One Sunday morning, about the middle of June, the large and fashionable
congregation which filled the church of St. Chrysostom, South
Kensington, a church which will be recognised as one of the very
"highest" in London, and which, to use a not altogether unsuitable term,
"draws" all the year round by reason of the splendour of its ritual, as
well as the simple earnest eloquence of its clergy, was startled by the
preaching of such a sermon as no member of it had ever heard before.
The preacher for the morning was announced to be the Rev. Father Vane, a
name which meant nothing to more than about half a dozen members of the
congregation, but which every man and woman in the church had some cause
to remember by the time the service was over.
Father Baldwin, as the vicar of St. Chrysostom's was familiarly known,
was a very old friend of Father Philip's, and Vane's appearance as
preacher that morning was the result of certain correspondence which had
taken place between them, and of several long and earnest conversations
which he had had with Vane himself.
The moment that Vane appeared in the pulpit, that strange rustling sound
which always betokens an access of sensation in a church, became
distinctly audible from the side where the women sat. As he stood there
in cassock, cotta and white, gold-embroidered stole, he looked, as many
a maid, and matron too, said afterwards, almost too beautiful to be
human. Both as boy and man he had always been strikingly handsome, but
the long weeks and months of prayer and fasting, and the constant
struggle of the soul against the flesh, had refined and spiritualised
him. To speak of an everyday man of the world, however good-looking he
may be, as beautiful is rather to ridicule him than otherwise, but when
such a man as Vane passes through such an ordeal as his had been, the
word beauty may be justly used in the sense in which the feminine
portion of the congregation of St. Chrysostom's unanimously used it that
morning.
There was a hush of expectation as he opened a small Bible lying on the
desk in front of him. Then he raised his right hand and made the sign of
the Cross.
"In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost,
Amen!"
The words were not hastily and inaudibly muttered as they too often are
by the clergy of the High Anglican persuasion. They rang out as clearly
as the notes of a bell through the silence of the crowded church, and
the congregation recognised instantly that he possessed, at least, the
first qualification of a great preacher.
Then he took up his Bible, and said in a quite ordinary conversational
tone:
"It will be well if those who wish to follow what I am about to say will
take their Bibles and turn to the fifth chapter of the Gospel according
to St. Matthew."
The opening was as unpromising as it was unconventional, but more than
half the congregation obeyed, and when the rustling of leaves had
subsided, he began to read the Sermon on the Mount.
When the first thrill of astonishment had passed, it was noticed that,
after the first few verses, he ceased to look at the Bible. Every member
of the congregation had heard the words over and over again, but they
had never heard them as they heard them now. It was nothing like the
formal reading of the lessons to which they had been accustomed, and as
the clear, pure tones of his voice rang through the church, and, as his
eyes and face lighted up with the radiance of an almost divine
enthusiasm, there were some in his audience who began to think that he
might well have been a re-incarnation of one of those disciples of the
Master who heard the words as they came from His lips that day on the
Judean hillside.
He went on verse after verse, never missing a word, and unconsciously
emphasising each passage with gestures, slight in themselves, but
eloquent and forcible in their exact suitability to the words, and very
soon every man and woman in the church was listening to him, not only
with rapt attention, but with a growing feeling of uneasiness and
apprehension as to what was to follow.
At length he came to the twenty-third verse of the seventh chapter:
"And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you; depart from
me, ye that work iniquity."
There was an emphasis upon the last few words which sent a thrill of
emotion, and, in many cases, one of angry expectation, through the
crowded congregation. It was one of the wealthiest, and most
fashionable in London, but, saving a comparatively few really earnest
souls, it was composed for the most part of idlers and loungers, who
came to St. Chrysostom's partly because it was one of the most
fashionable churches in the West End, partly because it was the proper
thing to attend Church on Sunday, and partly because the music, and
singing and preaching were all so good, and the elaborate ceremonial was
so perfectly performed, that it afforded the means of spending a few
hours on Sunday in a very pleasant way.
The young preacher looked at the crowd of well-dressed men and women for
a few moments in silence, as though he would give them time to realise
the tremendous solemnity of the words they had just heard. There was
dead, breathless silence at first, and then came a rustling sound,
mingled with one of deep breathing. Then he began again in the same
direct, conversational tone in which he had asked them to take their
Bibles.
"I am addressing," he said, in a low, clear tone which could be heard as
distinctly at the church doors as it could by those immediately under
the pulpit, "an audience which is composed of men and women who are,
nominally, at least, Christians, and now I am going to ask you, every
man and woman of you, to ask your own souls the simple question, whether
you really are Christians, or not.
