In the gloom of the sunless November afternoon the ordinary solemnity
of the old church seemed palpably increased by an atmosphere of unusual
peace and mystery that gave sorrow its solace in a sense of the latent
and inevitable sadness of all mortal life.
From one or two of the confessional boxes there arose a confused murmur
of voices, and under one of the galleries, where the great fantastic
shadows were rather increased than diminished by a flare of gaslight,
a nun was drilling a bevy of demure little maidens in their catechism.
And every now and again the subdued chords of the organ rose into a
joyous peal and thrilled and dominated the drowsy, monotonous sibilant
murmur of prayer and clear treble responses of the children. Then in
the hush the muffled sounds of praying and moving women seemed to
intensify the stillness that filled the dome and nave, and a sense of
isolation in the midst of life crept over the spirit of one touched
with the human pathos of the scene.
Occasionally, however, one of the low, narrow doors of the main
entrance was held open for a few moments, and the rumble of the traffic
in the crowded streets without surged in with a music of its own,
and the nearness of the whirlpool of human destiny swept through the
minds of many who would fain put the world out of their thoughts and
lives and find a refuge for all sorrow in the love of God. Unburdened
hearts thus suddenly invaded by the chill mockery of reality sought
to drown the reawakened memory of life’s human web of fate in a fresh
abandonment to all their deepest sorrows and unutterable hopes in the
silence of God’s House. Here they would forget the fierce turmoil of
the world, and acknowledge to God all the anguish of thoughts and soul
that none dare reveal to their fellows. But there is no sanctuary in
the world for the soul of man so sacred that the irony of life cannot
enter.
At the chancel steps the form of a woman was bent in an attitude of
prostrate prayer--in an oblivious abandonment of everything but the
passion in her soul, so entirely unusual in a conventional religious
assembly in our time, that several eyes were directed toward her. A
gray and venerable father who was passing through the church observed
her, and hesitated for a moment whether he should go and say a word of
comfort to her. But as a sob shook her frame he murmured to himself,
“She is in the hands of God and He will restore,” and with a little
sigh passed on. This was a very poor parish. The good father was used
to pitiable scenes and the prayers of those whose only friend in all
the world was God--and even so the priest had to admit that life was
sad.
The woman was oblivious or indifferent to all that passed about her.
Her face was buried in her hands, clenched together in anguish, and
the sobs that rose and choked her utterance and swept conscious
thought into paroxysms of inarticulate despair, showed how intensely
she suffered and hoped and doubted. There was no serenity, no calm
acquiescence in her prayer--it was all revolt and demand, and in the
presence of the Host at God’s altar she doubted.
She had purposely withdrawn from the little groups of women gathered
together in their devotions, and when the door opened and the noise
of the street clashed for a moment with the harmony of prayer and the
low tide of flutey music from the organ loft, she shrank closer to the
altar railing. The stir of life without struck a chill into her heart,
and all the fervor of her hopes died within her.
For a few moments her lips were compressed in the silent anguish that
benumbs the mind and racks the body in every nerve and fibre. She
almost collapsed inertly on the steps. Then the loathing of life that
had possessed her as she had threaded her way through the narrow,
sordid streets returned with all its dread insistence of inconquerable
morbid thought. “So long as men are what they are,” she said under her
breath, despairingly, “God cannot be good,” and she drew herself up
with dry eyes and haggard face, and mechanically crossing herself as
she gained her feet, she turned to leave the church without another
word.
She tottered slowly and half blindly down the aisle and only reached
the darkened vestibule with a great effort and several stops on the
way. Putting her hand to the heavy, leathern door, she found herself
too feeble to move it. She leaned wearily against the wainscot and
waited. No one came. Then, moved with the petulance of passionate
despair, she prayed in her heart, “Oh, God, let me out of thy House
since thou wilt not answer my prayers.”
It was now twilight, and she recalled the flaunting horrors and misery
of the squalid streets of the quarter, and a feeling of revulsion swept
over her. After all, she and her husband had only God in all the world
to look to for help and comfort under the burdens of life; for even
the knowledge of misery and sorrow does not teach men love and pity.
And in the cruel world she only dared to be human with God.
She steadied herself against the wall, her eyes dimmed with tears, and
her soul filled with a great longing to pour out her repentance, and
again ask the boon that haunted her troubled dreams as well as her
waking thoughts.
She stumbled into one of the nearest pews, and falling upon her knees
she repeated mentally, with her busy thoughts otherwhere, one of the
prayers of the regular service, and then a great cry arose in her soul,
and she wailed the prayer that monopolized her heart and mind day and
night, and in or out of church was always being prayed in all her life.
“Oh, Lord God, we are utterly alone and bereft in the world, save
as Thy presence is near to comfort us. I ask and pray for only one
thing--for the life and strength of my poor husband, who is as Thou
knowest wasting at death’s door, and in our misery I can do nothing to
save him, nothing to alleviate his sufferings. Oh, God, I have given
Thee this day, to make my special prayer--and a day is so much to the
poor, whose bread must be won somehow every day. Oh, dear Lord, in
mercy hear me. There is no pity, no mercy, no compassion among men, for
they live only for gold though they bring their prayers to Thee. Only
Thou, the living truth and God art left to our hope, and I am here at
thy altar to claim the gift of life Thou hast promised in giving life.
Abandoned and despised, denied and starved by men, I come to Thee, in
our dire extremity, and ask this boon of life of Thy omnipotent arm.”
And so she prayed with all the fervor of her overwrought spirit, until
the dusk reminded her of the many hours she had been absent from the
sick man in the attic they called home.
As she was about to cross her own threshold, a hand was laid upon her
shoulder in the darkness, and a voice filled with a love and tenderness
she had never heard in any human speech, said, softly:
“What ails thee?”
She could see nothing, but her soul was grown desperate, and she
answered, without fear, “I am troubled for my husband, for his life is
ebbing away, and the miseries we suffer. I pray only for him, but God
does not answer my prayers.”
“And do you pray only for your husband?”
“Yes, we are all alone in the world, and there are none who care for
us, or do for us, or pity us. We have only God.”
“Then pray for all the world and all mankind, and perhaps God will hear
your prayer.”
Then the sorrowing soul knew that she too was not without sin, and that
out of the House of God she had met the angel of the Lord.