The Crucifixion of Philip Strong

Of all the sermons on Christ and Modern Society which Philip had thus far preached, none had hit so hard or was applied so personally as this. The Goldens went home from the service in a towering rage. "That settles Calvary Church for me," said Mrs. Golden, as she flung herself out of the building after the service was over. "I consider that the most insulting sermon I ever heard from any minister. It is simply outlandish; and how the church can endure such preaching much longer is a wonder to me. I don't go near it again while Mr. Strong is the minister!" Philip did not know it yet, but he was destined to find out that society carries a tremendous power in its use of the word "outlandish," applied either to persons or things.

When the evening service was over, Philip, as his habit was, lay down on the couch in front of the open fire until the day's excitement had subsided a little. It was almost the only evening in the week when he gave himself up to complete rest of mind and body.

He had been lying there about a quarter of an hour when Mrs. Strong, who had been moving a plant back from one of the front windows and had been obliged to raise a curtain, stepped back into the room with an exclamation.

"Philip! There is some one walking back and forth in front of the house! I have heard the steps ever since we came home. And just now I saw a man stop and look in here. Who can it be?"

"Maybe it's the man with the burglar's lantern come back to get his knife," said Philip, who had always made a little fun of that incident as his wife had told it. However, he rose and went over to the window. Sure enough, there was a man out on the sidewalk looking straight at the house. He was standing perfectly still.

Philip and his wife stood by the window looking at the figure outside, and, as it did not move away, at last Philip grew a little impatient and went to the door to open it and ask the man what he meant by staring into people's houses in that fashion.

"Now, do be careful, won't you?" entreated his wife, anxiously.

"Yes, I presume it is some tramp or other wanting food. There's no danger, I know."

He flung the door wide open and called out in his clear, hearty voice:

"Anything you want, friend? Come up and ring the bell if you want to get in and know us, instead of standing there on the walk catching cold and making us wonder who you are."

In response to this frank and informal invitation the figure came forward and slowly mounted the steps of the porch. As the face came into view more clearly, Philip started and fell back a little.

It was not because the face was that of an enemy, nor because it was repulsive, nor because he recognized an old acquaintance. It was a face he had never to his knowledge seen before. Yet the impulse to start back before it seemed to spring from the recollection of just such a countenance moving over his spirit when he was in prayer or in trouble. It all passed in a second's time and then he confronted the man as a complete stranger.

There was nothing remarkable about him. He was poorly dressed and carried a small bundle. He looked cold and tired. Philip, who never could resist the mute appeal of distress in any form, reached out his hand and said kindly, "Come in, my brother, you look cold and weary. Come in and sit down before the fire, and we'll have a bite of lunch. I was just beginning to think of having something to eat, myself."

Philip's wife looked a little remonstrance, but Philip did not see it, and wheeling an easy chair before the fire he made the man sit down, and pulling up a rocker he placed himself opposite.

The stranger seemed a little surprised at the action of the minister, but made no resistance. He took off his hat and disclosed a head of hair white as snow, and said, in a voice that sounded singularly sweet and true:

"You do me much honor, sir. The fire feels good this chilly evening, and the food will be very acceptable. And I have no doubt you have a good warm bed that I could occupy for the night."

Philip stared hard at his unexpected guest, and his wife who had started out of the room to get the lunch, shook her head vigorously as she stood behind the visitor, as a sign that her husband should refuse such a strange request. He was taken aback a little, and he looked puzzled. The words were uttered in the utmost simplicity.

"Why, yes, we can arrange that all right," he said. "There is a spare room, and—excuse me a moment while I go and help to get our lunch." Philip's wife was telegraphing to him to come into the other room and he obediently got up and went.

"Now, Philip," she whispered when they were out in the dining-room, "you know that is a risky thing to do. You are all the time inviting all kinds of characters in here. We can't keep this man all night. Who ever heard of such a thing as a perfect stranger coming out with a request like that? I believe the man is crazy. It certainly will not do to let him stay here all night."

Philip looked puzzled.

