THE GREAT THANKSGIVING
On the last day of the year there was a national service of
thanksgiving in St Paul’s Cathedral. The rushing river of national
feeling, at first tumultuous like the sound of many waters, had found a
channel, deep and broad. The waters, being deep, were therefore still.
It was a joyful and a pleasant, but also a solemn thing to be thankful.
Vast numbers came from every quarter to attend the service; the highest
and the lowest; the King and the Queen; the civic rulers; the restored
judges of the land; the rich and the poor.
Here in the vast cathedral church in by-gone years the voice of praise
and thanksgiving had been raised on memorable occasions; a thanksgiving
for the King when, as heir to the throne of England, he had come back
from the very jaws of death; a thanksgiving for the long and prosperous
reign of a Queen dear to the hearts of her people; but never before a
thanksgiving such as this--so complex and so sudden in its causes, and
following so swiftly on the perils from which the nation had been saved.
The newly appointed Primate of London--a former Bishop of Stepney--was
the preacher; but it was no set sermon that he preached. His Grace gave
out no text, but every heart was thrilled by what fell from his lips:
“Love thou thy land, with love far-brought
From out the storied Past, and used
Within the Present, but transfused
Thro’ future time by power of thought.”
He spoke of the patriotism that is sublime, and of the pride that goes
before a fall: of
“True love turn’d round on fixed poles,
Love that endures not sordid ends,
For English natures, freemen, friends,
Thy brothers, and immortal souls.”
True patriotism was instanced by the banished Jew, made cup-bearer to
a heathen king, the man who sat down and wept when he learned that the
walls of his beloved capital were broken down and the gates thereof
burned with fire: the man who worked as well as wept; who inspired his
compatriots and rebuilt the walls and gates of the city--trowel in one
hand and sword in the other. “So built we the wall ... for the people
had a mind to work.”
Then the Primate turned to the wonderful story of the first Babylon. He
spoke of the king who dreamed dreams wherewith his spirit was troubled,
dreams that could only be interpreted--not by court magicians and
astrologers--by the servant of One who changeth the times and seasons,
removeth kings, giveth wisdom to the wise, and knowledge to them that
know understanding. He alone “revealeth the deep and secret things and
knoweth what is in the darkness.”
Who should dare to say, demanded the Archbishop, that even now, in the
twentieth century, the vision of the eastern king was not receiving
fresh fulfilment--that mystical vision of the kingdom of gold, the
kingdom of brass, and the kingdom of iron--iron that was mixed with
miry clay?
The king whose dreams troubled him had many warnings. When he set
up his golden idol on the plain of Dura, he was warned. In his rage
and fury with the Jews who dared to disobey him, he cast the three
righteous men into the seven-fold heated furnace, and lo! he saw four
men walking loose in the midst of the fire, unhurt; and the form of the
fourth was like the Son of God. Thus was he warned again.
So when the heart of Nebuchadnezzar was lifted up, and his mind
hardened, he was deposed from his kingly throne, and they took his
glory from him.
And Belshazzar his son, he, too, was warned by that mysterious writing
on the wall. In that same night was he slain and Darius took the
kingdom.
And the prophet himself had visions of the future, visions of nation
fighting against nation; of the four winds of heaven striving upon the
great sea; of the four great beasts that came up from the sea, diverse
from each other--the first like a lion, the second like the bear, the
third like a leopard, and the fourth dreadful and terrible and strong
exceedingly, with teeth of iron. Who, again asked the preacher, should
dare to say that the vision of the great sea and the great powers might
not have further fulfilment among the nations and navies of to-day?
You Englishmen and Englishwomen, the Primate went on, leaning forward
and looking into the myriads of upturned faces, should lay these
thoughts to heart. The prophetic vision is not concerned with the kings
of the earth alone. No king can stand without national support, and the
nation is made up of individuals. Stands England where she did? Was
Great Britain worthy of continued greatness, and able to maintain it?
