I was tempted to ask the Millerite sister what she thought of the
discrepancy between the first and the second chapter of Genesis. In the
first chapter Man and Woman were a simultaneous creation. In the second
chapter, Woman was an afterthought. But I had the deep sagacity to
hold my tongue, and leave her and her _creed_ in peace.
* * * * *
The second church that I remember anything about is the Free-Will
Baptist. My mother was a devout member of that church. I have heard
thousands of times, "Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit,
he can not enter into the Kingdom of God." And man included woman--it
always did, so far as pains and penalties were concerned.
I remember distinctly a sermon I heard on Hell. You younger people can
not have the faintest idea of the terrific sermons that were preached
in those days.
That sermon commenced in this wise:
"Now we will look into Hell and see what we can see. It is all red-hot
like red-hot iron. Streams of burning pitch and sulphur run through it.
The floor blazes up to the roof. Look at the walls--the enormous stones
are red-hot. Sparks of fire are always falling down from them. Lift
up your eyes to the roof of Hell. It is like a sheet of blazing fire.
Hell is filled with a fog of fire. In Hell, torrents not of water, but
of fire and brimstone, are rained down. You may have seen a house on
fire, but you never saw a house made of fire. Hell is a house made of
fire. The fire of Hell burns the devils, who are spirits, for it was
prepared for them. But it will burn the body as well as the soul.
Take a little spark out of Hell--less than the size of a pin-head--and
throw it into the ocean, and it will not go out. In one moment it
would dry up all the waters of the ocean, and set the whole world in a
blaze! Listen to the terrific noise of Hell--to the horrible uproar of
countless millions of tormented creatures, mad with the fury of Hell!
Oh, the screams of fear, the groanings of horror, the yells of rage,
the cries of pain, the shouts of agony, the shrieks of despair, from
millions on millions. You hear them roaring like lions, hissing like
serpents, howling like dogs, and wailing like dragons! And above all,
you hear the roaring of the thunder of God's anger, which shakes Hell
to its foundations. Little children, if you go to Hell, there will be a
devil at your side to strike you. How will you feel after you have been
struck every minute for a hundred millions of years? Look into this
inner room of Hell, and see a girl of about sixteen. She stands in the
middle of a red-hot floor; her feet are bare; sleep can never come to
her; she can never forget for one moment in all the eternity of years."
And so this description of Hell went on for nearly two hours. Do you
wonder that I, a child of ten years, said to my father, who was a
freethinker, infidel, atheist, or whatever else you please to call him:
"I _hate_ my mother's church. I will _not_ go there again!"
* * * * *
The next church I became acquainted with was the Calvin Baptist Church.
That church seemed to think that the most of us were born to be damned
anyway!
The great Ingersoll had it right when he said it was the
damned-if-you-do-and-the-damned-if-you-don't church.
The only difference between the Free-Will Baptists and the Calvin
Baptists that I can see, is, that you are allowed to exercise your
_will_. The Free-Will Baptists will damn you if you wish to be, and the
Calvinists will damn you anyway!
The next church to which I was introduced was the Congregationalist,
alias the Orthodox. Their creed is rather complex from a mathematical
standpoint. They seem to think that three Gods are one God, and one God
is three Gods.
I, having been taught that figures don't lie, couldn't understand it,
until I thought of a boy who said to his teacher when she explained to
him that figures didn't lie: "You should see my sisters at home, and
then on the street. You will find that figures do lie."
* * * * *
I then went to Italy, and became conversant with the _outside_
doings of the Roman Catholic Church. I visited many of them, saw the
beggars eating crusts at the doors, and the well-fed priests saying
masses inside; saw the white hand of famine always extended, in
bitter contrast to the magnificent cathedrals; saw well-dressed,
intelligent-looking men and women going upstairs on their hands and
knees, and saw hundreds of them kissing the toe of the bronze statue of
Saint Peter; saw monks of every shade and description; and all begging
for the Holy Catholic Church!
I attended a church festival at Rome at the Ara Cœli, where the most
"Holy Bambino" is kept, a little wooden doll about two feet long. It is
said to be the image of Jesus. It had a crown of gold on its head and
was fairly ablaze with diamonds. It has great power to heal the sick.
It is taken to visit patients in great style--that is, if the patients
are rich. The Bambino is placed in a coach accompanied by priests in
full dress. The Great Festival of the Bambino is celebrated annually.
Military bands and the Soldiers of the Guard dance attendance. Saint
Gennaro is held to be the guardian saint of Naples. The alleged miracle
by which the blood of this holy person, contained in a glass tube,
changes from a solid to a liquid state, is well known. Thousands go to
see the miracle performed. When the priest first held up the sacred
vial with its clotted contents we could hear all about us: "Holy
Gennaro, save and protect us! Bless the City of Naples, and keep it
free from plagues and earthquakes and other ills. Do this miracle so
that we can see that thy power and thy favor are still with us." And
so it went on for an hour or more, until the great throng was nearly
hysterical.
At last the priest stepped forward, showing that the blood flowed
freely in the tube, and then such a shout went up from the big crowd as
one hears only in Southern climes.
* * * * *
I have never been introduced to the Church of England, alias, the
Episcopalian, but I've always thought if a man had a good voice, and
understood the mysteries of the corkscrew, he would make a good rector.
I became acquainted with a High-Church Episcopalian woman not long ago,
and she showed me a prayer-rug and praying-costume imported from Paris.
I told her that she looked like an angel in it, as she ought after
going to all that expense and trouble; if she didn't, dressmakers might
as well give it up and wait for Gabriel. The attitude of prayer threw
the back breadths of the skirt into graceful prominence, and hence the
necessity (which will be at once recognized by all the truly _pious_)
of increased attention to the frills and embroidery required by the
religious attitude of prayer.