When Joyce awoke that first Sunday morning in her new home the sun was
streaming broad across her bed. By that she knew it was very late. It
suddenly came to her consciousness for the first time that she had
been so busy getting her dress done in time to reach Mrs. Powers’ at
twelve o’clock that it had never occurred to her to do any marketing
for Sunday, and of course everything had been closed up tight when she
came home at half past ten. Well, there was enough in the house to
keep her from starving, and she would just have to get along. There
were probably restaurants open, but why go to a restaurant on Sunday?
She had not been brought up to be much away from home on the Lord’s
day, and while she understood that it might be necessary sometimes for
restaurants to be open on Sunday for some poor homeless ones, still,
she didn’t see patronizing them if she could help it.
Examination of her larder proved that there were still a few crackers,
a small piece of cheese, two slices of dried beef, one banana, and
almost half a loaf of bread. There was a little milk left in the bottle
too, and she could have that for breakfast. It was not an extensive
array for a Sunday dinner, and probably Mrs. Powers’ menu would have
offered a more tempting list, but she drew a relieved sigh to think
that she did not have to get Mrs. Powers’ dinner that day, no, nor eat
it, either.
She ate her breakfast of crackers and milk hungrily, for one cannot
work as hard as she had worked for the past three days without
developing an appetite, and by the time she was finished, and
everything put away, the church bells were ringing.
It was interesting to be going to a new church. All her life she had
attended the same church. It came to her while she was brushing her
shoes and putting on her serge dress and hat that, perhaps, some of
the dear people would miss her and wonder. Perhaps sometime she would
write to the minister or her Sunday-school teacher and explain that she
had felt an entire change would be good for her, less sad; and that
she had gone thus quietly because she dreaded the good-byes. Yes, that
would probably be the right thing to do after she had once established
herself, and had a good paying job, and could report herself as doing
well. It made her almost homesick to think of how all the old friends
were on their way to Sunday School just now--how her place would be
vacant in the class and her spot in the pew empty.
It wouldn’t be the first time though, for Nannette had contrived both
Sundays since Aunt Mary’s death to keep Joyce at home, the first time
because she had a sick headache and wanted Joyce to stay and wait on
her, the second time because she and Eugene were going somewhere and
demanded that Joyce remain at home with the children, who were supposed
to be under the weather. People would not think it strange that she had
not come this Sunday either, perhaps, and she knew Nannette well enough
to be sure that by this time there was some well-arranged story sent
about explaining, with perfect plausibility, her absence. So she had no
uneasiness on the score of her friends.
She chose the pretty church with the stone arches and ivy wreathing for
her first entrance into religious worship in her new home. It bore the
name of her own denomination on its bronze tablet outside the door, and
she entered with a kind of feeling that it partly belonged to her.
The church was filled with well-dressed people, and a vested choir
was singing an anthem as she entered. She was annoyed to be late and
slipped into a seat near the door.
The vested choir would have been an innovation in the old church
in Meadow Brook, but she thought it rather pretty. The church was
artistic and beautiful, with deep-toned woods, vaulted ceiling, and
gleam of jeweled windows picturing forth sacred themes in memory of
certain departed church members. She sat in the softly cushioned pew
and listened to the glorious music, the rich tones of the organ,
the well-trained voices. Now, indeed, was her soul to find rest and
refreshment for the hard times of her life. She relaxed and found peace
and a sense of nearness to God in this, His house.
The Powers family entered, to her surprise, a bit noisily, with their
guests, and made quite a flutter getting certain seats. They seemed to
be important personages, for whom the ushers hurried to find the place
in four hymn books, and present calendars of the day, with smiles and
obsequious bows. The men were fresh from a round on the golf course,
and had that air of bored patronage and indifference that so many
men wear on Sunday morning, as if virtue fairly exuded from their
rosy faces because they had come in from the velvety green to this
sombre stuffy dullness for a little while to patronize God. The women
were attired in spring array and filled the air about them with the
faint, sweet perfume of the well-groomed. The eyes of their envious
sisters were fixed upon their hats and coats in earnest study from the
minute of their entrance, and many a woman forsook her mild attention
to the service and tortured her mind with such problems as how she
could get together a becoming hat like that without paying the price
of an imported one, or whether there was enough in the breadths of
grandmother’s old silk gown to cut a silk coat like the one Anne Powers
was wearing.