Think of her history! “England, bound in with the triumphant sea, whose
rocky shore beats back the envious siege of watery Neptune.” Would this
dear England ever be “bound in with shame, with inky blots and rotten
parchment bonds?” This England, that was wont to conquer others! If
we loved England, then in a just quarrel we must fight for England,
holding the “water-walled bulwarks still secure, and confident from
foreign purposes,”--pulsing the “little body with a mighty heart.” Each
man must bear his part, a part worthy of his nationality, inspired with
the belief of the English statesman whose statue stood in the heart of
London--that life is a great and honourable calling, not a mean and
grovelling thing to be shuffled through.
In some sense they had regarded themselves as a chosen people. Let
them remember that older nation once chosen, but now scattered and
oppressed. High above the towering dome of that cathedral where they
worshipped, the cross stood out year after year--a warning, a symbol,
an inspiration. It meant self-sacrifice. Self-sacrifice was the
watchword, and the example, of the great Captain of their salvation.
Nothing would avail an England, or an Englishman, ashamed to confess
the faith of Christ crucified, a deserter of the banner under which
Christians were pledged to continue faithful soldiers and servants
until their lives’ end. A Christ-less England would be an England lost!
And how would England stand without the witness of the ancient Church
in England? The Babylonian king set up a god of gold on the plain of
Dura; but had not a god of gold been set up in many an English heart?
“Born a man, and died a grocer!” Could epitaph be more withering in its
contempt and irony? Yet an honest grocer was better than a dishonest
Christian. If we were a nation of shopkeepers and our only shrine
was the till, let us at least be honest shopkeepers--not a nation of
hypocrites as well; let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die! Yes,
better an honest pagan than a bogus Christian.
A thrill went through the vast congregation, eagerly listening to the
preacher’s words; and, as he paused, a pallid man, dressed in the
fashion of the day, started to his feet, his hands outstretched, and
cried with a loud voice, “What shall we do to be saved?”
The effect was magnetic. At least five hundred persons instantly rose
in like manner. It was manifest that they, too, in the awakened
anguish of their souls, sought an answer to that momentous question.
The Archbishop, looking down on them, was greatly moved. For they
were as sheep having no shepherd. Then he gave the answer, strong and
vehement:
“If you would be saved, away with shams and false pretences! There
is only one hope for humankind; only one star to follow--the Star of
Bethlehem. Guided by that blessed star, you can reach the port of
peace.”
With hands covering their faces, the people, sobbing here and there,
sank back into their seats.
The preacher continued in a ringing voice:
“I demand, therefore, dost thou renounce the devil and all his works?
Dost thou renounce the vain pomp and glory of the world, with all
covetous desires of the same, and the carnal desires of the flesh? Dost
thou, in very truth, renounce these things, or in thine heart of hearts
dost thou mean to follow and be led by them?”
This time at least a thousand voices gave the answer: “I renounce them
all.”
“Dost thou believe in the remission of sins; the resurrection of the
flesh; and everlasting life after death? What is your answer?”
The answer came from all the worshippers: “All this I steadfastly
believe!”
“Remember,” said the preacher, “Christianity was a revelation; not a
rule of thumb. We must begin at the beginning, and remember our Creator
in the days of our youth. Beware of sectarian quarrels, which keep the
one Book worth all the others in the world from the children of the
nation. How shall they learn without a teacher?
“And you who are no longer children, beware of intellectual pride. If
in this life only you have hope you are of all men most miserable.
Do you refuse to believe in everything you cannot understand? What
stupendous folly! What mad presumption! Readers, scholars, writers,
some of you, wise in your own conceits, you say you cannot credit
anything outside the laws of Nature. But you and I and all of us as
yet are only children crying in the night, and with no language but a
cry. Only one man ever born into this world could understand Nature’s
laws in all their fulness, and that Man was divine. Thus far shalt thou
come, and no farther! What men call supernatural may only be natural
law on a plane beyond our ken. Nature works slowly and in evolutionary
cycles. Yes; but Nature also works--so far as human eyes can see--in
a moment, in the twinkling of an eye--in tidal waves, the lightning
flash, the earthquake; in volcanic outbursts, in the overwhelming
avalanche. Humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, and let no
creature dare to limit the immeasurable powers of his Creator.
“Do you who disbelieve want your wives and children to be unbelievers?
