THE DEPUTATION
He came, with His disciple to a gate which led into a field, through
which there ran a stream. It was high noon. He entered the gate, and
sat beside the stream. And the lame man sat near by. The Stranger
watched the water as it plashed over the stones on its race to the
mill. When presently He sighed, the lame man said:
'I have money; there is a village close handy. Let me go and buy
food, and bring it to you here.'
But He answered:
'We shall not want for food. There is one who comes to offer it to us
now.'
Even as He spoke a carriage drew up in the road on the other side of
the hedge. A lady, standing up in it, looked through a pair of
glasses into the field. Bidding the footman open the carriage-door,
alighting, she came through the gate to where He sat with His
disciple beside the stream. She was a woman of about forty years of
age, very richly dressed. As she walked, with her skirts held well
away from the grass, she continued to stare through the glasses,
which were attached to a long gold handle. Looking from one to the
other, her glance rested, on the Stranger.
I Are you the person of whom such extraordinary stories are being
told? You look it--you must be--you are. George Horley just told me
he saw you on the Shaldon Road. I don't know how he knew it was you--
and his manner was most extraordinary--but he's a sharp fellow, and I
shouldn't be surprised if he was right. Tell me, are you that
person?'
'I am He that you know not of.'
'My dear sir, that doesn't matter one iota. What I've heard of you is
sufficient introduction for me. I don't know if you're aware that
this field is mine, and that you're trespassing. I'm very particular
about not allowing the villagers to come in here--they will go after
the mushrooms. But if you'll take a seat in my carriage I shall be
very happy to put you up for a day or two. I'm Mrs. Montara, of Weir
Park. I have some very delightful people staying with me, who will be
of the greatest service to you in what I understand is your
propaganda. Most interesting what I've heard of you, I'm sure.' The
Stranger was silent. 'Well, will you come?'
'Woman, return to your own place. Leave Me in peace.'
'I don't admire your manners, my good man, especially after my going
out of my way to be civil to you. Is that all the answer you have to
give?'
'What have I to do with you, or you with Me? I am not that new thing
which you seek. I am of old.'
He looked at her. The great lady shrank back a little, as if abashed.
'Whoever you are, I shall be glad to have you as my guest.'
'I am not found in rich women's houses. They are too poor. They offer
nothing. They seek only to obtain.'
'I offer you, in the way of hospitality, whatever you may want.'
'You cannot offer Me the one thing which I desire.'
'What is that?'
'That you should know Me even as you are known. For unless you know
Me I have nothing, and less than nothing, and there is nothing in the
world that is at all to be desired. For if I have come unto Mine own,
and they know Me not, then My coming indeed is vain. Go! Strip
yourself and your house, and be ashamed. In the hour of your shame
come to Me again.'
'If that's the way you talk to me, get up and leave my field, before
I have you locked up for trespass.'
He stood up, and said to the lame man:
'Come!'
And they went out of the field, and passed through that place without
staying to eat or drink. In the next village an old woman, who was
standing at a cottage gate, stopped them as they were passing on.
'You are tired. Come in and rest.'
And they entered into her house. And she gave them food, refusing the
money which the lame man offered.
'I have a spare bedroom. You can have it if you'd like to stay the
night, and you'll be kindly welcome.'
So they stayed with her that night.
And in the morning, while it was yet early, they arose and went upon
their way. And when they had gone some distance they heard on the
road behind them the sound of a horse's hoofs. And when they turned,
they saw that a wagonette was being driven hotly towards them. When,
on reaching them, it stopped, they saw that it contained five men.
One, leaning over the side, said to the Stranger:
'Are you he we are looking for?'
The Stranger replied:
'I am He whom you seek.'
'That is,' added a second man, 'you are the individual who is stated
to have been performing miracles in London?'
The Stranger only said:
'I am He whom you seek.'
'In that case,' declared the first speaker, 'we are very fortunate.'
He scrambled out on to the road, a short, burly man, with restless
bright eyes and an iron-gray beard. He wore a soft, round, black felt
hat, and was untidily dressed. He seemed to be in perpetual movement,
in striking contrast to the Stranger's immutable calm.
