THE WORDS OF THE WISE
There began to be in London that night a feeling of unrest. A sense
of uncertainty came into men's minds, a desire to find answers to the
questions which each asked of the other:
'Who is this man? Who does he pretend to be? Where does he come from?
What does he want?'
In the minds of some that last inquiry assumed a different form. They
asked, of their own hearts, if not of one another:
'Why has he come to trouble us?'
The usual showed signs of the unusual. In a great city a divergence
from the normal means disturbance; which is to be avoided. When the
multitude is strongly stirred by a consciousness of the abnormal in
its midst, to someone, or to something, it means danger. Order is not
preserved by authority, but by tradition. A suspicion that events are
about to happen which are contrary to established order shakes that
tradition, with the immediate result that confusion threatens.
There was that night hardly one person who was not conscious of more
or less vague mental disturbance. There were those who at once leaped
to the conclusion that the words of Scripture, as they interpreted
them, were about to receive complete illustration. There were others
whose theological outlook was capable of less mathematically accurate
definition, who were yet in doubt as to whether some supernatural
being might not have appeared among men. There was that large class
which, having no logical grounds for expectation, is always looking
for the unexpected, ever eager to believe it is upon them. The
members of this class are not interested in current theories of a
deity; they are indifferent whether God is or is not. The phrase 'a
Second Coming' conveyed no meaning to their minds. They would welcome
any new thing, whether it was Christ Jesus or Tom Fool; though, when
they realised who Christ Jesus was, their preference would be
strongly in favour of Tom Fool. It was, for the most part,
individuals of this sort who bent their steps towards the house in
which the Stranger was, and, by way of diversion, loitered in its
neighbourhood throughout the night.
In the house itself a consultation was being held. Various persons
who take a notorious interest in subjects of the hour were gathered
together, like bees about a flower, desirous to extract from the
occasion such honey as they could. Mr. Treadman, who presided, had
explained to the meeting, in words which burned, what a matter of
capital importance it was which had brought them there.
Professor Wilcox Wilson displayed his usual fondness for destructive
criticism.
'Our friend Treadman speaks of the frightful consequences
which would attend an only partial recognition of the Lord's
divinity. He says nothing of the at least equally bad results which
would ensue from giving credit to an impostor. Apart from the fact
that there are those who are still in doubt as to which portion of
the New Testament narrative is to be regarded as mythical----'
Mr. Treadman sprang to his feet.
'Mr. Wilson, this meeting is for believers only. We are not here for
an academical discussion; we are here as children of Christ.'
'Quite so. I, also, am anxious to be a child of Christ. I only say,
with another, "Help Thou my unbelief." It seems to me that the
personage whom we will call our distinguished visitor----'
'Wilson, sit down! In my presence you shall not speak with such
flippancy of the Lord Christ. It is to protest against such frames of
mind that we are here. Don't you realise that He who is in the room
above us has but to lift His little finger to lay you dead?'
'It would prove nothing if he did; certainly not that he is the Lord
Christ. My dear Treadman, let me ask you seriously to consider
whether you propose to conduct your crusade on logical lines or as
creatures of impulse. If it is as the latter you intend to figure,
you will do an incalculable amount of mischief. The Lord who made us
is aware of our deficiencies. He is responsible for them.'
'No! No!'
'Who, then, is? Is there a greater than God? Do you blaspheme? He
knows that He has given us, as one of the strongest passions of our
nature, a craving for demonstrable proof. If this is shown in little
things, then how much more in greater! If you want it proved that two
and two are five, then are you not equally desirous of having it
clearly established that a wandering stranger has claims to call
himself divine? So put, the question answers itself. If this man is
God, he will have no difficulty in demonstrating the fact beyond all
possibility of doubt; and he will demonstrate it, for he knows that
human nature, for which he is responsible, requires such
demonstration. If he does not, then rest assured he is no God.'
Mr. Jebb stood up.
