A Second Coming

He whom all these people were coming out to see had gone with the lame man across a field-path to a little wood, which lay not far from the road. In the centre of the wood they found a clearing, where the charcoal-burners had built their huts and plied their trade. An old man watched the smouldering heap. He sat on some billets of wood, one of which he was carving with a clumsy knife. The Stranger found a seat upon another heap, and the lame man placed himself, cobbler fashion, upon the turf at His side. For some moments nothing was said. Then the old man broke the silence.

'Strangers hereabouts?'

He replied:

'My abiding-place is not here.'

'So I thought. I fancied I hadn't seen you round about these parts; yet there's something about you I seem to know. Come in here to rest?'

'It is good to rest.'

'That's so; there's nothing like it when you're tired. You look as if you was tired, and you look as if you'd known trouble. There's a comfortable look upon your face which never comes upon a man or woman's face unless they have known trouble. I always says that no one's any good until it shines out of their eyes.'

'Sorrow and joy walk hand in hand.'

'That's it: they walk hand in hand, and you never know one till you've known the other, just as you never know what health is till you've had to go without it. Do you see what I'm doing here? I'm a charcoal-burner by trade, but by rights I ought to have been a wood-carver. There's few men can do more with a knife and a bit of wood than I can. All them as knows me knows it. That's a cross I'm carving. My daughter's turned religious, and she's a fancy that I should cut her a cross to hang in her room, so that, as she says, she can always think of Christ crucified. To me that's a queer start. I always think of Him as Christ crowned.'

'He is crowned.'

'Of course He is. As I put it, what He done earned Him the V.C. It's with that cross upon His breast I like to think of Him. In what He done I can't see what people see to groan about. It was something to glory in, to be proud of.'

'He was crucified by those to whom He came.'

'There is that. They must have been a silly lot, them Jews. They didn't know what they was doing of.'

'Which man knows what he does, or will let God know, either?'

'It's a sure and certain thing that some of us ain't over and above wise. There do be a good many fools about. I mind that I said to my daughter a good score times: "Don't you have that Jim Bates." But she would. Now he's took himself off and she's took to religion. It's a true fact she didn't know what she was doing of when she had him.'

'Did Jim Bates know what he was doing?'

'I shouldn't be surprised but what he didn't. He never did know much, did Jim. It isn't everyone as can live with my daughter, as he had ought to have known. She's kept house for me these twelve year, so I do know. She always were a contrary piece, she were.'

'The world is full of discords, but He who plays upon it tunes one note after another. In the end it will be all in tune.'

'There's a good many of us as'll wish that we was deaf before that time comes.'

'Because many men are deaf they take no heed of the harmonies.'

'There's something in that. I shouldn't wonder but what there's a lot of music as no one notices. The more you speak, the more I seem to know you. You're like a voice I've heard talking to me when the speaker was hid by the darkness.'

'I have spoken to you often.'

'Ay, I believe you have. I thought I knew you from the first. I felt so comfortable when you came. All the morning I've been troubled, what with worries at home and the pains what seems all over me, so that I can't move about as I did use to; and then when I saw you coming along the path all the trouble was at an end.'

'I heard you calling as I passed along the road.'

'You heard me calling? Why, I never opened my mouth!'

'Not the words of the lips are heard in heaven, but none ever called from his heart in vain.'

The charcoal-burner rose from his heap of billets.

'Why, who are you?' He came closer, peering with his dim eyes. 'It is the Lord! What an old fool I am not to have known You from the first! Yet I felt that it was You.'

'You know Me, although you knew Me not.'

'And me that's known You all my life, and my old woman what knew You too! Anyhow, I'd have seen You before long.'

'You have seen Me from the first.'

'Not plain-not plain. I've heard You, and I've known that You was there, but I haven't seen You as I've tried to. You know the sort of chap I am-a silly old fool what's been burning since I was a little nipper. I ain't no scholar. The likes of me didn't have no schooling when I was young, and I ain't no hand at words; but You know how I'm all of a twitter, and there ain't no words what will tell how glad I am to see You. Like the silly old jackass that I am, I'm a-cryin'!'

