A DOUBTFUL BATTLE IN PROSPECT
The painful impression made by the evening service that has been
described acted as a rude disenchantment, and the beautiful church, to
which Mrs. Arnot had returned every Sabbath morning with increasing
pleasure, became as repulsive as it had been sacred and attractive. To
her sincere and earnest spirit anything in the nature of a sham was
peculiarly offensive; and what, she often asked herself, could be more
un-Christlike than this service which had been held in his name?
The revelation so astonished and disheartened her that she was prone to
believe that there was something exceptional in that miserable Sabbath
evening's experience, and she determined to observe further and more
closely before taking any action. She spoke frankly of her feelings and
purposes to Haldane, and in so doing benefited the young man very much;
for he was thus led to draw a sharp line between Christ and the
Christlike and that phase of Christianity which is largely leavened with
this world. No excuse was given him to jumble the true and the false
together.
"You will do me a favor if you will quietly enter the church next Sunday
morning and evening, and unobtrusively take one of the seats near the
door," she said to him. "I wish to bring this matter to an issue as soon
as possible. If you could manage to enter a little in advance of me, I
would also be glad. I know how Christ received sinners, and I would like
to see how we who profess to be representing him, receive those who come
to his house."
Haldane did as she requested. In a quiet and perfectly unobtrusive
manner he walked up the granite steps into the vestibule, and his
coarse, gray suit, although scrupulously clean, was conspicuous in its
contrast with the elegant attire of the other worshippers. He himself
was conspicuous also; for many knew who he was, and whispered the
information to others. A "jail-bird" was, indeed, a _rara avis_ in
that congregation, and there was a slight, but perfectly decorous,
sensation. However greatly these elegant people might lack the spirit of
Him who was "the friend of publicans and sinners" they would not for the
world do anything that was overtly rude or ill-bred. Only the official
sexton frowned visibly as the youth took a seat near the door. Others
looked askance or glided past like polished icicles. Haldane's teeth
almost chattered with the cold. He felt himself oppressed, and almost
pushed out of the house, by the moral atmosphere created by the
repellent thoughts of some who apparently felt the place defiled by his
presence. Mrs. Arnot, with her keen intuition, felt this atmosphere
also, and detected on the part of one or two of the officers of the
Church an unchristian spirit. Although the sermon was an excellent one
that morning, she did not hear it.
In the evening a lady draped in a black veil sat by Haldane. The service
was but a dreary counterpart of the one of the previous Sabbath. The sky
had been overcast and slightly threatening, and still fewer worshippers
had ventured out.
Beyond furtive and curious glances no one noticed them save the sexton,
who looked and acted as if Haldane's continued coming was a nuisance,
which, in some way, he must manage to abate.
The young man waited for Mrs. Arnot at her carriage-door, and said as he
handed her in:
"I have kept my word; but please do not ask me to come to this church
again, or I shall turn infidel."
"I shall not come myself again," she replied, "unless there is a decided
change."
The next morning she wrote notes to two of the leading officers of the
church, asking them to call that evening; and her request was so urgent
that they both came at the appointed hour.
Mrs. Arnot's quiet but clear and distinct statement of the evils of
which she had become conscious greatly surprised and annoyed them. They,
with their associates, had been given credit for organizing and
"running" the most fashionable and prosperous church in town. An elegant
structure had been built and paid for, and such a character given the
congregation that if strangers visited or were about to take up their
abode in the city they were made to feel that the door of this church
led to social position and the most aristocratic circles. Of course,
mistakes were made. People sometimes elbowed their way in who were
evidently flaunting weeds among the patrician flowers, and occasionally
plain, honest, but somewhat obtuse souls would come as to a Christian
church. But people who were "not desirable"--the meaning of this phrase
had become well understood in Hillaton--were generally frozen out by an
atmosphere made so chilly, even in August, that they were glad to escape
to other associations less benumbing. Indeed, it was now so generally
recognized that only those of the best and most assured social position
were "desirable," that few others ventured up the granite steps or
sought admittance to this region of sacred respectability. And yet all
this had been brought about so gradually, and so entirely within the
laws of good breeding and ecclesiastical usage, and also under the most
orthodox preaching, that no one could lay his finger on anything upon
which to raise an issue.