"I declare it is strange! He doesn't appear like an ordinary tramp. But somehow I don't think he's crazy. Why shouldn't we let him have the bed in the room off the east parlor. I can light the fire in the stove there and make him comfortable."

"But we don't know who he is. You let your sympathies run away with your judgment."

"Well, little woman, let me go in and talk with him a while. You get the lunch, and we'll see about the rest afterward."

So he went back and sat down again. He was hardly seated when his visitor said:

"If your wife objects to my staying here to-night, of course, I don't wish to. I don't feel comfortable to remain where I'm not welcome."

"Oh, you're perfectly welcome," said Philip, hastily, with some embarrassment, while his strange visitor went on:

"I'm not crazy, only a little odd, you know. Perfectly harmless. It will be perfectly safe for you to keep me over night."

The man spread his thin hands out before the fire, while Philip sat and watched him with a certain fascination new to his interest in all sorts and conditions of men.

Mrs. Strong brought in a substantial lunch of cold meat, bread and butter, milk and fruit, and then placed it on a table in front of the open fire, where he and his remarkable guest ate like hungry men.

It was after this lunch had been eaten and the table removed that a scene occurred which would be incredible if its reality and truthfulness did not compel us to record it as a part of the life of Philip Strong. No one will wish to deny the power and significance of this event as it is unfolded in the movement of this story.

CHAPTER XI

"I heard your sermon this morning,' said Philip's guest while Mrs. Strong was removing the small table to the dining-room.

"Did you?" asked Philip, because he could not think of anything wiser to say.

"Yes," said the strange visitor, simply. He was so silent after saying this one word that Philip did what he never was in the habit of doing. He always shrank back sensitively from asking for an opinion of his preaching from any one except his wife. But now he could not help saying:

"What did you think of it?"

"It was one of the best sermons I ever heard. But somehow it did not sound sincere."

"What!" exclaimed Philip, almost angrily. If there was one thing he felt sure about, it was the sincerity of his preaching. Then he checked his feeling, as he thought how foolish it would be to get angry at a passing tramp, who was probably a little out of his mind. Yet the man's remark had a strange power over him. He tried to shake it off as he looked harder at him. The man looked over at Philip and repeated gravely, shaking his head, "Not sincere."

Mrs. Strong came back into the room, and Philip motioned her to sit down near him while he said, "And what makes you think I was not sincere?"

"You said the age in which we lived demanded that people live in a far simpler, less extravagant style."

"Yes, that is what I said. I believe it, too," replied Philip, clasping his hands over his knee and gazing at his singular guest with earnestness. The man's thick, white hair glistened in the open firelight like spun glass.

"And you said that Christ would not approve of people spending money for flowers, food and dress on those who did not need it, when it could more wisely be expended for the benefit of those who were in want."

"Yes; those were not my exact words, but that was my idea."

"Your idea. Just so. And yet we have had here in this little lunch, or, as you called it, a 'bite of something,' three different kinds of meat, two kinds of bread, hothouse grapes, and the richest kind of milk."

The man said all this in the quietest, calmest manner possible; and Philip stared at him, more assured than ever that he was a little crazy. Mrs. Strong looked amused, and said, "You seemed to enjoy the lunch pretty well." The man had eaten with a zest that was redeemed from greediness only by a delicacy of manner that no tramp ever possessed.

"My dear madam," said the man, "perhaps this was a case where the food was given to one who stood really in need of it."

Philip started as if he had suddenly caught a meaning from the man's words which he had not before heard in them.

"Do you think it was an extravagant lunch, then?" he asked with a very slight laugh.

The man looked straight at Philip, and replied slowly, "Yes, for the times in which we live!"

A sudden silence fell on the group of three in the parlor of the parsonage, lighted up by the soft glow of the coal fire. No one except a person thoroughly familiar with the real character of Philip Strong could have told why that silence fell on him instead of a careless laugh at the crazy remark of a half-witted stranger tramp. Just how long the silence lasted, he did not know. Only, when it was broken he found himself saying:

"Man, who are you? Where are you from? And what is your name?"