THE WORDS OF THE PREACHER
'They say that the Jews do not look forward to the rebuilding of
their Holy City of Jerusalem, to their return to the Promised Land.
They say that we Christians do not look forward to the Second Coming
of Christ. As to the indictment against the Chosen People, we will
not pronounce: we are not Jews. But as to the charge against us
Christians, there we are on firmer ground. We can speak, and we must.
My answer is, It's a lie. We do look forward to His Second Coming. We
watch and wait for it. It is the subject of our constant prayers. We
have His promise, in words which cannot fail. The whole fabric of our
faith is built upon our assurance of His return. If the delay seems
long, it is because, in His sight, a thousand years are as a day. Who
are we to time His movements, and fix the hour of His coming so that
it may fall in with our convenience? We know that He will come, in
His own time, in His own way. He will forgive us if we strain our
eyes eastward, watching for the first rays of the dawn to gild the
mountains and the plains, and herald the glory of His advent. But
beyond that His will, not ours, be done. We know, O Lord Christ, Thou
wilt return when it seems well in Thy sight.'
The Rev. Philip Evans was a short, somewhat sturdily built man, who
was a little too heavy for his height. His dress was, to all intents
and purposes, that of a layman, though something about the colour and
cut of the several garments suggested the dissenting minister of a
certain modern type. He was a hairy man; his brown hair, beard, and
whiskers were just beginning to be touched with gray. He wore
spectacles, big round glasses, set in bright steel frames. He had a
trick of snatching at them with his left hand every now and then, as
if to twitch them straight upon his nose. He was not an orator, but
was something of a rhetorician. He had the gift of the gab, and the
present-day knack of treating what are supposed to be sacred subjects
in secular fashion--of 'bringing them down,' as he himself described
it, 'to the intelligence' of his hearers, apparently unconscious of
the truth that what he supposed to be their standard of intelligence
was, in fact, his own.
There was about his manner, methods, gestures, voice, a species of
nervous force, the product of restlessness rather than vitality,
which attracted the sort of persons to whom he specially appealed,
when they had nothing better to do, and held them, if not so
firmly as the music-hall and theatrical performances which they
preferentially patronised, still, with a sufficient share of
interest. The band and the choir had something to do with the
success which attended his labours. But, after all, these were merely
side-shows. Indubitably the chief attraction was the man himself, and
the air of brightness and 'go' which his personality lent to the
proceedings. One never knew what would be the next thing he would say
or do.
That Sunday evening the great hall was thronged. It nearly always
was. In the great thoroughfare without the people passed continually
to and fro, a motley crowd, mostly in pursuit of mischief. All sorts
and conditions of persons, as they neared the entrance, would come
in, if only to rest for a few minutes, and listen by the way, and
look on. There was a constant coming and going. Philip Evans was one
of the sights of town, not the least of its notorieties; and those
very individuals against whom his diatribes were principally directed
found, upon occasion, a moderate degree of entertainment in listening
to examples of his comminatory thunders.
The subject of his evening's discourse had been announced as 'The
Second Coming: Is it Fact or Dream?' He had chosen as his text the
eleventh verse of the third chapter of St. John's Revelation:
'Behold, I come quickly; hold fast that which thou hast, that no man
take thy crown.' He had pointed out to his audience that these words
were full of suggestion, even apart from their context; pre-eminently
so in connection with it. They had in them, he maintained, Christ's
own promise that He would return to the world in which He had endured
so much disappointment and suffering, such ignominy and such shame.
He supported his assertion by the usual cross references to Biblical
passages, construing them to suit his arguments by the dogmatic
methods with which custom has made us familiar.
'If there is one thing sure, it is the word of Jesus Christ; if there
is one thing Christ has promised us, it is that He will return. If we
believe that He came once, we must believe that He will come again.
We have no option, unless we make out Christ to be a liar. There was
no meaning in his First Coming unless it is His intention to return.
The work He began has to be finished. If you deny a personal Christ,
then you are at least logical in regarding His whole story as
allegorical, the story that He was and will be; in which case may He
help you, and open your eyes that you may see. But if you are a
Christian, it is because you believe in Christ, the living Christ,
the very Christ, the Christ made man, that was and will be. Your
faith, our faith, is not a symbol, it's a fact. It's a solid thing,
not the distillation of a dream. We believe that Jesus Christ was
like unto us, hungry as we are, and athirst; that He felt as we feel,
knew our joys and sorrows, our trials and temptations. He came to us
once, that is certain. To attempt to whittle away that fact is to
make of our Christianity a laughing-stock, and our plight most
lamentable. Better for us, a thousand, thousand times, that we had
never been born! But He came--we know He came! And, knowing that, we
know that we have His promise that He will come again, and rejoice!
'Of the time and manner of His Second Coming there is none mortal
that may certainly speak. To pretend to speak on the subject with
special insight or knowledge would be intolerable presumption--worse,
akin to blasphemy! Thy will, not ours, be done. We only stand and
wait. In Thy hand, Lord God, is the issue. We know it, and give
thanks. But while recognising our inability to probe into the
workings of the Most High, I think we may be excused if we make
certain reflections on the theme which to us, as Christians, is of
such vital moment.
'First, as to the time. Knowing nothing, we do know this, that it may
be at any instant of any hour of any day. The Lord Jesus Christ may
be speeding to us now. He may be in our midst even while I speak. Why
not? We know that He was in a certain synagogue while service was
taking place, without any there having had the slightest warning of
His intended presence. What He did then can He not do now? And will
He not? Who shall say?