The Stranger stood up, holding out His hand.

'Friend!'

The charcoal-burner put his gnarled, knotted, and now trembling hand into the Stranger's palm.

'Lord! Lord!'

'So often I have heard you call upon My Name.'

'Ay, in the morning when the day was young; at noon, when the work was heavy; at night, when rest had come. Youth and man, You've been with me all the time, and with my old woman, too.'

'She and I met long since.'

'My old woman! She was a good one to me, she was.'

'And to Me.'

'A better wife no man could have. It weren't all lavender, her life wasn't, but it smelt just as sweet as if it were.'

'The perfume of it ascended into heaven.'

'My temper, it be short. There were days when I was sharp with her. She'd wait till it was over, and me ashamed, and then she'd say: "Each time, William, you be in a passion it do bring you nearer to the Lord." I'd ask her how she made that out, and she'd say: "'Tis like a bit of 'lastic, William. When you pulls it the ends get drawed apart, but when you lets it go again, the ends come closer than they was before. When you be in a passion, William, you draws yourself away from the Lord's end; when your passion be over, back you goes with a rush, until you meets Him plump. Only," she'd say, "don't you draw away too often, lest the 'lastic break." I never could tell if she were laughing at me, or if she weren't. But I do know she did make me feel terrible ashamed. I used to wonder if the Lord's temper ever did go short.'

'The Lord is like unto men-He knows both grief and anger.'

'Seems to me as how He wouldn't be the Lord if He didn't. He feels what we feels, or how'd He be able to help us?'

'The Lord and His children are of one family. Did you not know that?'

'I knowed it. But there's them as thinks the Lord's a fine gentleman, what's always a-looking you up and down, and that you ain't never to come near Him without your best clothes and your company manners on. Seems to me the Lord don't only want to know you now and then, He wants to know you right along. If you can't go to Him because you be mucked with charcoal, it be bitter hard.'

'You know you can.'

'I do know you can, I do. When I've been as black as black can be I've felt Him just as close as in the chapel Sundays.'

'The Lord is not here or there, in the house or in the field; He is with His children.'

'Hebe that! He be!'.

CHAPTER XIII

A TRIUMPHAL ENTRY

The people came to meet the Lord upon the Ripley road, and they were not a few.

The first that found Mr. Treadman were Mrs. Powell and Harvey Gifford. They took a fly from the station, bidding the driver drive straight on. Nor had they gone far before they came on Mr. Treadman sitting on a gate. They cried to him:

'What is the meaning of your telegram?'

'It means that the Lord has come again, in very surety and very truth.'

'Are you in earnest?'

'Did they not ask that question of the prophets? Were they in earnest? Then am I.'

'But where is He?'

'He has given me the slip.'

'Given you the slip? What do you mean?'

Mr. Treadman explained. While he did so, others arrived, men and women of all sorts, ranks, and ages. They were agog with curiosity.

'What like is He to look at? Does the sight of Him blind, as it did Moses?'

'Nothing of the sort. He is just an ordinary man, like you and me.'

'An ordinary man! Then how can you tell it is the Lord?'

'He is not to be mistaken. You cannot be in His presence twenty seconds without being sure of it.'

'But-I don't understand! I thought that when He came again it was to be with legions of angels, in pomp and glory, to be the Judge of all the earth.'

'The Jews looked for a material display. They thought He was to come in Majesty. And because, to their unseeing eyes, He appeared as one of themselves, in their disappointment they nailed Him upon a tree. Oh, my friends, don't let a similar mistake be ours! That is the awful, immeasurable peril which already stares us in the face. Because, in His infinite wisdom, for reasons which are beyond our ken, and, perhaps, beyond our comprehension, He has again chosen to put on the guise of our common manhood, let us not, on that account, the less rejoice to see Him, nor let us fail to do Him all possible honour. He has come again unto His children; let His children receive Him with shouts and with Hosannas. It is possible, when He perceives how complete is His dominion over your hearts and minds, that He will be pleased to manifest Himself in that splendour of Godhead for which I know some of you have been confidently looking. Only, until that hour comes, let us not fail to do reverence to the God in man.'

