JOSEPH AND THE JOURNALIST
Eric Black was thirty-three years of age, and one of the chief and most
trusted writers upon the staff of the _Daily Wire_.
Very few of the younger school of journalists in London had the crisp
touch and vivid sense of color in words possessed by this writer. His
rise to considerable success had been rapid, and his signed articles on
current events were always read with extreme interest by the enormous
public who bought the most popular journal of the day.
Eric Black's intellect was of first class order, but it was one-sided.
He saw all the practical and material affairs of life keenly, truly and
well. But of that side of human existence which men can neither touch
nor see he was profoundly ignorant, and as ignorance generally is,
inclined to be frankly contemptuous.
In religious matters accordingly this brilliant young man might have
been called an absolute "outsider." He never denied religion in any way,
and very rarely thought about it at all. No one had ever heard him say
that he did not believe in God, he simply ignored the whole question.
His personal life was singularly kindly, decent, and upright. He was, in
short, though he had not the slightest suspicion of it himself, a man
waiting and ready for the apprehension of the truth--one of those to
whom the Almighty reveals Himself late.
On a great daily paper, when some important event or series of events
suddenly rises on the horizon of the news-world, a trusted member of the
staff, together with such assistants as may be necessary, is placed in
entire charge of the whole matter. Eric Black, accordingly, was deputed
to "handle" the affair of Joseph and his epoch-making arrival in London.
Mr. Persse, the vicar of St. Elwyn's, had sent two tickets of admission
for Joseph's address to the _Daily Wire_, and Eric Black, accompanied by
a shorthand writer who was to take down the actual words of the sermon,
sat in a front seat below the pulpit during the whole time of Joseph's
terrible denunciation of modern society.
While the reporter close by bent over his note-book and fixed the
Teacher's burning words upon the page, Black, his brain alert and eager,
was busy in recording impressions of the whole strange and unexpected
scene. He was certainly profoundly impressed with the dignity and
importance of the occasion. He realized the emotions that were passing
through the minds of the rich and celebrated people who filled the
church. His eyes drank in the physical appearance of the Teacher, his
ears told him that Joseph's voice was unique in all his experience of
modern life.
Enormously interested and stirred as he was, Black was not, however,
emotionally moved. The journalist must always and for ever be watchful
and serene, never carried away--an acute recorder, but no more.
Towards the end of the sermon, when the young man saw that Joseph would
only say a few more words, a sudden flash of inspiration came to him. No
journalist in London had yet succeeded in obtaining an interview or a
definite statement with the extraordinary being who had appeared like a
thunderbolt in its midst. It was the ambition of Eric Black to talk with
the Teacher, and thus to supply the enterprising journal which employed
him, and for which he worked with a whole-hearted and enthusiastic
loyalty, with an important and exclusive article.
He had noticed that the Teacher could not possibly have entered the
church by the main entrance. The journalist himself, in order to secure
the best possible seat, had arrived at St. Elwyn's at the commencement
of the evening service which preceded the address.
With a keen, detective eye he had noted the little subtle signs of
uneasiness upon the vicar's face, and had deduced accordingly that
Joseph had not yet arrived. When the Teacher actually appeared, it was
obvious that he must have come by the vestry door, in order to elude the
waiting crowd. It was morally certain also that he would leave by the
same route.
The writer saw his chance. By his side was the representative of a rival
paper, a drawback to the realization of his scheme. As his quick brain
solved the difficulty of that, he remembered Mr. Kipling's maxim, that
"all's fair in love, war, and journalism." The shorthand writer from
the _Daily Wire_ sat just beyond the rival journalist.
"Look here, Tillotson," he whispered, in tones which he knew the
_Mercury_ man could hear, "I'm feeling frightfully unwell. I must get
out of this, if I can, for a minute or two. Of course, after the sermon
is over, Joseph will go down into the aisles. I hear that a big
reception is arranged for him at the west entrance. I am going to slip
away for a minute or two. When the preacher comes out of the vestry,
fetch me at once. I mustn't let any of the other fellows get to him
before I do. I shall be in the side-chapel over there, which is quite
empty, and where the air will be cooler."
Satisfied that he had done all that was necessary to mislead his rival,
Black slipped out of his seat, passed behind a massive pillar, and,
unobserved by any one, slipped into the outer vestry, through the inner,
and eventually came out into the narrow passage which led to the livery
stables, where he waited with anxious alertness.
In less than five minutes his patience and clever forestalling of events
were richly rewarded. Joseph himself, accompanied by a little old man,
whom Black recognized as the verger who had shown him to his seat, came
out together, talking earnestly. They passed him, and when they had gone
a few yards the journalist followed cautiously. He was anxious, in the
first place, to discover where the mysterious man, whose appearances and
disappearances were the talk of London, was going, and upon what errand.