The result was just what these officers had been working for, and it was
vexatious indeed that, after years of successful manipulation, a lady of
Mrs. Arnot's position should threaten to make trouble.
"My dear Mrs. Arnot," said one of these polished gentlemen, with a
suavity that was designed to conciliate, but which was nevertheless
tinged with philosophical dogmatism, "there are certain things that will
not mix, and the attempt to mingle them is wasting time on the
impossible. It is in accordance with the laws of nature that each class
should draw together according to their affinities and social status.
Our church is now entirely homogeneous, and everything moves forward
without any friction."
"It appears to me sadly machine-like," the lady remarked.
"Indeed, madam," with a trace of offended dignity, "is not the Gospel
ably preached?"
"Yes, but it is not obeyed. We have been made homogeneous solely on
worldly principles, and not on those taught in the Gospels."
They could not agree, as might have been supposed, and Mrs. Arnot was
thought to be unreasonable and full of impracticable theories.
"Very well, gentlemen," said Mrs. Arnot, with some warmth, "if there can
be no change in these respects, no other course is left for me but to
withdraw;" and the religious politicians bowed themselves out, much
relieved, feeling that this was the easiest solution of the question.
Mrs. Arnot soon after wrote to the Rev. Dr. Barstow, pastor of the
church, for a letter of dismission. The good man was much surprised by
the contents of this missive. Indeed, it so completely broke a chain of
deep theological speculation that he deserted his study for the street.
Here he met an officer of the church, a man somewhat advanced in years,
whom he had come to regard as rather reserved and taciturn in
disposition. But in his perplexity he exhibited Mrs. Arnot's letter, and
asked an explanation.
"Well," said the gentleman, uneasily, "I understand that Mrs. Arnot is
dissatisfied, and perhaps she has some reason to be."
"Upon what grounds?" asked the clergyman hastily.
"Suppose we call upon her," was the reply. "I would rather you should
hear her reasons from herself; and, in fact, I would be glad to hear
them also."
Half an hour later they sat in Mrs. Arnot's parlor.
"My dear madam," said Dr. Barstow, "are you willing to tell us frankly
what has led to the request contained in this letter? I hope that I am
in no way to blame."
"Perhaps we have all been somewhat to blame," replied Mrs. Arnot in a
tone so gentle and quiet as to prove that she was under the influence of
no unkindly feeling or resentment; "at least I feel that I have been
much to blame for not seeing what is now but too plain. But habit and
custom deaden our perceptions. The aspect of our church was that of good
society--nothing to jar upon or offend the most critical taste. Your
sermons were deeply thoughtful and profound, and I both enjoyed and was
benefited by them. I came and went wrapped up in my own spiritual life
and absorbed in my own plans and work, when, unexpectedly, an incident
occurred which revealed to me what I fear is the _animus_ and character
of our church organization. I can best tell you what I mean by relating
my experience and that of a young man whom I have every reason to
believe wishes to lead a better life, yes, even a Christian life;"
and she graphically portrayed all that had occurred, and the impressions
made upon her by the atmosphere she had found prevalent, when she placed
herself in the attitude of a humble stranger.
"And now," she said in conclusion, "do we represent Christ, or are we so
leavened by the world that it may be doubted whether he would
acknowledge us?"
The minister shaded his pained and troubled face with his hand.
"We represent the world," said the church officer emphatically; "I have
had a miserable consciousness of whither we were drifting for a long
time, but everything has come about so gradually and so properly, as it
were, that I could find no one thing upon which I could lay my finger
and say, This is wrong and I protest against it. Of course, if I had
heard the sexton make such a remark to any one seeking to enter the
house of God as was made to the young man you mention I should have
interfered. And yet the question is one of great difficulty. Can such
diverse classes meet on common ground?"
"My dear sir," said Mrs. Arnot earnestly, "I do not think we, as a
church, are called upon to adjust these diverse classes, and to settle,
on the Sabbath, nice social distinctions. The Head of the Church said,
'Whosoever will, let him come.' We, pretending to act in his name and by
his authority, say, 'Whosoever is sufficiently respectable and
well-dressed, let him come.' I feel that I cannot any longer be a party
to this perversion.
