A Second Coming

'We represent a number of persons who are as the sands of the sea for multitude, the victims of man's injustice and of God's.'

'With God there is no injustice.'

'That is your opinion. We won't argue the point; it's not ours. We come to plead the cause of myriads of people who have never known happiness from the day they were born. Some of them toil early and late for a beggarly wage; many of them are denied the opportunity of even doing that. They have tried every legitimate means of bettering their condition. They have hoped long, striven often, always to be baffled. Their brother men press them back into the mire, and tread them down in it. We suggest that their case is worthy your consideration. Their plight is worse to-day than it ever was; they lack everything. Health some of them never had; they came into the world under conditions which rendered it impossible. Most of them who had it have lost it long ago. Society compels them to live lives in which health is a thing unknown. Their courage has been sapped by continuous failure. Hope is dead. Joy they never knew. Misery is their one possession. Under these circumstances you will perceive that if you desire to do something for them it will not be difficult to find something which should be done.'

Another pause; still no reply.

'We do not wish to cumber you with suggestions; we only ask you to do something. It will be plain to your sense of justice that there could be no fitter subjects for benevolence. Yet all that we request of you is to be just. You are showering gifts broadcast. Be just; give also something to them to whom nothing ever has been given. I have the pleasure to await your answer.'

He answered nothing.

'What are we to understand by your silence? – that you lack the power, or the will? We ask you, with all possible courtesy, for an answer. Courtesy useless? Still nothing? There is a limit even to our civility. Understand, also, that we mean to have an answer-somehow.'

Ada touched him on the arm, whispering:

'It is the Lord!'

'Is he a friend of yours?'

'He is a Friend of all the world.'

'It doesn't look like it at present, though we hope to find it the case before we've finished. Come, sir! You hear what this young lady says of you. We're waiting to hear how you propose to show that you're a friend of that great host of suffering souls on whose behalf we've come to plead to you.'

Yet He was still. Walters turned to his associates.

'You see how it is? It's as I expected, as was foreseen last night. If we want anything, we've got to take the kingdom of heaven by violence. Are we going to take it, or are we going to sneak away with our tails between our legs?'

The woman answered who had spoken at the meeting the night before- the fair-haired woman, with the soft voice and quiet eyes:

'We are going to take it.' She went close to the Stranger. 'Answer the question which has been put to you.' When He continued silent, she struck Him on the cheek with her open palm, saying: 'Coward!'

Ada came rushing forward with her father and her sisters. With a movement of His hand He kept them back. Walters applauded the woman's action.

'That's right-for a beginning; but he'll want more than that. Let me talk to him.' He occupied the woman's place. 'We've nothing to lose. You may strike us dead; we may as well be dead as living the sort of life with which we are familiar; it is a living death. I defy you to cast us into a worse hell than that in which we move all day and every day. If you are Christ, you have a chance of winning more adherents than were ever won for you by all the preaching through all the ages, and with a few words. If you are man, we will make you king over all the earth, and all the world will cry with one heart and one voice: "God save the King!" And whether you are Christ or man, every heart will be filled with your praises, and night and morning old and young will call with blessings on your name. Is not that a prospect pleasing even unto God? And all this for the utterance of perhaps a dozen words. That is one side of the shield. Does it not commend itself to you? I ask you for an answer.

'None? Still dumb? I'll show you something of the other side. If you are resolute to shut your ears to our cries, and your eyes to our misery, we'll crucify you again. Don't think that those police outside will help you, or anything of that sort, because you'll be nursing a delusion. You'll be crucified by a world in arms. When it is known that with a word you can dry the tears that are in men's eyes, and yet refuse to utter it-when that is generally known, it will be sufficient. For it will have been clearly demonstrated that you must be a monster of whom the world must be rid at all and any cost. Given such a capacity, none but a monster would refuse to exercise it. And the fact that, according to some narrow code of scholastic reasoning, you may be a faultless monster will make the fact worse, not better. For faultlessness of that sort is in continual, cruel, crushing opposition to poor, weak, human nature. Now will you give me an answer?'

When none came, and His glance continued fixed upon the other's face with a strange, unfaltering intensity, Walters went still closer.

