DEAF MUTES PRAY IN TEMPLE OF SILENCE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18959, 4 January 1930, Page 1

DEAF MUTES PRAY IN TEMPLE OF SILENCE.

VICAR DELIVERS HIS SERMON AT DEPTFORD. A man stood on the steps of a tiny church in Evelyn Street, Deptford, on the morning of October 27, and as people crossed the road to enter he made weird, rapid signs to them with his fingers (says Mr D. Ulyss Rogers in the “Daily Express”). They responded with similar semaphore signals and went within the church. Onlookers gazed in wonder. Mr Rogers continues: “Then the man’s eyes caught mine. A broad smile of welcome crossed his features. I said something to him. lie watched my lips, and made a painful effort to reply, but no articulate word came. Then he pointed to the open door, and his fingers began their mystic operations again. “Still I failed to grasp his meaning Then quite slowly he said on his fingers: ‘Coming in?’ I knew enough of his sign alphabet, and replied on my fingers, very deliberately, ‘Thanks.’ “I found myself in a neat little church that would seat, perhaps, eighty people. There was no organ, and I know why there was no need for one There would be no music, no singing. The congregation would be all deaf and dumb. Men and women were going to praise God in infinite silence. Ears had they, but they heard not; tongues had they, but they spoke not. “My friend of the church steps ushered me through the temple in silence to a waiting hall beyond. Here the early-comers assembled. They grouped themselves about a fire and ‘chatted,’ with bewildering digital dexterity. And as their arms and fingers worked like lightning their facial expression, now grave, now eager, now sad, gave excessive dramatic vividness to their ‘conversation.* “The new vicar came, the Rev W. Draper, who has spent fifty devoted years among the silent people. He has been thirty-seven years at this church of St Barnabas, ministering to the deaf mutes, many hopelessly poor, of Deptford, Woolwich, and Greenwich. He himself is partially deaf. “We re-entered the church. It was Holy Communion. The minister, in cassock and stole, stood before the altar with its two burning candles. His lips and his hands moved. Every eye was fixed on his face and his mobile lips. Almost in a whisper he was saying the Tenth Commandment, translating with his fingers, his face, his actions, as he went. He ceased. Then, led by a woman in the front pew, fingers were busy for a space. They were making the response. ‘Lord have mercy upon us and incline our hearts to keep this la xv.’ “The minister’s five minutes’ sermon from Philippians, ‘I pray that your love may abound yet more and more in knowledge and in all judgment,’ was eloquent in sign language. “What an actor the minister would have made ! ‘Knowledge’—he raised his forefinger to his brow, his face recorded ‘Wisdom.’ They knew ‘Love —heart—kindliness’—he did not spell these things. His arms embraced himself, he placed a hand on his heart, his lllHlillllllllllilllllllllillllllilllllllllllllllliil'iiHllllllllllllllilllilllllllllllllSllllillllllllliili

face radiated charity. They knew. When he spoke of Phillipi ‘now in ruins,’ his gesture created a tremendous picture of a devastated city. “The deaf and dumb went to the chancel. There they received the sacrament, a sign and symbol administered with signs and symbols. “After the service Mr Draper related something of his work. He had 650 names and addresses of deaf mutes in his ‘ parish.* “‘I have a little business to do vet/ he said quietly as he disappeared in the hall beyond.”