Joyce, in her back seat, was surprised that her employer of yesterday
should be in church. She had unconsciously labeled her as a
non-churchgoer. In Meadow Brook the people who gave dinner parties on
Sunday did not pay much attention to churchgoing, and as she watched
from her shadowed seat under the gallery and saw Mrs. Powers’ delicate
airs, and the way she held her book and sang, she marvelled that this
pretty woman, with the rapt expression, could be the same one who spoke
so contemptuously to her the day before.
But when the minister ascended the pulpit for the sermon she tried to
put such thoughts away from her mind and to listen to what was being
said. It was not for her to judge the people in God’s house, and God
himself might be able to see something acceptable in the worship of
these people that was not apparent to her.
The minister had read the story of the man born blind, and it had
given her a warm feeling about her heart to remember the dear old
story, so linked with thoughts of her Aunt Mary, and especially of that
wonderful day in the woods, so she settled herself to enjoy the story
once more, and to thrill over the miracle of the healing as she had
always been able to thrill over this particular story even after she
had grown up.
As the sermon opened up with an eloquent passage descriptive of the
oriental day and setting of the story her mind was back in the aisles
of the grove with the boy and Aunt Mary, and the birds singing far
overhead. Her own sweet thoughts leaped ahead in the story, till
suddenly, she became aware of words that were being spoken, words that
did not seem to fit the thread of the story at all. What was this? No
miracle? Common sense? Jesus used clay to give the man something to do
himself, possibly it might have had some medicinal qualities as some
clays known to the medical profession of the day are known to have
healing qualities. But more likely the clay was a mere agent to bestir
the man, to awaken him to a sense of himself, and stimulate his nerves
to action--a mere psychological effect on the man’s spirit, something
that Jesus, with his unusually keen insight into men’s natures, saw
was needed. Such cures were often performed today, by shock of fire
or fright, by inducing the subject to in some way believe that he
was healed. There was a great deal in will power and in the state of
mind, and Jesus used common sense and set men right with _themselves_.
Perhaps the man had not been really blind at all from his birth, but
had merely got in the habit of keeping his eyes shut and thinking he
was blind, until he and his friends had come to believe that it was
true. There was much proof for this theory in the way that his cure
was accepted by his friends and neighbors and even by his parents.
If there had been a real need of cure it was not at all likely that
the parents of the invalid would have taken the cure so lightly and
even professed that they knew nothing at all about it. The matter was
evidently held lightly among them. The work of Jesus on this earth
was really to bring men to _themselves_, to awaken them to a sense of
what they could _do for themselves_, in even rising above weakness and
physical infirmity. They called Jesus divine because they could find no
better word to call Him, but we were all divine, all the children of
God as was Jesus, and all able to do what Jesus did. Perhaps not in the
same degree, for he was the greatest man that ever lived, but still, in
a sense, we could do for suffering humanity just what Jesus did. If we
were not actual physicians, able to heal disease, we could yet persuade
men to common sense, awake them to open their eyes to things about them.
Joyce sat straighter in her seat and her cheeks grew hot with
excitement. She felt as if some exquisite, sacred fabric, that was
beyond price, and had always been most dear to her had been torn in
tatters and scattered to the four winds. She felt as if she must arise
and cry out to the man that what he was saying was false--that he was
blaspheming!
She looked around startled on the indifferent audience composed in a
dreamy silence of peace, eyes intent upon the preacher, lips placid, no
look of protest in their faces! How strange! How awful! Was there no
one, not one, to stand up for the Bible, for the miracle of healing,
for the matchless God-nature of Christ?