He waited his time to speak to him, resolved that nothing should now
prevent him from bringing off a journalistic "scoop" of the first
magnitude.
Joseph and the verger passed through the mews, and turning to the right,
entered one of those tiny but well-defined slums which exist in the
heart of the West End and are inhabited by the lowest in the ranks of
the army that ministers to the pleasures of the great.
The newspaper man followed cautiously some four yards behind his quarry.
In about three minutes Joseph and his companion stopped before the door
of a small house, and the elder man felt in his pocket and produced the
key to open it. Suddenly Joseph put his hand upon the old man's shoulder
for a moment, and then, turning suddenly, walked straight up to Eric
Black.
"Brother," he said, "you are welcome, for God has sent you to see what
is to be done this night."
The confident young journalist was taken aback, and for a moment all his
readiness of manner left him.
"I--er--I--well, I represent the _Daily Wire_, you know, sir. I hoped
that perhaps you would give me the pleasure of an interview. All London
is waiting most anxiously to hear something of your views and plans. I
should take it as a great favor if you could spare me a few minutes."
Joseph smiled kindly, and placed his hand upon the young man's shoulder,
gazing steadily into his eyes with a deep, searching glance.
"Yes," he said, "it is as I knew. God has sent you here to-night, for
you are as an empty vessel into which truth and the grace of the Holy
Spirit shall be poured."
The journalist answered nothing. The extraordinary manner in which the
Teacher had addressed him, the abnormal knowledge which the man with the
beautiful, suffering face and lamp-like eyes seemed to possess, robbed
the other of all power of speech.
And Black was conscious, also, of a strange electric thrill which ran
through him when Joseph had placed a hand upon his shoulder. It was as
though some force, some invisible, intangible essence or fluid, was
being poured into him. Certainly, never before in his life had he
experienced any such sensation. Still without any rejoinder, he followed
the Teacher through the opened door of the house, down a narrow and
dirty passage, and into a small bedroom lit by a single gas-jet.
The place was scantily furnished, and grim poverty showed its traces in
all the poor appointments of the room. Yet it was scrupulously clean and
neat, and the air was faintly perfumed by a bunch of winter violets
which stood upon a chair by the bed.
A young man, tall but terribly emaciated, was lying there. His face,
worn by suffering, was of a simple and homely cast, though to the seeing
eye resignation and patience gave it a certain beauty of its own.
"This is my Bill," said the old man, in a trembling voice--"this is my
poor lad, Master. Bill, my boy, this is the Master of whom we have been
reading in the papers. This is Joseph the Teacher, and, if it is God's
will, he is going to make you well."
The young man looked at Joseph with a white and startled face. Then he
stretched out his thin and trembling hand towards him. His eyes closed
as if in fear, and in a weak, quavering voice he said three words--
"Lord help me!"
Joseph bent over the bed, and placed his hand gently on the young man's
forehead.
"Sleep," he said, in a low deep voice.
The two watchers saw a strange calmness steal over the patient's
features. The convulsive movements of the poor, nerve-twitched body
ceased, and, in a few moments more, quiet and regular breathing showed
that the magnetic touch of the Teacher had indeed induced a tranquil
slumber.
The old man looked on, shaking with anxiety.
"Master," he said, "can you cure him--can you heal him? He is my only
son, all I've got left in the world--my only son!"
Eric Black, who had watched this curious scene with great interest and a
considerable amount of pity, sighed. He was not inexperienced in
illnesses, especially those terrible nervous collapses for which medical
science can do nothing, and to which there is one inevitable end. He
knew that no human skill could do anything for the sleeping and
corpse-like figure upon the bed, and he wondered why Joseph had cared to
accompany the old man and to buoy him up with false hopes.
Joseph did not immediately answer the old man's question about his son.
Instead of that he turned quickly to the journalist.
"Yes," he said; "but with God all things are possible."
Black started violently. His very thoughts had been read instantly, and
answered as swiftly. Then a curious resentment mounted in his brain
against Joseph. Who was this man who sent a suffering invalid to sleep
in a moment by his hypnotic touch; who brought terror, remorse, and
shame into a great lighted theatre; who dared to tell the wealthiest and
most influential people in London that they marched beneath the standard
of Beelzebub; who even now had read his secret thoughts with unerring
intuition?
With a slight sneer, foreign to his usual nature, but he was frightened
and was trying to reassure himself, he said--
"That is all very well, sir, no doubt; but miracles do not happen."
"Oh, yes, sir, they do--they do!" cried the old verger, wringing his
hands. "Oh, don't say that, sir; miracles aren't over yet. I don't like
the way you say it, sir. God will surely never let my poor Bill die!"
Joseph took no notice of the poor old fellow's entreaty. He spoke to
Black.
