NOT OF THE WORLD
That afternoon found Hubert and Winifred with their books, looking
about for the most suitable place to read. Somnolent sounds from the
couch in the library warned them not to locate there. They decided on
a cool window-seat in the drawing-room overlooking the garden. There
they settled themselves and found their places. It was decided to
begin at the point Hubert had reached, which was the seventeenth
chapter. Before beginning to read Hubert shaded his eyes with his hand
for a moment to ask, as had become his wont since he first sought to
know God, for light upon the Word. Winifred understood the act and
joined him silently.
He began reading reverently and slowly. The simple, stately words fell
very sweetly upon their ears. They paused often, so as to understand
more fully what they read. They read with the intent earnestness of
those who explore new territory, and who have immense interests in
things discovered. They lingered first over the second verse:
"As Thou hast given Him power over all flesh, that He should give
eternal life to as many as Thou hast given him."
"'As many as thou hast given him,'" repeated Winifred. "What do you
think that means, Hubert?"
Hubert gazed into vacancy meditatively. "I don't know," he announced,
very slowly; "there is a profound mystery here which I have seen in
earlier chapters. I do not see the point of meeting between two laws
that seem almost contradictory. But one point seems very clear, and it
meets us very simply on our human side: that is, that the one who 'is
willing to do His will' is the one whom the Father 'gives' to Jesus
Christ."
"It is very sweet," said Winifred, "to think of being given by the
Father to Him. It seems surer, somehow, than to just give oneself."
Hubert's deep eyes kindled and glowed with a liquid fire. "Yes," he
said in a suppressed voice, "it is wonderful." He was standing on
ground that had not by long habit grown coldly theological, but was
instinct with life to him through a new and vital experience.
They read on:
"And this is life eternal, that they might know Thee, the only true
God, and Jesus Christ, whom Thou hast sent."
They paused to meditate, and Winifred was the first to break the
silence.
"Hubert," she said in a low voice, "it must be we have entered upon
eternal life. We have begun to know Him."
Her voice sank upon the last word, and her lips trembled.
Instinctively she held out her hand to her brother, and he clasped it
in his. Tears streamed down upon her book, and Hubert was not ashamed
that his own eyes were moist. They were silent for some moments, while
the young man beheld afresh that eternal, infinite realm out of which
the Word had come forth, and he knew himself born into it. Earth
seemed illusory--but the scene of a moment--in the glory of that vision.
They read on and Hubert explained to his sister what he saw in the
request of the Lord Jesus to be given again the glory which He had with
the Father "before the world was." Never in his reading of the Gospel
had he lost sight of its beginning, and he read these words, as he had
others, in its light. He turned back and read the opening verses of
the first chapter to Winifred in explanation of the glory to be given
back, and the very fact of its being asked for, as though having been
surrendered for the time, shed a light upon passages poorly understood
before, which had shown clearly His humanity and His subjection to the
Father.
Again they read on, pondering as they read, but paused over the ninth
verse:
"I pray for them; I pray not for the world, but for them which Thou
hast given Me; for they are Thine."
"Do you think that means, Hubert," said Winifred, "that He does not
pray for the world? It seems very exclusive. But we know that God
loves the world?"
"I think," said Hubert, "that the discrimination is not _against_ the
world, but rather _for_ those given Him out of it. He must care
specially for them. Perhaps if we read on we shall see the special
character of this prayer for us."
The words "for us" slipped out very naturally, and he did not recall
them, so sweet and sure was the confidence of having been given into
the hands of Jesus Christ.
So they read on, and noted the petitions of the priestly prayer for His
own. They did not sound the depths of meaning in them, for they were
yet but babes; but they observed the strong line of enclosure which
separated them from the world and the Lord's reiterated statement that
they were not of it, even as He.
"It is very strange," remarked Winifred to Hubert, "that Doctor
Schoolman has never told us about this." But she amended quickly,
"Perhaps he has many times and I have not listened. But I have always
thought we were all very much alike, only that some people were better
than others; never that there was such a sharp line drawn between those
who are given to Christ and the rest of the world."
"I do not think we have heard much about it," said Hubert. "I have not
been much of a church-goer, but I think for the most part we have been
talked to as though we were all on the same plane as regards
relationship to God and Jesus Christ."
"But this line is so very exclusive," said Winifred almost regretfully.
"So very _inclusive_, you mean," said Hubert, smiling.
"An inclusive line must be exclusive also, must it not?" she persisted.
"I suppose it must," he admitted. "The same walls that shut us in this
house shut everybody else out. But there is a way in," he added,
intent upon the doctrine of God's free grace found true by his own
experiment.
"Yes," said Winifred, "'Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast
out.' That gave me great comfort when I read it, Hubert. But I was
thinking now that if I had not come to know that I was outside, I
should never have come inside."