But other words suddenly arrested her, standing out from the drab
background of the sermon sharply:
“The time has come when the world no longer needs a bloody atonement
to appease an angry God. The world has grown beyond that ghastly idea.
The death of Christ was to show the world how much He loved it, not to
wash away its evil deeds in some mysterious way. People must undo their
own evil deeds. No one could do that for them. We must work out our own
salvation with fear and trembling, for it was the God in us that works.
We all have God in us, only we are not letting Him work, just as that
blind man had sight, but he was not using it--”
Joyce almost started to her feet. She seemed to be crying out in her
throat so that it hurt: “That is not true, oh, that is not true! Will
no one tell him what an awful thing he is saying?” But not a sound came
from her lips, of course. She found that her limbs were trembling and
she felt as though she scarcely dared look up. To think that she was
here in God’s house listening to this and no one making any protest!
She looked around again, aghast at the smug, satisfied faces of the
congregation. It was almost as if they were not listening.
The minister’s voice broke again upon her troubled spirit:
“No man’s death can do away with my guilt. No amount of shed blood can
cleanse me from sin. I’ve got to do that _myself_. As Jesus made the
man go to the river and wash the clay away, so you and I must wash
away our own sins in the sweat of our brow, working for Him. We must
feed the hungry, clothe the naked, be kind one to another, uplift the
fallen, uplift and broaden humanity, put away sin from our lives, and
in its place put deeds of kindness such as Jesus did. That life and
that alone can atone for a sinful past. Let us pray.”
During the prayer that followed tears came into the eyes of the wounded
girl, but a choir of the angelic host seemed somewhere far away to be
chanting, and the words they spoke were clear and distinct:
“The blood of Jesus Christ his son cleanseth us from all sin.
“He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our
iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his
stripes we are healed.
“All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his
own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.”
They rang in her heart with triumph as she lifted her head for the
closing song, whose words she could not see because of the tears in her
eyes, and when it was over, and the benediction was spoken, she turned,
humiliated and sad, to go out of the house of God. Just behind her came
a clear, languid voice, drawling:
“Yes, wasn’t it a sweet sermon? Perfectly lovely. I just love to hear
Doctor Darling preach; he is so refined, and he makes one feel so
good--”
And out in the sunshine the young girl walked back to her little house
stricken, almost sick, with the experience of the morning. This was her
first experience of Modernism in a Christian church. Summer visitors in
Meadow Brook had complained that the minister there was old-fashioned,
and they really ought to have a young man who would be broad in his
views and educate the young people in up-to-date religion. But the
people of Meadow Brook loved Doctor Ballantine and his wife, and did
not want to see them leave. He had been there a long time and the
elders in the church all thought as he did, so until some of the
younger generation who had not been taught by him in the Scriptures
grew up he was not likely to be ousted.
Joyce had read a little about the state of things in the religious
world, but she had thought of Modernism as one thinks of leprosy, or
the starving Russians, as something far, far away and awful, to prevent
which one ought to give money and send missionaries, but which one was
never likely to meet with in daily life. Now, suddenly brought face to
face with it, she was shaken to her soul.
Not that the sermon of the morning had given her any doubts. It could
not have done that even if it had been strong in arguments and logic,
and not weak, garbled statements of half-facts she had known all her
life, for Joyce was a Christian, rooted and grounded in the Word, and
had lived too many years in a sweet communion with her Saviour to
have been shaken even a little in her sweet faith. No, it had made
her angry, tremblingly, impotently angry. She felt as if she could
not stand it that words like those should have been preached in a
Christian pulpit under the name of an orthodox faith, and no one put
in a protest. She longed to be a man that she might do something about
it, a prophet that she might cry out; a wise leader that she might come
to the people and tell them how the curse of God would be upon them if
they listened to words like those--how their souls would be lost--!