"If we would preserve our right to be known as a Christian church we
must say to all, to the poor, to the most sinful and debased, as well as
to those who are now welcomed, 'Come'; and when they are within our
walls they should be made to feel that the house does not belong to an
aristocratic clique, but rather to him who was the friend of publicans
and sinners. Christ adjusted himself to the diverse classes. Are we his
superiors?"
"But, my dear madam, are there to be no social distinctions?"
"I am not speaking of social distinctions. Birth, culture, and wealth
will always, and very properly, too, make great differences. In inviting
people to our homes we may largely consult our own tastes and
preferences, and neither good sense nor Christian duty requires that
there should be intimacy between those unfitted for it by education and
character. But a church is not our house, but God's house, and what
right have we to stand in the door and turn away those whom he most
cordially invites? Christ had his beloved disciple, and so we can have
our beloved and congenial friends. But there were none too low or lowly
for him to help by direct personal effort, by sympathetic contact, and
I, for one, dare not ignore his example."
"Do you not think we can better accomplish this work by our mission
chapel?"
"Where is your precedent? Christ washed the feet of fishermen in order
to give us an example of humility, and to teach us that we should be
willing to serve any one in his name. I heartily approve of mission
chapels as outposts; but, as in earthly warfare, they should be posts of
honor, posts for the brave, the sagacious, and the most worthy. If they
are maintained in the character of second-class cars, they are to that
extent unchristian. If those who are gathered there are to be kept there
solely on account of their dress and humble circumstances, I would much
prefer taking my chances of meeting my Master with them than in the
church which practically excludes them.
"Christ said, 'I was a stranger, and ye took me in.' I came to our
church as a stranger twice. I was permitted to walk in and walk out, but
no one spoke to me, no one invited me to come again. It seems to me that
I would starve rather than enter a private house where I was so coldly
treated. I have no desire for startling innovations. I simply wish to
unite myself with a church that is trying to imitate the example of the
Master, and where all, whatever may be their garb or social and moral
character, are cordially invited and sincerely welcomed."
Dr. Barstow now removed his hand from his face. It was pale, but its
expression was resolute and noble.
"Mrs. Arnot, permit me to say that you are both right and wrong," he
said. "Your views of what a church should be are right; you are wrong in
wishing to withdraw before having patiently and prayerfully sought to
inculcate a true Christian spirit among those to whom you owe and have
promised Christian fidelity. You know that I have not very long been the
pastor of this church, but I have already felt that something was amiss.
I have been oppressed and benumbed with a certain coldness and formality
in our church life. At the same time I admit, with contrition, that I
have given way to my besetting sin. I am naturally a student, and when
once in my study I forget the outside world. I am prone to become wholly
occupied with the thought of my text, and to forget those for whom I am
preparing my discourse. I, too, often think more of the sermon than of
the people, forgetting the end in the means, and thus I fear I was
becoming but a voice, a religious philosophy, among them, instead of a
living and a personal power. You have been awakened to the truth, Mrs.
Arnot, and you have awakened me. I do not feel equal to the task which I
clearly foresee before me; I may fail miserably, but I shall no longer
darken counsel with many words. You have given me much food for thought;
and while I cannot foretell the end, I think present duty will be made
clear. In times of perplexity it is our part to do what seems right,
asking God for guidance, and then leave the consequences to him. One
thing seems plain to me, however, that it is your present duty to remain
with us, and give your prayers and the whole weight of your influence on
the side of reform."
"Dr. Barstow," said Mrs. Arnot, her face flushing slightly, "you are
right; you are right. I have been hasty, and, while condemning others,
was acting wrong myself. You have shown the truer Christian spirit. I
will remain while there is any hope of a change for the better."
"Well, Mrs. Arnot," said Mr. Blakeman, the elderly church officer, "I
have drawn you out partly to get your views and partly to get some
clearer views myself. I, too, am with you, doctor, in this struggle; but
I warn you both that we shall have a hot time before we thaw the ice out
of our church."
"First pure, and then peaceable," said the minister slowly and musingly;
and then they separated, each feeling somewhat as soldiers who are about
to engage in a severe and doubtful battle.