A TALK ABOUT THE KINGDOM
IN the afternoon, when Mrs. Despard was sleeping, Lucy took the
children for a walk. They went through part of the village, and then
ascended a steep hill, which led them to a narrow winding path high
above the waves, and commanding a splendid prospect of sea and sky.
Ferns and mosses grew plenteously on the landward side of this path,
but its outer edge overhung the cliff, and was unguarded, so Lucy held
little Coral's hand, lest the child should unwarily venture too near
the dangerous brink. The path led to some barren fields shelving down
to the beach. Near the gate of the first field a stone bench had been
erected, which seemed to invite the passer-by to halt and admire the
grand sea-view spread before it.
When Beryl was much younger, her nurse had often brought her to this
spot, and allowed her to play at will amongst the thin grass, whilst
she sat on the bench and knitted, an occupation of which Lucy never
tired. Lucy now sat down and gazed silently at the sea for a few
moments. She saw, without knowing how beautiful it was, the constant
play of light and shadow on the shimmering water, and the glorious
stretch of blue sky with its snowy clouds drifting slowly to the west.
Yet, though unconscious of the beauty about her, some of the gladness
of the hour stole into Lucy's spirit. She thought, not with shuddering
horror, but with deep thankfulness for his safety, of how nearly her
brother had found his death beneath the blue waves now dancing so
joyously in the sunlight.
But Lucy could not long indulge in such musings, for Beryl was
impatient to pass on through the fields to the little pebbly cove
beyond. When they reached the stile, from which a steep, narrow path
ran down to the beach, they saw, to their surprise, a little crowd of
persons standing below within the shelter of the cliff.
It was not unusual for there to be a number of boys and girls playing
on the beach on a Sunday afternoon; but though the majority were
children, there were several grown-up persons in the little company
standing so quietly below.
"What are they doing, Lucy? Why do they stand there?" asked Beryl.
"Don't you see there is a gentleman talking to them, Miss Beryl?" said
Lucy. "I remember now that Joe told me there was a gentleman from
London, an artist, he said he was, had taken to preaching to the folks
down here on a Sunday afternoon; but I forgot all about it when I said
we would walk this way."
"I am very glad we came," said Beryl; "let us go down and hear what he
is saying."
And she started at a run down the steep path. Lucy and Coral followed
more cautiously; Lucy feeling rather doubtful of the propriety of her
allowing Miss Beryl to attend "the preaching."
But Beryl, very curious as to this unusual proceeding, pushed her way
into the little crowd gathered about the speaker. Seeing her approach,
the people respectfully made place for her, and so it happened that
Beryl soon found herself close beside the gentleman, who stood leaning
against the cliff, as he spoke in simple words to his untaught,
childish audience.
Beryl liked the look of the speaker, and did not doubt his right to
be called a gentleman, though he had not the well-to-do, easy air
her father always wore, and his clothes were of poor material, and
well worn. Even to the child's glance there was something beyond the
ordinary in his appearance and bearing. His face was thin, and he had
the pallid complexion which betokens delicate health. He wore his black
hair rather long, and a thick, dark beard covered his chest. His eyes
were of a deep, clear grey, and had the open, steadfast look those
only have which can look beyond self, having escaped the thraldom of
personal desires and ambitions. There was a winning gentleness in the
man's expression, and though his voice was not strong, its tones went
home to every heart.
"Last Sunday, my friends," he said, "we were talking together about
the first petition in that prayer which you say so often at church or
chapel: 'Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name.' Now,
to-day I want to speak to you about the second petition of that prayer:
'Thy kingdom come.' And first let us ask what is meant by a kingdom?
What do you understand now that a kingdom is?"
He paused and awaited an answer; but the question was a difficult one
to his hearers, and though several of the rough, honest faces before
him looked thoughtful, as if they were considering the matter, no one
ventured a reply.
"We often use the word kingdom, do we not," he went on, "in speaking of
the country or countries over which a king or queen rules? We speak,
for instance, of 'the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.' But
the word is sometimes used to represent the power and sovereignty of a
king, and sometimes, too, it means the living beings, the human hearts
over which he reigns. Now, I think there is somewhat of all three
meanings included in this petition. 'Thy kingdom come;' whose kingdom
do we mean when we say this?"
"God's," answered a young girl standing near Beryl.
"Yes, it is the kingdom of God; and what is the relation God bears to
us? What were we talking about last Sunday?"
"'Our Father, which art in heaven,'" said a sad-faced woman with a baby
in her arms.
"Yes, you have given us the answer, my friend," said the speaker,
looking kindly at her. "Jesus taught us that God is our Father; so you
see it is our Father's kingdom that we pray may come. God is at once
our Father and our King. Think for a moment what it is to have a King
who is our Father. I remember that when I was a boy, and had lessons to
do, I was constantly finding in my books this sentence: 'A good king is
the father of his people.' Now, that is a grand description of what a
king should be, because it is founded on the Divine idea of kingship."