They finished the chapter, dwelling upon the words:
"Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast given Me, be with Me
where I am; that they may behold My glory, which Thou hast given Me;
for Thou lovedst Me before the foundation of the world."
Their hearts burned at the love that longed for them to be with Him and
to see His glory. And they should see it! The distant scene glowed
with reality and seemed near. There was One with them whom they did
not see, One who still draws near when loved disciples commune
concerning Him, and it was He who made the Scriptures an open, radiant
page. Very pure and fragrant was the spiritual air they breathed then,
and it prepared them to judge of baser atmosphere. "Sanctify them
through Thy truth," the Lord Jesus had asked, and as they pondered the
Word of Truth the answer to His prayer began.
When they finished their reading Winifred surprised Hubert by what
seemed an irrelevant remark.
"I do not think I shall go to Mrs. Butterworth's party, Hubert," she
said.
Her brother had no need to add, "Nor shall I," for he was not a society
man. But he looked at her inquiringly.
"I don't know why," she replied to his look, "but it seems very
different from this. Don't you think so?"
"I do indeed," he answered, understanding what she meant by "this."
Winifred had not arrived at analytical reasons, but had intuitively
reached a conclusion. Just a mental picture of the coming brilliant
event at Mrs. Butterworth's; the gay scene, the intoxicating music, the
hollow courtesies, flattering words and glances, the dancing--just an
instant vision of the scene that arose in sheer contrast against the
pure holiness of the things they had been considering, and Winifred
turned from it quickly. To have spoken her impression, and Hubert's
evident approval, helped her to hold to it in later hours of temptation.
The Japanese gong sounded musically for Sunday evening tea before they
were aware that time had flown. They assembled with their elders who
looked not so much refreshed by their slumbers as our young friends by
their study. The repast over, Hubert, who wished to do all things
required of a Christian, but who felt a secret repugnance to listening
again to Doctor Schoolman, sounded Winifred's mind on the matter.
"Are you going to hear Doctor Schoolman?" he asked.
"Why, I suppose so," said she. "What else should one do?"
"What is he going to preach about?" he asked evasively.
"I don't know. Let's look in the paper and see."
So they found Saturday's paper and saw that this evening was to have
the first of a series of discourses on "Poets and Their Teachings,"
with Tennyson as the first subject.
"I am not hungering for a literary lecture," said Hubert. "I should
like to hear something clearly about Christ."
"We might go somewhere else," said Winifred, giving the suggestion
which he wished.
They looked at the paper again to see the advertised subjects at
various churches. They found some sensational, that might bear
reference to the Lord or might not; some very promising, but at
churches too far away; and finally they decided upon a little church in
a street near them, whose modest announcement told simply of "preaching
at 7:30."
It was with something of a spirit of adventure and an almost troubled
conscience that Winifred deserted her usual place of attendance. They
turned down a less fashionable street than their own and came to the
church, a small brick structure, very fresh and new looking. A few
young people still lingered about the door, loath to go in from the
summer twilight. Within the newness rivaled that without. The pew
backs shone with varnish, and the aisles glowed with fresh, red carpet.
The simple pulpit was carefully polished and a bright bookmark hung
from the gilt-edged leaves of the Bible. The choir occupied a platform
at the right of the minister, facing the congregation, and each member
held the visitors in view as they were shown to a seat. The evening
congregation was scattering, so their advent was the more noticeable.
They were early also, which gave the young girl organist some time to
look at them fixedly across the back of the cabinet organ at which she
was seated, before beginning her voluntary. Then she played "Alice,
Where Art Thou?" with loud and ill-assorted stops. Had Winifred been
less bent on sincere worship, or their quest for Christ-preaching been
less serious, she would have found it difficult to keep from laughing
with the sudden sense of humor which assailed her.
The service was nearly as elaborate as the statelier neighbor-church
could boast. The choir rendered an anthem in process of time, and
Winifred studied their faces earnestly, wondering if any thought of
reality was in their hearts as they sang. They were nearly all young,
with thoughtless, unspiritual faces, but they sang the sentiments of
discipline and sorrow. There was no artistic value in their singing,
and Winifred thought with a sigh, "It does not help any that the music
should be poor. They have no more heart in it than had we with our
trained skill."
The minister was a man of moderate abilities and somewhat ungraceful
appearance. He was tall, sandy-haired, with a half-anxious
countenance, as though the cares of the shining new edifice and of the
flock rather troubled him. He preached with no striking originality,
but with evident earnestness, mingled with abortive efforts at
rhetoric. He spoke good words for Christ, extolling His power to save
sinners; and the simple statements, however trite they may have sounded
to others, were music in the eager ears of those who had just come to
know Him.
At the close of the meeting he made his way to the door to shake hands
with the departing hearers, and Hubert gave him his with a cordial
grasp, and with thanks for his "excellent sermon." The minister's face
brightened and he looked after his appreciative visitors with hope that
they might come again.