She sat down on her wooden box in her small home, going over it all
with sorrowing heart. She did not even take off her hat, so absorbed
and excited she was. She went over the Bible verses that she knew that
proved the minister had been wrong, verses that she had learned when a
child, and her heart began to swell with triumph over the wonder and
the joy of the salvation that was hers.
“He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, _hath_
everlasting life, and _shall not_ come into condemnation; but is passed
from death unto life.”
“For by the works of the law shall no flesh be justified.”
“For by grace are ye saved, through faith; and that not of yourselves:
it is the gift of God: not of works, lest any man should boast.”
“Who hath saved us, and called us with an holy calling, not according
to our works, but according to his own purpose and grace, which was
given us in Christ Jesus before the world began.”
How her heart thrilled with the words as she said them over, and how
she rejoiced that she had been taught in the Word. Sunday after Sunday
during her little girlhood it had been the regular afternoon employment
for her and Aunt Mary to learn a chapter in the Bible, or a group of
verses that Aunt Mary had selected during the week on some special
topic. Sometimes she had done the selecting herself and had taken such
joy in finding out a group of verses on a certain topic. Now they came
flocking from her fine memory like a troop of strong angels sent to
protect her.
“Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to his
mercy he saved us, by the washing of regeneration, and renewing of the
Holy Ghost; which he shed on us abundantly through Jesus Christ our
Saviour.”
How she wished she had her Bible that she might spend the afternoon
hunting out other verses! What else was there about the blood? Ah!
“Without the shedding of blood there is no remission of sins!”
“For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for
the remission of sins.”
“God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners,
Christ died for us. Much more, then, being now justified by his blood,
we shall be saved from wrath through him.”
“For if the blood of bulls and of goats, and the ashes of an heifer
sprinkling the unclean, sanctifieth to the purity of the flesh; how
much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit
offered himself without spot to God, purge your conscience from dead
works to serve the living God.”
She could remember the very afternoon when she learned that, curled up
on the foot of Aunt Mary’s bed while she took a little nap, in the days
when Aunt Mary was just beginning to be frail and had to rest more than
usual. And how proud she had been to think she had found this wonderful
verse all by herself. And now she had an inexpressible longing to take
that Bible verse to the minister who had preached that strange dead
sermon that morning and show him. Perhaps he didn’t know. Perhaps he
never had heard. But of course he must. And he was one of those men
they called Modernists, who were taking the heart and life out of the
faith of today, who were helping to fulfill the prophecies about the
latter days, when men would prefer teachers with strange doctrines.
She was half frightened at the thought. It seemed to her that she must
turn and flee back into the safe harbor of Meadow Brook, where dear old
Doctor Ballantine preached about the cross of Christ every Sunday, and
everybody knew and believed the old doctrines. It seemed as if perhaps
she had run away into danger and horror, and the tempter might be
preparing a snare for her feet.
She did not feel safe until she had dropped upon her knees and asked
for guidance and strength to keep true to Christ, even though she might
have to pass through a portion of the world where there was no faith.
As she rose from her knees it occurred to her that Elijah, the prophet,
had once got into some such a panic, and thought he was the only loyal
prophet left, and the Lord had told him he had yet five thousand other
prophets who would not bow the knee to Baal. There were very likely
many Christians in this town, and by and by she would go out and find
them.
So she got up cheerfully and went about getting some dinner. She hadn’t
a great appetite, for she had worn herself out for several days past,
and when she had eaten she lay down on the heap of papers and fell
asleep. When she awoke she realized that that paper bed was getting
pretty hard, and she really must do something about it tomorrow; one
could not sleep on newspapers indefinitely. She shook the papers out,
and crumpled them anew, until they had some spring in them again, and
smoothed it nicely for when she should come back that night, and then,
with a couple of crackers and some cheese folded neatly in a bit of
wrapping-paper and tucked in her pocket, she started out.