"But how imperfectly can this be realised by any earthly monarch.
We are proud of our Queen Victoria, are we not? We think her one of
the best of sovereigns. But it is not possible that she can take a
parent's interest in all our homely needs and daily anxieties. I dare
say that if any of the great men of her court should tell her that you
fisher-folk of Egloshayle were in sore distress from famine or fever,
and needed her succour and sympathy, her kind heart would prompt her to
send immediately to your relief; but you might suffer a thousand ills
of which she would never hear."
"Not so is it with our Father-King. He is with you in your homes, and
knows the weight of each burden of care which lies so heavily on your
hearts. Nothing escapes His knowledge. He knows how you are tried when
the weather makes fishing impossible, or when your nets are lost and
your boats wrecked, and the gaunt wolf of want comes nearer and nearer
to your door. Then He knows and pities, and He will send you help, if
only you will trust Him as a Father should be trusted."
"Well, it is our Father's kingdom, then, that we pray for; and if we
are good and loving children, we shall take a great interest, shall
we not, in our Father's kingdom? The Prince of Wales, your Duke of
Cornwall, of whom you are proud, and all the other children of the
Queen, take a great interest in their mother's kingdom. And why? Is
it not because in being her kingdom it is also theirs? They belong to
the kingdom and the kingdom belongs to them. And so it is with us. We
are not merely the subjects of God's kingdom, but the children of that
kingdom."
"That expression, 'children of the kingdom,' occurs twice in the Bible.
In the first instance, Jesus (for in both cases it is our Lord who
uses this word) says, referring, it is supposed, to the Jewish nation,
'The children of the kingdom shall be cast out into outer darkness;
there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.' God forbid that you or
I should, like those Jews, be cast out of the kingdom as unworthy to
belong to it!"
"Again, our Lord, in explaining His parable of the sower and the seed,
says: 'The field is the world; the good seed are the children of the
kingdom; but the tares are the children of the wicked one.'"
"How I wish I could persuade you, my friends, to aim at being like
the good seed in this great field in which God has placed you. Who is
willing to be a child of the kingdom?"
"I am," murmured Beryl, who had been listening with intense interest to
the speaker's words. "I am willing."
The gentleman heard the child's low response. He was silent for a few
minutes, and then went on with growing earnestness:—
"I heard some one say, 'I am willing,'" he said, not looking at Beryl,
but so far beyond her that she fancied he could not know that she had
said the words. "God be praised for one willing heart! But I trust
there are others amongst you ready to become children of the kingdom;
and in order that we may understand what this means, let us try to form
some idea of what the nature of this kingdom really is."
"First, let me say that it is not a kingdom of the future, but a
kingdom existing now. Some people mean heaven, the world of joy and
rest, which they believe death will open to them, when they speak of
the kingdom of God."
"But God has a kingdom now, in this world, a kingdom into which we may
enter if we will. The kingdom is not yet perfected, it is true; but it
is daily growing and increasing. We cannot describe its form, for it
is an invisible kingdom. Jesus said, 'The kingdom of God cometh not
with observation; neither shall they say, "Lo here!" or, "Lo there!"
for behold the kingdom of God is within you.' And St. Paul, taught
of the Spirit, said, 'The kingdom of God is not meat and drink; but
righteousness and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.'"
"Now do you begin to see something of what the kingdom is? The realm
over which our Father would reign is the hearts of men. It is His
by right; He is its lawful ruler; but He desires to win its loving
submission. Wherever there is a heart bowing to the will of its Father,
striving to do His will, struggling to live worthy of its Divine birth,
there is the kingdom of heaven. The Lord Jesus Christ is the door into
that kingdom. The man who, loving Christ, tries to follow His example,
living a true, pure, honest life, working his hardest when work is to
hand, and trusting his Father without grumbling when times are bad, is
a child of the kingdom."
"The woman who does her lowly household work as to the Lord, loving her
husband, caring for her children, keeping her home clean and bright,
and living peaceably with her neighbours, is a child of the kingdom.
The boy or girl who tries to be like the child Jesus, obedient, gentle,
loving, making the sunshine of glad smiles and the music of happy
voices in this sad earth, is a child of the kingdom."
The gentleman ceased speaking, and looked with searching, though kindly
glances at the people standing about him. Many had listened only with
idle wonder; but on some few his words had made a deep impression.
These now moved forward to shake hands with him and utter their rough
but hearty thanks. Beryl remained beside the gentleman, although she
was aware that Lucy, who had lingered on the outskirts of the crowd,
was beckoning to her to come away.
Beryl was determined that she would not move till she had spoken to the
stranger, and perhaps asked him the question she was so anxious to have
answered.