'But where is He? You told us to meet Him on the Ripley road. How can we do Him reverence if we do not know where He is?'

The question came in different forms from many throats. The crowd had grown. The people were eager.

A boy threaded his way among them. He addressed himself to Mr. Treadman.

'Please, sir, there's someone in the wood with Mr. Bates. When I took Mr. Bates his dinner he called him "Lord."'

Presently the crowd were following the boy. He led them some little distance along the road, and then across a field into a wood. There they came upon the Stranger and the charcoal-burner eating together, seated side by side; and the lame man also ate with them, sitting on the ground. Mr. Treadman cried:

'Lord, we have found You again!'

He looked at the people, asking:

'Who are these?'

They are Your children-Your faithful, loving, eager children, who have come to give You greeting.'

'My children? There are many that call themselves My children that I know not of.'

Mr. Treadman cried:

'Oh, my friends, this is the Lord! Rejoice and give thanks. Many are the days of the years in which you have watched for Him, and waited, and He has come to you at last.'

For the most part the people were still. There were some that pressed forward, but more that hung back. For now that they came near to the Stranger's presence they began to be afraid. Yet Mrs. Powell went close to Him, asking:

'Are you in very deed the Lord?'

He replied:

'Are you of the children of the Lord?

She drew a little back.

'I do not know Him; I do not know Him! Yet I am afraid.'

'Love casteth out fear; but where there is no love, there fear is.'

She drew still more away, saying again:

'I am afraid.'

Mr. Treadman explained:

'We are here to meet You, Lord, and to entreat You to let us come with You to London.'

'Why should you come with Me?'

'Because we are Your children.'

'My children!'

'Yes, Lord, Your children, each in his or her own fashion, but each with his or her whole heart. And because we are Your children, we are here to meet You-many of us at no slight personal inconvenience-to keep You company on the way, so that by our testimony we may begin to make it known that the Lord has come again to be the Judge of all the earth.'

'What know you of the why and wherefore of My coming?'

'Actually nothing. But I am very sure You are here for some great and good purpose, and trust, before long, to prove myself worthy of the Divine confidence. In the meantime I implore You to suffer those who are here assembled to accompany You as a guard of honour, so that You may make, though in a rough-and-ready fashion, a triumphant entry into that great city which is the capital of Your kingdom here on earth.'

'I will come with you.' To the lame man and to the charcoal-burner He said: 'Come also.'

He went with them. And when they came into the road nothing would content Mr. Treadman but that He should get into the fly which had brought Mrs. Powell and Mr. Gifford from the station. The lame man and the charcoal-burner rode with Him. As Mr. Treadman was preparing to mount upon the box Mrs. Powell came.

'What am I to do? I cannot walk all the way. It is too far.'

'Get in also. There is room.'

She shuddered.

'I dare not-I am afraid.'

So the fly went on without her.

As they went the bands played and the people sang hymns. There were some that shouted texts of Scripture and all manner of things. In the towns and villages folk came running out to learn what was the cause of all the hubbub.

'What is it?' they cried.

Mr. Treadman standing up would shout: 'It is the Lord! He has come to us again! Rejoice and give thanks. Come, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, for He has brought you rest.'

They pressed round the fly, so that it could scarcely move.

In a certain place a great man who was driving with his wife, when he saw the crowd and heard what they were saying, was angry, crying with a loud voice:

'What ribaldry is this? What blasphemous words are these you utter? I am ashamed to think that Englishmen should behave in such a fashion.'

Mr. Treadman answered:

'You foolish man! you don't know what it is you say. Yours is the shame, not ours. It is the Lord in very deed!'

The other, still more angry, caused his coachman to place his carriage close beside the fly, intending to reprimand Him whom he supposed to be the cause of the commotion. But when he saw the Stranger he was silent. His wife cried: 'It is the Lord!'

She went quickly from the carriage to the fly. When she reached it she fell on her knees, hiding her face on the seat at the Stranger's side.

'You have my son, my only son!'

He said:

'Be comforted. Your son I know and you I know. To neither of you shall any harm come.'

Her husband called to her.