'For, as to the manner, we can at least venture to say this, that we
know not, with any sort of certainty, what the manner of His coming
will be. The dark passages of the Scripture are dark perhaps of
intention, and, maybe, will continue obscure, until in the fulness of
time all things are made plain. There are those who affirm that He
will come with pomp and power, in the fulness of His power, as a
conquering king, with legions of angels, to be the Judge of all the
earth. To me it appears that those who say this go further than the
evidence before us warrants. And it may be observed that precisely
the same views were held by a large section of the Jews in the year
of our Lord. They thought that He would come in the splendour of His
majesty. And because He did not, they hung Him on the tree. Let us
not stand in peril of the same mistake. As He came before, in the
simple garb of a simple man, may He not come in that same form again?
Why not? Who are we that we should answer? I adjure you, in His most
holy Name, to keep on this matter an open mind, lest we be guilty of
the same sin as those purblind Jews.
'What we have to do is to know Him when He does come. The notion that
we shall be sure to do so seems to me to be born of delusion. Did the
Jews know Him when He came before? No! Why? Because He was a
contradiction of all their preconceived ideas. They expected one
thing, and found another. They looked for a king in his glittering
robes; and, instead, there was a Man who had not where to lay His
head. There is the crux of the matter; because He was so like
themselves, they did not know Him for what He was. The difference was
spiritual, whereas they expected it to be material. The tendency of
the world is now, as it was then, to look at the material side. Let
us be careful that we are not deceived. It is by the spirit we shall
know Him when He comes!'
The words had been rapidly spoken, and the preacher paused at this
point, perhaps to take breath, or perhaps to collect his thoughts
prior to diverting the current of his discourse into a slightly
different channel. At any rate, there was a distinct pause in the
flow of language. While it continued, Someone stood up in the body of
the hall, and a Voice inquired:
'Who shall know Him when He comes?'
The question was clearly audible all over the building. It was by no
means unusual, in that place, for incidents to occur which were not
in accordance with the programme. Interruptions were not infrequent.
Both preacher and people were used to them. By a considerable part of
the audience such interludes were regarded as not the least
interesting portion of the proceedings. To the fashion in which he
was wont to deal with such incidents the Rev. Philip Evans owed, in
no slight degree, his vogue. It was his habit to lose neither his
presence of mind nor his temper. He was, after his manner, a fighter
born. Seldom did he show to more advantage than in dealing out
cut-and-thrust to a rash intervener.
When the Voice asking the question rose from the body of the hall,
there were those who at once concluded that such an intervention had
occurred. For the instant, the movement in and out of the doors
ceased. Heads were craned forward, and eyes and ears strained to lose
nothing of what was about to happen. Mr. Evans, to whom the question
seemed addressed, appeared to be no whit taken by surprise. His
retort was prompt:
'Sir, pray God that you may know Him when He comes.'
The Voice replied:
'I shall know as I shall be known. But who is there shall know Me?'
The Speaker moved towards the platform, threading His way between the
crowded rows of seats with an ease and a celerity which seemed
strange. None endeavoured to stop Him. Philip Evans remained silent
and motionless, watching Him as He came.
When the Stranger had gained the platform, He turned towards the
people, asking:
'Who is there here that knows Me? Is there one?' There was not one
that answered. He turned to the preacher. 'Look at Me well. Do you
not know Me?'
For once in a way Philip Evans seemed uncomfortable and ill at ease
and abashed.
'How shall I know you, since you are to me a stranger?'
'And yet you have looked for My coming?'
'Your coming? Who are you?'
'Look at Me well. Is there nothing by which you may know Me?'
'I may have seen you before; but, if so, I have certainly forgotten
it, which is the more strange, since your face is an unusual one.'
'Oh, you Christians, that preach of what you have no knowledge, and
lay down the law of which you have no understanding!' He turned to
the people. 'You followers of Christ, that never knew Him, and never
shall, and would not if you could, yet make a boast of His name, and
blazon it upon your foreheads, crying, Behold His children! You call
upon Him in the morning and at night, careless if He listen, and
fearful lest He hear; saying, with your lips, "We look for His
coming"; and, with your hearts, "Send it not in our time." It is by
the spirit you shall know Him. Yes, of a truth. Is there not one
among you in whom the spirit is? Is there not one?'
The Stranger stood with His arms extended in front of Him, in an
attitude of appeal. The hush of a perfect silence reigned in the
great hall. Every countenance was turned to Him, but so far as could
be seen, not a muscle moved. The predominant expression upon the
expanse of faces was astonishment, mingled with curiosity. His arms
sank to His sides.
'He came unto His own, and His own knew Him not!'
The words fell from His lips in tones of infinite pathos. He passed
from the platform through the hall, and out of the door, followed by
the eyes of all who were there, none seeking to stay Him.
When He had gone, one of the persons who were associated with the
conduct of the service went up to Mr. Evans. A few whispered words
were exchanged between them. Then this person, going to the edge of
the platform, announced:
'After what has just occurred, I regret to have to inform you that
Mr. Evans feels himself unable to continue his address. He trusts to
be able, God willing, to bring it to a close on a more auspicious
occasion. This evening's service will be brought to a conclusion by
singing the hymn "Lo, He comes, in clouds descending!"'