'What sort of proof does Professor Wilson require? What amount would
he esteem sufficient? Would he expect that the demonstration should
be repeated in the case of each separate individual? I put these
questions, feeling that the Professor has possibly his own point of
view, because it is asserted that miracles have taken place. A large
body of apparently trustworthy evidence testifies to the fact. I am
bound to admit that my own researches go to show that the occurrences
in question are at least extra-natural. Does the Professor suggest
that any power short of what we call Divine can go outside nature?'
The Professor replied:
'I will be candid, and confess that it is because the events referred
to are of so extraordinary a nature that I am in this galley. I have
hitherto seen no reason to doubt that everything which has happened
in cosmogony is capable of a natural explanation. If I am to admit
the miraculous, I find myself confronted by new conditions, on which
account I ask this worker of wonders to show who and what he is.'
'He has already shown Himself to be more than man.'
'I grant that he has shown himself to be a remarkable person. But it
does not by any means therefore follow that he is the Son of God, the
Christ of tradition.'
Mr. Treadman broke into the discussion.
'He has shown Himself to me to be the Christ.'
'But how? that's what I don't understand. How?'
'Wilson, pray that one day He may show Himself to you before it is
too late. Pray! pray! then you'll understand the how, wherefore, and
why, though you'll still not be able to express them in the terms of
a scientific formula.'
The Professor shrugged his shoulders.
'That is the sort of talk which has been responsible for the
superstition which has been the world's greatest bane. The votaries
of the multifarious varieties of hanky-panky have always shown a
distaste for the cold, dry light of truth, which is all that science
is.'
Jebb smiled.
'I am not so exigent as the Professor. I recognise the presence in
our midst of a worker of wonders--a god among men. And although in
that latter phrase some may only see a poetic license, I am disposed
to be content. For I represent a too obvious fact--the fact that one
portion of the world is the victim of the other part's injustice. As
I came here to-night I passed through men and women, ragged,
tattered, and torn, smirched with all manner of uncleanliness, who
were hastening towards this house as if towards the millennium.
Remembering how often that quest had been a dream, I asked myself if
it were possible that at last it gleamed on the horizon. As I put to
myself the question, my heart leaped up into my mouth. For it was
borne in upon me, as a thing not to be denied, that it might be that,
in the best of all possible senses, the Day of the Lord has arrived--
the Great Day of the Lord.'
'It has arrived, Jebb, be sure of it!'
'I think--I say it with all due deference--that it will not
be our fault if it has not, in the sense in which I use the phrase. I
am told that we have Christ again among us. On that pronouncement I
pass no opinion. I stand simply for those that suffer. I do know that
we are in actual touch with one who has given proofs of his capacity
to alleviate pain and make glad the sorrowful. Experience has shown
that by nothing less than a miracle can the submerged millions be
raised out of the depths. Here is a doer of miracles. Already he has
shown that a cry of anguish gains access to the heart, and impels him
to a removal of the cause. Here is a great healer, the physician the
world is so much in want of. Would it not be well for us, sinking all
controversial differences, to join hands in approaching him, and in
showing him, with all humility, the wounds which gape widest, and the
souls which are enduring most, doing this in the trust that the sight
of so much affliction will quicken his sympathies, and move him to
right the wrong, and to make the rough ways smooth? How he will do it
I cannot say. But he who can raise a cancerous corpse from an
operating table, and endue it with life and health upon the instant,
can do that and more. To such an one all things are possible. I ask
you to consider whether it will not be well that we should discuss
the best and most effective manner in which, in the morning, this
matter can be laid before him who has come among us.'
Scarcely had Mr. Jebb ceased to speak than there rose a huge man,
with matted beard, untidy hair, eager eyes, and a voice which seemed
to shake the room. This was the socialist, Henry Walters. He spoke
with tumultuous haste, as if it was all he could do to keep up with
the words which came rushing along his tongue.
'I say, Yes! if that's the Christ you're talking about, I'm for him.