"My brother," he said, "and what is a miracle?"
Black thought for a moment, and then replied, though he did not know it,
in the words of Hume: "A miracle," he said, "is a violation of the laws
of Nature, and therefore impossible--Huxley showed that long ago."
The journalist was quite unconscious of the progress of modern thought,
and in his ignorance believed that Huxley was the last word in
philosophic criticism.
"Huxley," Joseph answered quietly, "has said that if a miracle, such as
the restoring to life of a dead man, were actually to take place, the
phenomenon would simply become a problem for further scientific
investigation. That is perfectly true as far as it goes, nor does it in
any way discredit the possibility of a miracle. Is it not a fact that
every day new natural laws, previously entirely unsuspected by any one,
are being discovered? Have not the papers of late been full of strange
news of great chemical discoveries, such as radium--electrical wonders,
such as the sending of messages without wires? What are these but
natural laws? But would they not have been miracles three hundred years
ago?
"Supposing we admit the Divine regulation of the world by natural law,
the spiritual nature of man, and his value to God. Let us say that in
the exercise of his free will man has disturbed the poise and balance of
the moral universe by sin, and that God proposes to restore it. If we do
this, there can be no improbability in our mind that God supplements, or
even in a manner reverses, the workings of natural law by a fresh
revelation of His will and character. Have you ever seen or known of a
case in which a man or woman full of bitter hatred of God, and stained
by a life of continuous sin, has been suddenly changed by the power of
the Holy Spirit, and has become from henceforward a righteous and
Christian man? You must have come across such cases--they are common
enough in the experience of every one. Is not this a miracle? Is not
this a revelation of Our Lord Jesus Christ?
"And if Jesus Christ be the bearer of this new revelation, may we not
regard His miracles as the spontaneous, even natural, expressions of His
Personality? Miracles are thus perfectly credible to any one who
believes in two things--the love of God and the existence of sin."
The journalist bowed without replying. His keen and logical mind saw at
once the force of Joseph's quiet argument. He was not prepared to answer
the Teacher. Nevertheless, there was still a certain sense of
stubbornness and revolt within his mind.
This was all very well, but it was, after all, mere abstract
philosophical discussion. It did not affect the matter in hand, which
was that the Teacher was buoying up a poor and unhappy old man with
fruitless hopes.
When he had finished speaking to Black, Joseph turned to the old verger.
"Come, my brother," he said, "and let us kneel by the bedside of the one
who is sick, praying that the Holy Spirit may come down upon us and heal
him."
Then Eric Black, standing against the opposite wall of the little room,
saw the two men kneel down, and saw also the marvel which it was to be
his privilege to give to the knowledge of the whole world, and which
was to utterly change his own life from that moment until its end.
There was a long silence, and then suddenly the journalist began to be
aware that, in some way or other, the whole aspect of the room was
altered.
It was incredibly, wonderfully altered, and yet _materially_ it was just
the same.
The young man had known nothing like it in all his life experience,
though he was to know it again many times, when in the future he should
kneel at the Eucharist.
Neither then, nor at any other time, was Black able to explain his
sensations and impressions at that supreme moment. With all his
brilliant and graphic power, to the end of his days the power of
describing the awe and reverence, the absolute certainty of the Divine
Presence which he experienced at the Mass, was denied him. Celebrated as
he became as a writer, his attempts to give the world his own testimony
to the Truth in a convincing way always failed. It was the great sorrow
of his career. He would have counted it as his highest privilege. But he
bore his cross meekly till the end, knowing that it was sent him for a
wise purpose, and that perhaps it was his punishment for his long days
of hard-heartedness and blindness.
He began to tremble a little, and then he saw that Joseph's hands were
placed lightly upon the temples of the sleeping man, just touching them
with the long, nervous finger-tips.
The Teacher may have remained motionless in this position for five or
ten minutes--the journalist never knew--and all the time the power and
unseen influence grew and grew in the silence, until the very walls of
the little room seemed to melt and dissolve beyond the bounds of sense,
and the brain, mind, and soul of the watcher to grow and dissolve with
them in one overpowering ecstasy of reverence and awe.
And then the next thing that Eric Black knew was that the tall thin
figure which had lain upon the bed was standing in the middle of the
room, robed in its long, grey flannel gown, and that the old man had
leaped at his son with loud cries of joy and wonder, and that the two
men, locked in each other's embrace, were weeping and calling out in
gratitude upon God.
Joseph took the journalist by the arm, and led him, unresisting, from
that awful and sacred scene.
They were out in the quiet back street, and the young man was swaying as
if he would fall. He felt an arm pass through his, and heard the deep,
vibrating voice of the Teacher speaking.
"Come swiftly with me, for we have to meet a great company of people in
another place, and to witness the marvellous ways of God."