"A good many of you, I daresay, will be a little startled, perhaps some
of you may even be offended by the suggestion of such a question. With
every regard for your feelings as brother men and sister women, I
sincerely hope you will be. My reason for hoping that is very simple.
The vast majority of people in Christian countries are Christians
simply because they have been born of Christian parents, just as they
are Protestants or Catholics because their parents were such before
them, and their early training has strongly predisposed their minds to
the acceptance--too often the blind acceptance--of a certain set of
doctrines which, with all reverence, are by themselves of no more use
for the purpose of saving a human soul from eternal damnation than the
multiplication table would be. These doctrines, these creeds, are aids
to salvation, most potent aids, but they are not essentials, since of
themselves they cannot save.
"It is far too often taken for granted that, because a man has been
brought up in a Christian family, has been baptised into the Church of
Christ, and has later on been admitted into the communion of that
Church, that, therefore, he is justified in believing himself to be a
Christian. He has, as we of the Church Catholic and Universal fervently
believe, been placed in the path which leads to salvation. His vision
has been cleared from the mists of error. The Church, in the fulfilment
of her holy mission, has caused the white light of heaven to shine upon
his eyes. His feet have been set in the strait gate and on the narrow
way which leads to eternal life, but not all the priests from Abraham
down to our own day, nor all the Churches that ever were founded can do
any more. The way must be travelled by the man himself, his own eyes
must see the light, his own feet must tread the way, no matter how steep
or difficult it may be--or that man has no more right to call himself a
Christian than any worshipper of any of the false gods whose reign has
vanished from the earth.
"It was for the purpose of bringing this most solemn truth, this most
solemn and momentous of all truth home to you that I began by repeating
the words which the Greatest of all Preachers pronounced for the
guidance of those who should come after Him."
He paused, and took up his Bible again. Meanwhile, a few people, both
men and women, whose dress and appearance bore unmistakable signs of
worldly wealth, got up and walked out of the church.
Vane watched them go, and as he did so the rest saw a complete change of
expression come over his countenance. His eyes grew sombre and
sorrowful, his lips tightened, and something like a frown gathered upon
his brow. He not only waited in the midst of an almost unnatural silence
until they had gone, but he went on waiting for some moments longer as
though he would give anyone else an opportunity of leaving the church if
they desired to do so. No one stirred. The look which he turned upon
them from the pulpit seemed like a spell which held them to their seats.
Then his lips opened, and they heard his voice, tinged with an infinite
sadness, saying:
"'The young man saith unto him: All these things have I kept from
my youth up. What lack I yet?
"'Jesus saith unto him: If thou wouldst be perfect go and sell that
thou hast and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in
heaven, and come and follow me.
"'But when the young man heard that saying he went away sorrowful,
for he had great possessions.
"'Then said Jesus unto his disciples: Verily I say unto you that a
rich man shall hardly enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.'"
Then there came another pause, during which his listeners seemed almost
afraid to breathe, so strong was the spell of apprehension and
expectancy which he had laid upon them, and he went on:
"You have, everyone of you, heard those words read and spoken scores and
hundreds of times. Has it ever struck you that they are words which, if
you are a Christian man or woman, you must believe to be the words of
God himself, spoken by the lips of Infallible Wisdom, and inspired by
that Omniscience which sees you sitting here in this London church as
plainly as It saw that other congregation which was assembled that day
on the slope of the Mount of Olives, and which reads your hearts at this
moment as It read theirs then? If you do not believe that, then it
follows that you do not believe in the mission or the teaching of
Christ. You do not believe that He spoke the truth when He told the
young man that it was not only necessary to keep the commandments, as he
had done from his youth up; but that it was also necessary for him to
cease to be a rich man, and to distribute his wealth in relieving the
necessities of the poor.
"If you believe that Christ is very God of very God, as you say every
Sunday of your lives, you cannot escape the obligation which those words
put upon you except at the peril of your immortal souls. Remember that
it is not by your faiths and beliefs, or by the doctrines you have held
that you will be judged when you stand before the Last Tribunal. These
are but instruments to be used well or ill, but the final appeal will
come to your works. The last question that will be asked of you will not
be 'What creed have you believed?' or 'What Church have you belonged
to?' but 'What have you done?' and on the answer to that, as recorded
in the books of God, will depend your fate for all eternity.