If this disturber of the peace is a creature with red blood in his
veins, count me on his side. For he'll be a disturber of the peace
with a vengeance. If at last Heaven has given us someone who is
prepared to deal, not with abstractions, but with facts, then I cry:
"Hallelujah for the King of Kings!" For it's more important that our
rookeries should be made decent dwelling-places than that all the
Churches should plump for the Thirty-nine Articles. The prospect of a
practical Christ almost turns my brain. Religion is a synonym for
contradiction in theory and practice, but a Christ who is a live man,
and not a decoration for an altarpiece, will be likely to have clear
notions on the problems which are beyond our finding out, and to care
little for singing bad verses about the golden sea. We want a Saviour
more than the handful of Jews did, who at least had breathing space
in the 11,000 miles of open country, with a respectable climate,
which you call Palestine. But he must be a Saviour that is a Saviour;
not an utterer of dark sayings which are made darker by being
interpreted, but a doer of deeds. Let him purify the moral and
physical atmosphere of a single London alley, and he'll not want for
followers. Let him assure the London dockers of a decent return for
honest labour, and he'll write his name for all time on their hearts.
Let him put an end to sweating, and explain to the wicked mighty that
by right their seats should be a little lower down, and he'll have
all that's worth having in the world upon his side. You talk about a
Saviour of the poor. If such an one has come at last, the face of
this country will be transformed in a fashion which will surprise
some of you who live on the poor. There'll be no need of a second
crucifixion, or for more tittle-tattle about dying for sinners. Let
him live for them. He has but to choose to conquer, to will to extend
his empire, eternally, from pole to pole. And since these are my
sentiments I need not enlarge on the zest with which I shall join in
the discussion suggested by Mr. Jebb as to the most irresistible
method of laying before him who has come among us the plain fact that
this chaos called a city is but a huge charnel-house of human
misery.'
When Mr. Walters sat down the Rev. Martin Philipps rose:
'I have listened in silence to the remarks which we have just heard
because I felt that this was pre-eminently an occasion on which every
man, conscious of his own responsibility, was entitled to an
uninterrupted exposition of his views, however abhorrent those views
might be to some of us. I need not tell you how both the tone and
spirit of those to which we have just been listening are contrary to
every sense and fibre of my being. Mr. Jebb and the last speaker seem
only to see the secular side of the subject which is before us. This
is the more surprising as it has no secular side. If Christ has come,
it is as a Divinity, not as an adherent of this or that political or
social school, but as an intermediary between heaven and earth. I
cannot express to you the horror with which I regard the notion that
the purport of His presence here can be to administer to the material
wants of men. To suppose so is indeed to mock God. We as Christians
know better. It is our blessed privilege to be aware that it is not
our bodies which He seeks, but our souls. Our body is but the
envelope which contains the soul, and from which one day it emerges,
like the chrysalis from the cocoon. The one endures but for a few
years, the other through all eternity.
'I would not inflict on you these platitudes were it not necessary,
after the remarks which we have heard, for us, as Christians to make
our position plain. If Christ has come again, it is in infinite love,
to make a further effort to save us from the consequences of our own
sin, to complete the work of His atonement, and to seek once more to
gather us within the safety of His fold.
'I had never thought that under any possible circumstances I should
be constrained to ask myself the question, Has Christ come again?
Strange human blindness! I had always supposed that, as a believer in
Christ, and Him crucified, and as a preacher, I should never have the
slightest doubt as to whether or not He had returned to earth. I see
now with clearer eyes; I perceive my own poor human frailty; I
realise more clearly the nature of the puzzle which must have
presented itself to the Jews of old. I use the word "puzzle" because
it seems to define the situation more accurately than any other which
occurs to me. Looking back across the long tale of the years, it is
difficult for us to properly apprehend the full bearing of the fact
that Christ, the Son of God, was once an ordinary man, in manners,
habits, and appearance exactly like ourselves. We say glibly: "He was
made man," but how many of us stop to realise what, in their
entirety, those words mean! When I first heard that someone was in
London who, it was rumoured, was the Lord Jesus, my feeling was one
of shock, horror, amazement, to think that anyone could be guilty of
so blasphemous a travesty. If you consider, probably the same
sensation was felt by Jews who were told that the Messiah, to whose
advent their whole history pointed, was in their midst. When they
were shown an ordinary man, who to their eyes looked exactly like his
fellows--a person of absolutely no account whatever--their feeling
was one of deep disgust, derision, scorn, which presently became
fanatical rage. Exactly what they were looking for, more or less
vaguely (for the promise was of old, and the performance long
delayed), they scarcely knew themselves. But it was not this. Who is
this man? What is his name? Where does he come from? What right has
he to hold himself up as different from us? These were questions
which they asked. When the answers came their rage grew more, until
the sequel was the hill of Calvary.