Her first object was to find a church. She wasn’t quite sure how she
was going to tell whether it was the right kind of a church from the
outside or not, without listening to another sermon, but she prayed in
her heart as she went that somehow she might drop into a place where
she would find help and comfort to her soul, and might, if possible,
find it without having to listen to more words such as she had heard
that morning. It seemed to her that it was disloyal to her Lord even to
listen to such things.
The day was wonderful, and the spring air was sweet with the breath
of flowers. As she walked down the pleasant streets the blueness of
the sky and the greenness of the grass made a kind of ecstasy for her
spirit. The little lazy clouds floating, the flight of a bird across
the blue, the redness of the maple buds on the trees, all gave her joy.
There were tulips in some of the yards she passed, red and yellow, pink
and white; and hyacinths made delicate the air, and she thought what a
wonderful God to make so many beautiful, intricate flowers, each with a
different perfume. Little blue crocuses were sticking up their gallant
buds from lawns here and there, quaint processions of blue and white
and yellow. The town was in its Sunday best, and everything promising
a gorgeous summer. One could not help being glad on such a day even
though one were all alone.
A church steeple loomed ahead and Joyce quickened her step. It was a
plainer church than the one she had attended in the morning and she
thought as she approached, perhaps here she would find a company of
live Christians who were awake to what was being preached in the other
church and would have the good old gospel. Her eyes eagerly sought the
bulletin-board posted up just outside the door. The hours of service
were there, the usual hours, but everything else was completely covered
by a large card announcing the Brotherhood Minstrel Show to be held on
Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday evenings of that week, tickets fifty
cents a night.
Joyce turned away disappointed. The minstrel show might be all right.
They had entertainments at home sometimes, of course, for the young
people, but people who were really alive to the terrible things that
were being preached in another church of their own town would surely be
interested in something besides minstrel shows. Of course they might
be, and just not have put it on the outside of the church, but she
didn’t somehow feel that here was her place of worship.
She walked on for at least a mile, passing, as she did so, out of one
suburb into another. She was interested in the pretty little bungalows
she passed, and in the finer houses when she turned to another street,
but she was looking for churches. Presently she came to another, a
smart yellow brick affair out on the street with the doors open and a
brisk air of business around the place. Groups of young people were
wending their way toward it, and going in the door. A large blackboard
outside the entrance announced the various activities of the week.
Monday evening there was a rehearsal for the Christian Endeavor
pageant, and all costumes were to be brought, Tuesday evening Class A
was holding a bazaar and supper for the benefit of the new basketball
team. Wednesday evening there was to be a lecture by a professor from
a famous university entitled, “Why I Know That the World is Growing
Better.” Thursday there was a choir rehearsal, and a meeting of the
Ladies’ Aid to arrange to coöperate with the Red Cross for the annual
fair, Friday there was a church social, and Saturday there was a
picnic in one of the amusement parks with a moonlight ride home in
automobiles. Joyce read it carefully through, searching in vain for a
word that would show the faith of these people of great activities, but
found nothing, not even a prayer meeting. Probably that lecture was in
place of one. Well, it might be all right, but she had been taught that
the world wasn’t growing better, and never would till Christ came to
make things over. Lifting her eyes above the blackboard, she saw that
the church bulletin announced the minister’s topic for that night, “The
Political Situation Today.” She turned away with a sigh. Well, it might
be all right, but it promised nothing from the outside. She walked on,
turning down another street.
Two hours she walked, keeping the general direction of her home in mind
so that she would not get lost. She found several little churches, all
more or less attractive in a way, but none of them giving any clue to
what was preached inside, and at last, with a heavy heart and weary
feet, she turned her steps homeward, coming back by a different street.
It was when she was within four or five blocks of where she judged her
little house must be that she came upon another church built of rough
stone, rugged and substantial, but beautiful in its simple lines. The
door was open and a burst of song from young voices greeted her:
“What can wash away my stain?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
What can make me whole again?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.”
Joyce turned in at the door as a bird flies home to its nest.