"Remember the words, 'Not everyone that saith unto me Lord, Lord, shall
enter into the Kingdom of Heaven, but he that doeth the will of my
Father which is in Heaven.'
"Remember, too, that when you join in the services of the Church, and
when you partake of her Sacraments, you are simply saying 'Lord,
Lord'--a very good and righteous thing to say; but of no more use or
benefit to your souls than an echo from a blank wall, unless you also do
the will of Him who is in Heaven.
"I know that there are many specious sayings invented by those who have
reasons of their own for trying to prove that when the Son of God spoke
these words He didn't mean what He said; and those who have invented
these things are amongst the worst enemies of God and His Church on
earth, no matter whether they say these lying words in the drawing-room
or from the pulpit. They seek to comfort their consciences and the
consciences of such as you by saying that times have changed since these
words were uttered; that it would be quite impossible to put a literal
interpretation upon them now.
"Now the man who tells his fellow men that, no matter what his position
in the world, is a liar and a hypocrite, and, what is worse, he is a
maker of hypocrites, for it is my duty to tell you that every man and
woman who professes Christianity before the world on Sunday and during
the week disobeys the command of Christ as set forth here in His own
words, is, consciously or unconsciously, a liar and a hypocrite also.
"Let us see what these sayings look like when tested by ordinary logic,
by that faculty of distinguishing the right from the wrong, the true
from the false, which is perhaps the greatest of all God's gifts to men.
"'Times have changed since the Son of God delivered the Sermon on the
Mount.' That is one of those half-truths which are infinitely worse than
a lie. Times _have_ changed. That is to say mortal men and mortal
manners have changed; but does that warrant us in believing that the
mind and will of the Immutable God have changed too; that what Christ
himself declared to be fatal to salvation two thousand years ago, is
compatible with salvation now? That what was unlawful then is lawful
now--in short, that the Omniscient God, in whose eyes a thousand years
are as one day and one day as a thousand years, who read the minds of
men then as He reads them now, has altered the decrees of Eternal
Justice and changed Eternal Truth into a lie?
"If you believe these people, then you must believe that too. That
Christ himself foresaw, as He must have done, that such false teachers
as these would arise both in His Church and outside it is clearly proved
by His own words:
"'Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in
Thy name and in Thy name have cast out devils, and in Thy name done many
wonderful works?
"'And then I will profess unto them: I never knew you, depart from me ye
that work iniquity.'
"Remember that in that day when these words will be spoken hypocrisy and
self-deceit will have become impossibilities. It will not be possible
then for you to persuade yourselves, as no doubt you do now, that you
are good Christians, or that you are Christians at all, because you
believe certain doctrines and carry out certain ecclesiastical
observances. You will see your own souls naked then, and the eye of
Eternal and Immutable Justice will see them too--and unless you have
proved that you have obedience as well as faith; that you have not only
believed but also obeyed, you will most assuredly hear those words 'I
never knew you; depart from me ye that work iniquity!'
"But," he went on again, after another little pause during which some of
his audience began to look round at each other with something like fear
in their eyes, "do not forget that there is another course open to you.
It may be that the things of this world, the conventions of society, the
fear of poverty and the love of wealth, have taken such a hold upon you,
that, although you dare not even confess it to yourselves, you prefer
these things to obedience to the Divine command and all that it may
bring.
"You have it in perfectly plain language and on the highest possible
authority that you cannot serve God and Mammon. Those are no empty
words, they are one of the most solemn pronouncements ever made, and
they affect you here and to all eternity. So long as you go on striving
to increase your wealth by those means which must nowadays be employed
to make money, you are not and you cannot be Christians. Those are harsh
words, and yet if they are not true, the words of Christ himself are
false. There is no escape from this dilemma, and if you think that
devoting one day a week to the nominal service of God and six to the
real, practical service of Mammon, you earn the right to call yourselves
Christians, that is to say, followers of Christ, you are merely
practising a pitiful piece of self-deception which would be ludicrous
were its consequences not so solemn.
"But, as I have said, there is another course open to you, a course
which, terrible as it is, is better than the one that you are now
following, because it is more honest. Be honest with yourselves and each
other, and, what is of more consequence, be honest with God too. A
well-known agnostic lecturer once said that no god could afford to damn
an honest man, and I am not sure that he was not right; but if the words
of Christ were not the empty mouthings of a charlatan or a dreamer,
there cannot be the slightest doubt about the fate of the hypocrite.