'Will you come with us in the wagonette?' he demanded. 'Or shall
we say what we have to say to you here? It is early; we're in the
heart of the country; no one seems about. If we cross the stile
which seems to lead into that little copse, we could have no better
audience-chamber, and need fear no interruption.'
'Say what you have to say to Me here.'
'Good! Then, to begin with, we'll introduce ourselves.'
His four companions were following each other out of the wagonette.
As they descended he introduced each one in turn.
'This is Professor Wilcox Wilson, the pathologist. Professor Wilson
does not, however, confine himself to one subject, but is interested
in all live questions of the day; and, while he keeps an open mind,
seeks to probe into the why and wherefore of all varieties of
phenomena. This is the Rev. Martin Philipps, the eminent preacher and
divine, who joins to a liberal theology a far-reaching interest in
the cause of suffering humanity. Augustus Jebb, perhaps the greatest
living authority on questions of social science and the welfare of
the wage-earning classes. John Anthony Gibbs, who may be said to
represent the religious conscience of England in the present House of
Commons. I myself am Walter S. Treadman, journalist, student,
preacher, and, I hope, humanitarian. I only know that where there is
a cry of pain, there my heart is. I heard that you were in this
neighbourhood, and lost no time in requesting these gentlemen to
associate themselves with me in the appeal which I am about to make
to you. Therefore I beg of you to regard me as, in a sense, a
deputation from England. Your answer will be given to England. And on
that account, if no other, we implore you to weigh, with the utmost
care, any words which you may utter. To come to the point: Do we
understand you to assert that the feats with which you have set all
London agape are, in the exact sense of the word, miraculous--that
is, incapable of a natural interpretation?'
'Why do you speak such words to Me?'
'For an obvious reason. England is at heart religious. Though, for
the moment, she may seem torpid, it needs but a breath to fan the
smouldering embers into a mighty blaze which will light the world,
and herald in the brightness of the eternal dawn. If these things
which you have done are of God, then you must be of Him, and from
Him, and may be the bearer of a message to the myriads whose ears are
strained to listen. Therefore I implore you to answer.'
'What I have done, I have done not as a sign, nor to be magnified in
the eyes of men, but to dry the tears which were in their eyes.'
'Then they were miracles. So the question at once assumes another
phase--Who are you?'
'I am He whom you know not of, though you call often on My name.'
'You are the Christ--the Lord Christ?'
Professor Wilson laid his hand on Mr. Treadman's arm.
'You go too fast. No such assertion has been made; no such claim has
been put forth. I may add that there has been no such outrage on good
taste.'
The Rev. Martin Philipps interposed.
'Good taste is not necessarily outraged by such a claim; or, if it is
now, it was also at the first. Jesus was a man, such as we are, such
as this one here.'
Mr. Jebb agreed.
'And a labouring man at that. He worked with His own hands--a
wage-earner if ever there was one.'
'But,' pleaded the Professor, 'at least something was known of His
pedigree, of His credentials.'
'I am not so sure of that.'
'Nor I.'
'At any rate, let us proceed as if we were reasonable beings, and
actuated by the dictates of common-sense. Permit me to put one or two
questions: Are you an Englishman?'
'I am of a country which also you know not of. Thither I return to
meet Mine own.'
'Your answer is evasive. Allow me to point out, with the greatest
possible deference, that it is on record how Jesus originally damaged
His own case by the vagueness of the replies which He gave to
questions and the want of lucidity which characterised His
description of Himself. If you claim any, even the remotest,
connection with Him, let me advise you to avoid His errors.'
'You know not what you say, you fool of wisdom!'
'Lord,' cried Mr. Treadman,' I believe--help Thou my unbelief! I
believe because faith is the great want of the age, and it shall
remove mountains; I believe because belief is like the pinch of yeast
which, being dropped into the dough, leavens the whole. The leaven
spreads through the whole body politic, so that out of a little thing
proceeds a great. And, Lord, suffer Thy servant to entreat with Thee.
Lose no time. Thy people wait--have waited long; they cry aloud; they
look always for the little speck upon the sky; they lift up their
hands and beat against heaven's gates. Speak but the word--the one
word which Thou canst speak so easily! A whole world will leap into
Thy arms.'
'Their will, not mine, be done?'
