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I must start this by thanking Ben Witherington for all the hard work and enthusiasm that he has put into this project. I knew that my father had always hoped to find the time to put together some of his and his father’s sermons into a book for publication. The project has already far exceeded my expectations and I am immensely grateful to Ben and Wipf and Stock for making this dream a reality.

When my father, Charles Kingsley Barrett, filled in his application for Cambridge University his plans for his future were already clear. His intention was to start with mathematics and then to study theology as preparation for following in his father’s footsteps to become a Methodist minister. This is exactly what happened. After four years at Wesley House, Cambridge, and a year as Assistant Tutor at Headingley my father became minister of Bondgate Church in Darlington in 1943. However, he only stayed there for two years, as in 1945 he was appointed to a lectureship at Durham University and later became Professor of Divinity.

This was by no means the end of preaching and ministering: despite all his university commitments and his prolific output of publications, it was a rare occasion when my father wasn’t preaching at least twice on a Sunday and this even well beyond his retirement from the university. I think his last service may have been in 2009, but even in the hospital in the weeks before he died, he was preaching and singing hymns to the other people in the ward. Preaching was in his blood as his father before him.

Perhaps what I remember most about my father in the pulpit is his voice. He had a well-modulated and resonant voice. He used to recite something that he had learned, I think at Headingley, to make sure that he could use his entire vocal register. It was so funny and the vocal range was so extreme and changed so rapidly that I always wanted it repeated. His voice always made listening to him easy, but his delivery also demanded attention. He used pauses to great effect. I well remember an occasion where father was going to recite a speech from Shakespeare for a Chapel Anniversary concert. He asked me to act as prompt in case he needed it. He paused for so long, that I decided perhaps he really had forgotten the lines. Far from it, and I immediately felt guilty for ever doubting his memory.

There are plenty of people who are better qualified to assess the quality of my father’s sermons than I am. They were always biblical in content, but cover all sorts of other topics. He relied on his vast knowledge of literature, history, music, and sport, and anything else that he felt was relevant to his theme. He had a phenomenal memory for experiences from his own life as well. In particular he was very fond of using the hymns of John and Charles Wesley to highlight points he wanted to make. The sermons are straightforward but nuanced; they provide a challenge but yet are accessible. On every level there was always something to learn. In his last weeks in hospital I remember my father saying that I was very wise. I don’t believe that, though my father certainly was wise. He was meticulous in his preparation of sermons from the writing through to the delivery.

Martin, my brother, was telling me how he was trying to extol the advantages of a computer to father by explaining “cut and paste” to him. Father was totally unimpressed as he rarely crossed out and so was perplexed by this being sold to him as advantageous. The sermons stood the test of time as far as my father was concerned: many of them have a life span of decades. I remember an occasion where he told the congregation that he had already preached the sermon in this chapel something like twenty years ago. He said he thought this would not cause a problem even if there was anyone in the congregation who had already heard it, because its message was of value.

My father preached everywhere and for every occasion. He was at home preaching in the open air, radio broadcast services, in cathedrals, in Roman Catholic churches, in Methodist chapels both large and small. He was brought up experiencing the large mission churches where his father was minister, but once in Durham, I think it was the small chapels, often in deprived areas where he felt he was most needed. If necessary, he would not only take the service but also play the piano for the hymns, or at the very least take an active role in leading the singing. He was always very much appreciated in these chapels, and he returned to many of them year after year. He worshipped with them as equals and in return that was how they saw him, totally stripped of his academic titles. The only thing that distinguished him from the congregation was that he wore a dog collar. By nature, he was a very humble man—some would probably say shy and retiring, but at the same time he was a man with very clear values, with a clear concept of the difference between right and wrong, and he was never ashamed of his principles. I still have much to learn from him.

Penelope Barrett Hyslop

October 15, 2016