'Are you mad? What is the meaning of this extraordinary behaviour? Do you wish to cause a public scandal?'

She answered:

'It is the Lord!'

But her husband commanded her:

'Come back into the carriage!'

She cried:

'Lord, let me stay with You. You have my boy; where my boy is I would be also.'

The Stranger said:

'Return unto your husband. You shall stay with Me although you return to him.'

She went back into the carriage weeping bitterly.

The news of the strange procession which was coming went on in front. All the way were people waiting, so that the crowd grew more and more. All that came had to make room for it, waiting till the press was gone. Though the way was long, but few seemed to tire. Those that were at the first continued to the end, the bands playing almost without stopping, and the people singing hymns.

By the time they neared London it was evening. The throng had grown so great the authorities began to be concerned. Policemen lined the roads, ready if necessary to preserve order. But their services were not needed, as Mr. Treadman proclaimed:

'Constables, we are, glad to see you. Representatives of the law, He who comes is the Lord. Therefore shout Hosanna with the best of us and give Him greeting.'

Presently someone pressed a piece of paper into his hand on which was written:

'If the Lord would but stay this night in the house of the chief of sinners.

'Miriam Powell.'

He took a pencil from his pocket, and wrote beneath:

'He shall stay in your house this night, thou daughter of the Lord.

'W. S. T.'

From his seat on the box Mr. Treadman leaned over towards the fly.

'Lord, I entreat You to honour with Your presence the habitation of Your very daughter, Miriam Powell, whose good works, done in Your name, shine in the eyes of all men.'

He replied:

'Thy will, not Mine, be done!' Mr. Treadman shouted to the people: 'My friends, I am authorised by the Lord to announce that He will rest in the house of His faithful servant, Miriam Powell, whose name, as a single-minded labourer in Christ's vineyard, is so well-known to all of you. To mark our sense of His appreciation of the manner in which Mrs. Powell has borne the heat and burden of the day, let us join in singing that beautiful hymn which has comforted so many of us when the hours of darkness were drawing nigh, "Abide with me, fast fall the eventide."'

Mrs. Powell's house was in Maida Vale. It was late when the procession arrived. Even then it was some time before the fly could gain the house itself. The crowd had been recruited from a less desirable element since its advent in the streets of London, and this reinforcement was disposed to show something of its more disreputable side. The vehicle, with its weary horse and country driver, had to force its way through a scuffling, howling mob. For some moments it looked as if, unless the police arrived immediately in great force, there would be mischief done; until the Stranger, standing up in the fly, raised His hand, saying:

'I pray you, be still.'

And they were still. And He passed through the midst of them, with the charcoal-burner and the lame man. Mr. Treadman came after.

When He entered the house, He sighed.

Now Mrs. Powell, when she had learned that the Stranger was to be her guest, had hastened home to make ready for His coming, so that the table was set for a meal. But when He saw that there was a place for only one, He asked:

'What is this? Is there none that would eat with me?'

Mr. Treadman answered:

'Nay, Lord, there is none that is worthy. Suffer us first to wait upon You. Then afterwards we will eat also.'

He said:

'Does not a father eat with his children? Are they not of him? If there is any in this house that calls upon My name, let him sit down with me and eat.'

So they sat down and ate together. While they continued at table but little was said; for the day had been a long one, and they were weary. When they had eaten, the Stranger was shown into the best room, where was a bed which offered a pleasant resting-place for tired limbs. But He did not lie on it, nor sought repose, but went here and there about the room, as if His mind were troubled. And He cried aloud:

'Father, is it for this I came?'

In the street were heard the voices of the people, and those that cried:

'Christ has come again!'

And in the best room of the house the Stranger wept, lamenting:

'I have come unto Mine own, and Mine own know Me not. They make a mock of Me, and say, He shall be as we would have Him; we will not have Him as He is. They have made unto themselves graven images, not fashioned alike, but each an image of his own, and each would have Me to be like unto the image which he has made. For they murmur among themselves: It is we that have made God; it is not God that has made us.'