'A similar problem confronts us to-day in London. We believe in
Christ, although we never saw Him. I sometimes think that, if we had
seen Him, we might not have believed. God grant that I am wrong! For
nearly nineteen hundred years we have watched and waited for His
Second Coming. The time has been long; the disappointments have been
many, until at last there has grown up in the midst of some a sort of
dull wonder as to whether He will ever come again at all. "How long?"
many of us have cried--"O Lord, how long?" Suddenly our question
receives an answer of a sort. We are told: "No longer--now. The great
day of the Lord is already here. Christ has come again." When in our
bewilderment we ask, "Where is He? What is He like? Whence has He
come, and how? Why wholly unannounced, in such guise and fashion?" we
receive the same answer as did the Jews of old.
'This is a grave matter which we have met to discuss--so grave that I
hardly dare to speak of it; but this I will venture to say: I know
that my Redeemer liveth; but whether I should know Him, as He should
be known, if I met Him face to face, very man of very man, here upon
earth, I cannot certainly say. I entreat God to forgive me in that I
am compelled, to my shame, to make such a confession; and I believe
that He will forgive me, for He knows, as none else can, how strange
a thing is the heart of man. He who is with us in this house tonight
has been spoken of as a worker of wonders. That I myself know he is,
and of wonders which are other than material. When yesterday I stood
before him, I was abashed. The longer I stayed, the more my sense of
self-abasement grew. I felt as if I, a thing of impurity, had been
brought into sudden, unexpected contact with one who was wholly pure.
I was ashamed. I am conscious that there is a presence in this house
which, though intangible, is not to be denied. Whether or not the
physical form and shape of our Lord is in the room above us, He is
present in our midst; and I confidently hope, when I have sought
guidance from God in prayer--as I trust that we presently shall all
do--to obtain light from the Fountain of all light which shall make
clear to me the way.'
The Rev. Martin Philipps was succeeded by Mr. John Anthony Gibbs. Mr.
Gibbs was a short, portly person, with a manner which suggested,
probably in spite of himself, a combination of the pedagogue with the
man of business.
'I believe that I am entitled to say that I represent certain
religious bodies in the present House of Commons, and while endorsing
what the last speaker has said, I would add to his remarks one or two
of my own. I apprehend that it is generally allowed that we have
among us a remarkable man. I understand that he is with us to-night
beneath this very roof. The spirit of the age is inclined towards
incredulity, but I for one am disposed to be convinced that he is not
as others are. Admitting the bare possibility of his being more than
man, even though he be less than God, I confidently affirm that it is
to the Churches first of all that the question is of primary
importance. I would suggest that representations be at once made to
the different Churches.'
'Including the Roman Catholic?'
The question came from Henry Walters.
'No, sir; not to the Roman Catholic hierarchy; I was speaking of the
Christian Churches only.'
'And the Roman Catholic is not one of them?'
'Most emphatically not, as it is within the bounds of possibility
that it will speedily and finally learn. I speak for the Churches of
Protestant Christendom only.'
'That is very good of you.'
'And I repeat that I would suggest that representations should be
made to those that are in authority, and that meetings be called; a
first to be attended by the clergy only, and a second by both the
clergy and laity, at which this great question should be properly and
adequately discussed.'
'And what's to happen in the meantime?'
'Sir, I was not addressing you.'
'But I was addressing you. We all know what religious meetings are
like, especially when they are attended by representatives of
Protestant Christendom only. While they are making up their minds
about the differences between Tweedledum and Tweedledee, is Christ,
humbly quiescent, to stand awaiting their decision?'