Remember that on the only occasion on which the gentle nature of our
Lord was roused to anger he denounced in the most terrible language that
human ears have ever heard those whom He called hypocrites, and,
therefore, I say to you, at whatever cost, either to your pockets or to
your souls, for you can take your choice which, cease to be hypocrites.
"Cease this pitiful pretence which, though it may deceive yourselves,
certainly does not deceive Him from whom no secrets are hid. If you
cannot forsake the service of Mammon, if you really are so tightly bound
by his golden chains to the things of this world that you cannot or will
not break loose from the entrancing bondage, then, in the name of
honesty, say so, say to yourselves and to your fellow men: 'I cannot do
this thing. If I must give up the service of Mammon before I can call
myself the servant of God, then I cannot become the servant of God, and
I will make a hypocrite and a liar of myself no longer.' Then at least
you would be honest and truthful, honest with yourselves and with your
brother men and with your sister women and with God. You would, as I
believe, and as you are now trying to make yourselves believe, have made
the wrong choice, a choice whose consequences must inevitably face you
on the other side of the grave, but you would, at least, be able to face
the tribunal of Eternal Justice without shame, and, with all reverence I
say it, I, as a Christian man, believe that for this reason the infinite
mercy of God would find a means of salvation for you.
"Be honest. For God's sake and your own, be honest, even though in
becoming so, you cease to be what is commonly called respectable. If you
really cannot serve God with a whole soul and without reservation, give
up the attempt to serve Him and say so before all men. It would be a
terrible thing to do, and yet, awful as such a step would be, it might
be the first one towards your ultimate salvation. The angels might weep,
but I hardly think that the devils would laugh, for the worst enemy of
the Father of Lies is an honest man or woman. The gentle heart of Jesus
might bleed for you, but Eternal Justice would respect you and give you
your due. Once more, speaking not only as a priest of God, but as your
fellow man, let me as man implore you to be honest, and as priest, warn
you that the penalty of hypocrisy is eternal damnation. You have no
choice in the matter. One or the other you must be, and you cannot
possibly be both. Wherefore I tell you that whether you elect to be the
servant of God or the servant of Mammon, you must let all men know
plainly which you are. If you are reasonable beings you cannot believe
in yourselves or in each other, unless you do this. Remember that,
however fondly you may be deceiving yourselves, you cannot blind the
eyes of Omniscience. It is a hard thing to say, and yet it is only the
plain truth given to us by the lips of Christ himself, that you cannot
believe in God unless you do the things which He says. Living your
present lives you do not do them, and therefore you are not only
infidels and atheists living without God, but you are worse--you are
hypocrites, and woe unto you!
"I tell you, speaking as solemnly as a priest of God can do in His house
and in His presence that I would rather see this and every church in
Christendom attended by a score of people--of real Christians whose
daily lives throughout the week were really guided and sanctified by
obedience to the teachings of the Master, than I would see them crowded
with throngs of men and women like you, whose acts from Monday morning
to Saturday night consistently belie every word that your lips utter
here in the house of God and in the presence of the Holy Trinity.
"No doubt, there is already anger against me in many of your hearts on
account of what I have believed it my duty to say to you. I would not
willingly incur the hatred of any man or woman, and yet I shall not
altogether regret that anger, because it will be proof that my words
have reached, not only your ears, but your hearts. I have spoken plainly
and without regard to the conventionalities either of the world or of
the pulpit, and I have done so because I believe that conventionality is
the foe of truth, and therefore the enemy of religion. This, remember,
is a subject of such awful solemnity, laden as it is with the eternal
fate of every human soul that is baptised into the Church of God, that I
have found it my duty to make it plain to you at any cost.
"When you leave this church, send your horses and your carriages away
and walk home, for you are deliberately breaking the law of God by using
them on the Sabbath, and, remember, that he who breaks one jot or
tittle of the law, shall be guilty of the whole, and, instead of going
to church parade in the park, you women, to excite the admiration of the
men and the envy of other women by the beauty of your dress, or the
splendour of your equipage, and you men, to begin the sordid work of
to-morrow before you have finished the holy task of to-day, go home and
take your bibles into the solitude of your own chamber. Spend the rest
of God's day with God Himself. And that you may do this good thing well
and truly, and find help to choose that way of life which leadeth to
eternal salvation, May the peace of God which passeth all understanding
be with you now henceforth and for ever, Amen."
He raised his right hand in benediction, turned towards the altar and
made the sign of the Cross, and as he came down the pulpit steps and
walked up the chancel to his place, some of those who saw him, said
afterwards, that there was a light on his face which they had never seen
on a human face before.