CHAPTER XIV

THE WORDS OF THE WISE

There began to be in London that night a feeling of unrest. A sense of uncertainty came into men's minds, a desire to find answers to the questions which each asked of the other:

'Who is this man? Who does he pretend to be? Where does he come from? What does he want?'

In the minds of some that last inquiry assumed a different form. They asked, of their own hearts, if not of one another:

'Why has he come to trouble us?'

The usual showed signs of the unusual. In a great city a divergence from the normal means disturbance; which is to be avoided. When the multitude is strongly stirred by a consciousness of the abnormal in its midst, to someone, or to something, it means danger. Order is not preserved by authority, but by tradition. A suspicion that events are about to happen which are contrary to established order shakes that tradition, with the immediate result that confusion threatens.

There was that night hardly one person who was not conscious of more or less vague mental disturbance. There were those who at once leaped to the conclusion that the words of Scripture, as they interpreted them, were about to receive complete illustration. There were others whose theological outlook was capable of less mathematically accurate definition, who were yet in doubt as to whether some supernatural being might not have appeared among men. There was that large class which, having no logical grounds for expectation, is always looking for the unexpected, ever eager to believe it is upon them. The members of this class are not interested in current theories of a deity; they are indifferent whether God is or is not. The phrase 'a Second Coming' conveyed no meaning to their minds. They would welcome any new thing, whether it was Christ Jesus or Tom Fool; though, when they realised who Christ Jesus was, their preference would be strongly in favour of Tom Fool. It was, for the most part, individuals of this sort who bent their steps towards the house in which the Stranger was, and, by way of diversion, loitered in its neighbourhood throughout the night.

In the house itself a consultation was being held. Various persons who take a notorious interest in subjects of the hour were gathered together, like bees about a flower, desirous to extract from the occasion such honey as they could. Mr. Treadman, who presided, had explained to the meeting, in words which burned, what a matter of capital importance it was which had brought them there.

Professor Wilcox Wilson displayed his usual fondness for destructive criticism.

'Our friend Treadman speaks of the frightful consequences which would attend an only partial recognition of the Lord's divinity. He says nothing of the at least equally bad results which would ensue from giving credit to an impostor. Apart from the fact that there are those who are still in doubt as to which portion of the New Testament narrative is to be regarded as mythical-'

Mr. Treadman sprang to his feet.

'Mr. Wilson, this meeting is for believers only. We are not here for an academical discussion; we are here as children of Christ.'

'Quite so. I, also, am anxious to be a child of Christ. I only say, with another, "Help Thou my unbelief." It seems to me that the personage whom we will call our distinguished visitor-'

'Wilson, sit down! In my presence you shall not speak with such flippancy of the Lord Christ. It is to protest against such frames of mind that we are here. Don't you realise that He who is in the room above us has but to lift His little finger to lay you dead?'

'It would prove nothing if he did; certainly not that he is the Lord Christ. My dear Treadman, let me ask you seriously to consider whether you propose to conduct your crusade on logical lines or as creatures of impulse. If it is as the latter you intend to figure, you will do an incalculable amount of mischief. The Lord who made us is aware of our deficiencies. He is responsible for them.'

'No! No!'

'Who, then, is? Is there a greater than God? Do you blaspheme? He knows that He has given us, as one of the strongest passions of our nature, a craving for demonstrable proof. If this is shown in little things, then how much more in greater! If you want it proved that two and two are five, then are you not equally desirous of having it clearly established that a wandering stranger has claims to call himself divine? So put, the question answers itself. If this man is God, he will have no difficulty in demonstrating the fact beyond all possibility of doubt; and he will demonstrate it, for he knows that human nature, for which he is responsible, requires such demonstration. If he does not, then rest assured he is no God.'

Mr. Jebb stood up.

'What sort of proof does Professor Wilson require? What amount would he esteem sufficient? Would he expect that the demonstration should be repeated in the case of each separate individual? I put these questions, feeling that the Professor has possibly his own point of view, because it is asserted that miracles have taken place. A large body of apparently trustworthy evidence testifies to the fact. I am bound to admit that my own researches go to show that the occurrences in question are at least extra-natural. Does the Professor suggest that any power short of what we call Divine can go outside nature?'