'Sir, your language is repulsive. I am only addressing myself to
those persons present who are proud to call themselves Christians.
And them I am asking to consider whether it is not in the highest
degree advisable that we should endeavour to obtain at the earliest
possible moment the opinion of our bishops and clergy on this
question of the most supreme importance.'
'Hear, hear! And when we've got them, we shall know how to appreciate
them at their proper value. The Lord deliver us from our bishops and
clergy!'
After Mr. Gibbs had resumed his seat there ensued an interval, during
which no one evinced an inclination to continue the discussion.
Possibly Mr. Walters's interruptions had not inspired anyone with a
desire to incur his criticism. His voice and manner were alike
obstreperous. There were those present who knew from experience that
it was extremely difficult to shout him down.
When some moments had passed without the silence being broken, Mr.
Treadman leaned across the table towards where sat that singular
personality whose name is a synonym for the Salvation Army, and who
has credited himself with brevet rank as 'General' Robins.
'General, is there nothing which you wish to say to us? Surely this
is not a subject on which you would desire to have your voice
unheard?'
The 'General' was sitting right back in his chair. He was an old man.
The suggestion of age was accentuated by his attitude. His back was
bowed, his head hung forward on his chest, his hands lay on his
knees, as if the arms to which they were attached were limp and
weary. He did not seem to be aware that he was being addressed, so
that Mr. Treadman had to repeat his question. When it was put a
second time he glanced up with a start, as if he had been brought
back with a shock from the place of shadows in which his thoughts had
been straying.
'I was thinking,' he replied.
'Of what? Will you not allow us to hear our thoughts on a subject
whose magnitude bulks larger with each word we utter?'
The old man was silent, as if he were considering. Then he said,
without altering his position:
'I was thinking that I knew more when I was young than I do now that
I am old. All my life I have been sure--till now. Now, the first time
that assurance is really needed, it is gone, and has left me
troubled. God help us all!'
'Explain yourself, General.'
'That's another part of the trouble, that I'm pretty nearly afraid to
explain. All the days of my life I've been crying: "Take courage! Put
doubt behind you!" And now, when courage is what I most am wanting,
it's fled; only doubt remains.'
'But, General, you of all others have no cause for doubt; and you've
proved your courage on a hundred fields. You've not only fought the
good fight yourself, you have shown others how to fight it too.'
'That's it--have I? As Mr. Philipps said, to-night there's
a Presence in the air, I felt It as I came up the street,
as I entered this house, and more and more as I've been
seated in this room. And in that Presence I have grown afraid,
fearful lest in all that I have done I have done wrong. I confess--
because It knows--that I have had doubts as to the propriety of my
proceedings from the first. Like Saul, I seem to have been smitten
with sudden blindness in order that I may see at last. I see that
what Christ wants is not what I have given Him. I understood man's
nature, but refused to understand His. I realised that there is
nothing like sensationalism to attract a certain sort of men and
women; I declined to realise that it does not attract Christ.
Confident assertion pleases the mob, when it's in a certain humour,
but not Him. Bands, uniforms, newspapers, catchwords--all the
machinery of advertisement I have employed;--but He does not
advertise. Worst of all, I've taught from a thousand platforms that a
man may be a notorious sinner one minute and a child of Christ the
next. I know that is not so.'
The old man stood up, his quavering tones rising in a shrill
crescendo.
'You ask me to tell you what I think. I think that we are about to
stand before the judgment-seat of God as doomed men. We have been
like the Scribes and Pharisees, saying, We know Christ, and are
therefore not as others, when all the time our knowledge has been
hurrying us not to but from Him. I know that my Redeemer liveth, and
have used that knowledge for my own ends. Because it seemed to me
that His methods were ineffective, I have said, Not His will, but
mine be done. I have taught Him, not as He would be taught, but as it
has suited me to teach Him. I have lied of Him and to Him, and have
taught a great multitude to lie also. I have made of Him a mockery in
the eyes of men, dragged Him through the gutter, flaunted Him from
the hoardings, used Him as a street show, and as a mountebank in the
houses which I have called not His, but mine. I have blasphemed His
Name by using it as a meaningless catch-phrase in the foolish mouths
of men and women seeking for a new sensation, or for self-display. I
have done all these things and many more. I am an old man. What time
have I for atonement? For I know now that what Christ wants is a
man's life, not merely a part of it--the beginning, the middle, or
the end. You cannot win him with a phrase in a moment of emotion. You
have gradually, persistently, quietly, to mould yourself in His
image. Nothing else will serve. For that, for me, the time is past. I
cannot undo what I have done, nor can I begin again. It is too late.