You don’t; but you leave it to them to worship in our churches.
And you yourselves, if not unbelieving, at least half hearted, are
holding feebly to the Faith with one hand, and with the other greedily
grasping the pleasures of the world. Men of England, whither are you
drifting? You cannot serve God and Mammon. Choose!--make your calling
and election sure. Believe, as that man of towering intellect to whom
this great church is dedicated, believed; as your own great countryman,
William Ewart Gladstone, believed; as the great Lord Salisbury
believed, and many another brilliant thinker who loved our England and
her Church. Believe, as he believed who said, there are more things in
heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy.
“Those who walk in pride, He is able to abase. Never suppose that in
this little world, this ante-chamber of life, where our own armchairs
outlive us, we shall see otherwise than darkly through a glass. Not
yet would be revealed the deep and secret things, and what is in the
darkness. Patiently must we work out our national and our individual
salvation, and with fear and trembling, lest what happened to the
idolatrous nations of old should happen to ourselves. Wherein is London
greatly better than Nineveh? Our idols are silver and gold, the work
of men’s hands. Fire from heaven fell upon the Cities of the Plain. Is
London free from what is earthly, sensual, devilish? Repent! Repent!
lest this great Babylon, like that other Babylon, pass into nothingness.
“Never forget! The faith and the works of Christianity are indissolubly
bound up with the strength and greatness of England. What God hath
joined together let no man put asunder.”
* * * * *
Before the high altar, archbishop, bishops, dean, canons, and
choristers, with glittering cross raised high, the organ pealing,
raised the great song of praise. The long-drawn aisles and fretted
vaults echoed the music of a nation’s worship. The people knelt in
humble adoration as they sang: “We acknowledge Thee to be the Lord: All
the earth doth worship Thee: The Father Everlasting.”
It was a landmark in English history, a national acknowledgment
that the Most High ruled in the Kingdom of Men, appointing over it
whomsoever He would.
* * * * *
Twelve hours later the Old Year lay a-dying. Within the cathedral all
was dark and silent. The voice of praise was hushed; the worshippers
were gone. But the incense of adoration might be rising still, far
above the mighty, shadowed dome, far above the night-encircled cross.
“Have you read in the Talmud of old,
In the Legends the Rabbins have told
Of the limitless realms of the air--
Have you read it--the marvellous story
Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory,
Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer?”
Erect--the Rabbins pictured the glorious angel, at the outermost gate
of the City Celestial:
“And he gathers the prayers as he stands,
And they change into flowers in his hands,
Into garlands of purple and red;
And beneath the great arch of the portal,
Through the streets of the City Immortal
Is wafted the fragrance they shed.”
And now outside the cathedral another multitude had gathered; saints
and sinners, revellers and vulgarians. All sorts and conditions of
men; the drunk and the half-drunk; the senseless bawlers of silly
jokes; the maudlin bellowers of “Auld Lang Syne.” But, after all,
these noisy people were but the tide-tossed scum and flotsam upon the
surface of a broad, strong stream. The crowd, like the nation, had had
a lesson--stern, convincing--and it was sound at core.
As the solemn hour drew near, a scarcely-broken silence fell upon the
multitude. From the hearts of many rose unspoken prayers.
High in the winter night the London bells were chiming, ringing the Old
Year out, ringing the New Year in.
* * * * *
Hark to the bells!...
“The year is dying in the night,
Ring out, wild bells!...
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.”
Hark, they are chiming still!...
“Ring out the feud of rich and poor
Ring in redress to all mankind.”
Chime on, chime on!...
“Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.”
Ring out! Ring in!...
“Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.”
The “faithless coldness of the times,”--was that, too, dying with the
Old? Were “sweeter manners, purer laws” to dawn with the first daybreak
of the New?
No answer came from earth or heaven. The deep and secret things were
not revealed; none knew what was in the darkness of the future.
The ringers paused. Hush! the hour is striking.
The last vibration quivers on the air. Deep silence falls.
Then once again the bells ring out--clear-toned, hopeful, strong:
“_There’s a new foot on the floor, my friend,
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new face at the door!_”
THE END
* * * * *
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