut Hindley
1872 Jan Seel St
1874 Jan Brindle
1883 10 Nov Grassendale
1891 23 Apr Parbold
1906 2 Aug Cathedral Prior of Chester
1917 10 Feb Died at Parbold
13 Feb Buried at Parbold