'You ask me what I think. I think if Christ has come again--I fear He
has, for strange things have happened to me since I entered the
Presence that is in this room--that we had better flee, though where,
I do not know; for wherever we go we shall take Him with us. I, for
one, dare not meet Him face to face. I envy him his courage that
dare, though he will have to be made of different stuff from any of
us if it is to avail him anything. Be assured of this, that for us
the Second Coming will not be a joyful advent. It will mean, at best,
the pricking of the bubbles we have so long and so laboriously been
blowing. We shall be made to know ourselves as He knows us. There
will be the beginning of the end. What form that end will take I dare
not endeavour to foresee. God help us all!'
There was a curious quality in the silence that ensued when the
'General' ceased, until Mr. Treadman sprang to his feet.
'I protest, with all the strength that is in me, against the doctrine
which we have just heard! It is abominable--a thing of horror--
contrary to all that we know of God's love and His infinite mercy! I
know that it is false!'
'Oh, man! man! it's few things we haven't known, you and
I--except ourselves. And that knowledge is coming to us too soon.
Woeful will be the day!'
'I cannot but think that the sudden rush of exciting events has
turned our honoured friend's brain.'
'It has, towards the light; so that I can see the outer darkness
which lies beyond.'
'General, I cannot find language with which to express the pain I
feel at the tendency which I perceive in your attitude to turn your
back on all the teachings of your life.'
'Your sentence is involved--your sentences sometimes are; but your
meaning's tolerably clear. I'm sorry too.'
'Do you mean to deny that he who repents finds God--you who have been
vehement in the cause of instant conversion.'
'To my shame you say it.'
'Your shame! Have you forgotten that there is more joy in heaven over
one sinner that repenteth than over ninety-nine just persons? You
out-Herod Calvin in his blackest moods.'
'I'll not dispute with you. It's but words, words. I only hope that
by repentance He means what you do. But I greatly fear.'
'I am sure.'
'Oh, man, how often we have been sure--we two!'
'I am sure still. My friends, the General is nearer to Christ than he
thinks, and Christ is nearer to him. We shall do no harm, any of us,
by expressing our consciousness of sin, though at such a time as this
I cannot but think that such an expression may go too far. We who are
here have all of us laboured in our several ways in the Lord's
vineyard. To suggest that the fruit of our endeavours has been all
that it might have been would be presumption. We are but men. The
best that men can do is faulty. But we have done our best, each
according to his or her light. And having done that best, we are
entitled to wait with a glad confidence the inspection of the Master.
To suppose that He will require from us what He knows it has not been
in our power to give or to do--I thank God that there is nothing in
Scripture or out of it to cause any one to imagine that He is so
relentless a taskmaster. And I--I have enjoyed the glad and glorious
privilege of standing in His very presence. I have dared to speak to
Him, to look Him in the face. I give you my personal assurance that I
have not suffered for my daring, but have been filled instead with a
great joy, and with an infinite content. No, General; no, my friends;
the Lord has not come to us in anger, but in peace--a man like unto
ourselves, knowing our infirmities, to wipe the tears out of our
eyes. Do not, I beseech you, look upon Him for a moment as the
dreadful being the General has depicted. The General himself, when
his black mood has passed, and he finds himself indeed face to face
with his Master, will be the first to perceive how contrary to truth
that picture is. And in that moment he will know, once and forever,
how very certain it is that the Second Coming of our Lord and Saviour
is to us, His children, an occasion of great joy.'