'Nay, Lord, not so--not so! Esteem me not guilty of such presumption;
but I have lived among them, and have seen how the world labours and
is in pain, and how Thy people are crushed beneath heavy burdens
which press them down almost to the confines of the pit. And
therefore out of the fulness and anguish of my knowledge I cry: Lord,
come quickly--come quickly! Lose not a moment's time!'
'Your knowledge is greater than Mine?'
'Nay, Lord, I do not say that, nor think it. But Thou art immortal;
Thy children are mortal--very mortal. I understand the agony of
longing with which they look for Your presence--Your very presence--
in their midst.'
'They that know Me know that I am ever with them. They that do not
know Me know not that they see Me before their eyes.'
'You speak in a spiritual sense, I in a material. I know with what a
passionate yearning they desire to see you with their mortal eyes,
flesh of their flesh, bone of their bone--a man like unto
themselves.'
'You also seek a sign?'
'Who does not seek a sign? The soldier watches for the sign which
shows that his general is in command; the child looks for the sign
which proclaims his parent is at hand; the explorer searches for the
sign which shows his guide is leading him aright. There is chaos
where there is no sign.'
'Did I not say I am He you know not of? Those who know Me need no
sign.'
'Nor, in that sense, do I need one either. I have been unfortunate in
my choice of words if I have conveyed the impression that I do.'
'I have suffered you too much.' He turned to the lame man. 'Come!'
The Stranger and His disciple were continuing on their way when Mr.
Treadman's companions placed themselves in the path.
'Mr. Treadman's well-known command of language,' explained the
Professor, 'is likely to obscure the purpose of our presence here. We
have come to ask you to accompany us to town as our guest, and to
avail yourself of our services in placing, in the most efficient and
practical manner possible, your views and wishes before the country
as a whole.'
'In other words,' observed the Rev. Martin Philipps, 'we are here as
the Lord's servants, desirous to do His work and His will.'
'Having at heart,' continued Mr. Jebb, 'the welfare--spiritual,
moral, and physical--of the struggling millions.'
'Acting also,' added Mr. Gibbs, 'as the mouthpiece of Christ's
kingdom as it exists in our native land.'
The Professor's tone, as he commented on his colleagues' remarks, was
a little grim.
'What my friends say is, no doubt, very excellent in its way; but the
main point still is--Will you come with us? If so, here is a
conveyance. You have only to jump in at once, and we shall be in time
to catch a fast train back to town. My strong advice to you is, Be
practical, and come.'
'Suffer Me to go My way.'
'Is that your answer? Remember that history records how, on a
previous occasion, a great opportunity was frittered away for lack of
a little business acumen. There can be no doubt that the great need
of the hour is a practical religion. It is quite within the range of
possibility that you might go far towards placing such a propaganda
on a solid basis. Consider, therefore; before you treat our offer
with contempt.'
He made no answer, but went along the road, with the lame man at His
side.
For some seconds the deputation stood staring after Him. Then the
Professor gave expression to his feelings in these words:
'An impracticable person.'
The Rev. Martin Philipps had something to say on this curt summing up
of the position.
'I think, Professor, that what you call practicality is likely to be
your stumbling-block. In your sense, God is not always practical.'
'In a country of practical men that is unfortunate.'
'When you say practical you mean material. There is something higher
than materiality.'
'The material and the spiritual, Philipps, are more closely allied
than you may suppose. It is useless to ask a mere man to give primary
attention to his spiritual wants when, in a material sense, he lacks
everything. To formulate such a demand, even by inference, is to play
into the hands of the plutocracy.'
'Still,' remarked Mr. Gibbs,' I think there might have been more said
of the things of the soul, and less of the things of the body. It is
the soul of England we are here to plead for, not its mere corporeal
husk.'
While they talked Mr. Treadman stood looking after the retreating
Stranger. Suddenly he started running, calling as he went:
'Lord, Lord, suffer that I may come with You!'
He went on, with the lame man at His side, and Mr. Treadman at His
heels, calling persistently: 'Suffer that I may come with You!' until
presently He turned, saying:
'Why do you continue to entreat that I should suffer you? Have I
forbidden you to come?'
For a time Mr. Treadman was still. But continually he broke again
into speech, talking of this thing and of that.
But there was none that answered him.