'Shall I shake the answer out of you?' Putting up his hand, he took the Stranger by the throat; and when He offered no resistance, began to shake Him to and fro. Ada, running forward, struck at Walters with so much force that, taken by surprise, he let the Stranger go. She cried:

'It is the Lord! It is the Lord!'

'What is that to us? Why doesn't he speak when he's spoken to? Is he a wooden block? You take care what you do, my girl. You'd be better employed in inducing your friend to answer us. Lord or no Lord. There'd be no trouble if he'd treat us like creatures of flesh and blood. If he'd a spark of feeling in his breast, he'd recognise that the very pitifulness of our condition-our misery, our despair! – entitles us to something more than the brand of his scornful silence; he'd at least answer yes or no unto our prayers.'

Ada wept as if her heart would break, sobbing out from amidst her grief:

'It is the Christ! It is the Lord Christ!'

Her father, forcing his way to the front door, had summoned assistance. A burly sergeant came marching in.

'What's the matter here? Oh, Mr. Walters, it's you! You're not wanted in here. Out you go-all of you. If you take my advice you'll go home, and you'll get your friends to go home too. There'll be some trouble if you don't take care!'

'Go home? Sergeant, you see that Man? Have you anywhere a tender place? Is there any little thing which, if you had it, would make your life brighter and more worth the living? That Man, by the utterance of a word, can make of your life one long, glad song; give you everything you are righteously entitled to deserve; so they tell me. Go home to the kennels in which we herd when the Christ who has come to release us from our bondage will not move a finger, or do aught to loose our bonds, but, seeing how we writhe in them, stands mutely by? No, sergeant. We'll not go home till we've had a reckoning with Him.'

He stretched out his arm, pointing at the Stranger.

'I'll meet you at another Calvary. You've crucified me and mine through the ages, and would crucify us still, finding it a royal sport at which it were blasphemy to cavil. Beware lest, in return, you yourself are not crucified again.'

When Walters and his associates had gone, the sergeant said, addressing the Stranger:

'I'm only doing my duty in telling you that the sooner you clear out of this, the better it'll be for everyone concerned. You're getting yourself disliked in a way which may turn out nasty for you, in spite of anything we can do. There's half a dozen people dead out in the street because of you, and there's worse to come, so take my tip and get out the back way somewhere. Find a new address, and when you have found it keep it to yourself. We don't want to have London turned upside down for anyone, no matter who it is.'

The sergeant went. And then words came from the Stranger's lips, as if they had been wrung from His heart; for the sweat stood on His brow:

'Father, is it, then, for this that I am come to the children that call upon My Name in this great city, where on every hand are churches built for men to worship Christ? What is this idol which they have fashioned, calling it after My Name, so that wherever I go I find a Christ which is not Me? Lord! Lord! they cry; and when the Lord comes they say, It is not you we called, but another. They deny Me to My face. The things I would they know not. In their blindness, knowing nothing, they would be gods unto themselves, making of You a plaything, the servant of their wills. As of old, they know not what they do. Aforetime, by God's chosen people was I nailed unto a tree. Am I again to suffer shame at the hands of those that call themselves My children? Yet, Father, let it be so if it is Your will.'

CHAPTER XXII

A SEMINARY PRIEST

In the street was riot; confusion which momentarily threatened to become worse confounded. In the press were dignitaries of the Church; that Archbishop whom we met at dinner; Cardinal De Vere, whose grace of bearing ornaments the Roman establishment in England; with him a young seminary priest, one Father Nevill. The two high clerics were on a common errand. Their carriages encountering each other on the outskirts of the crowd, they had accepted the services of a friendly constable, who offered to pilot them through the excited people. At his heels they came, scarcely in the ecclesiastical state which their dignity desired.

As they neared the house they were met by the departing Mr. Walters and his friends. Recognising who they were, Walters stopped to shout at them in his stentorian tones:

'So the High Priests have come! To do reverence to their Master? To prostrate themselves at His feet in the dust, or to play the patron? To you, perhaps, He'll condescend; with these who, in their misery, trample each other under foot He'll have no commerce; has not even a word with which to answer them. But you, Archbishop and Cardinal, Princes of His Most Holy Church, perhaps He'll have a hand for each of you. For to those that have shall be given, and from those that have not shall be taken away. He'll hardly do violence to that most excellent Christian doctrine. Tell Him how much you have that should be other men's; maybe He'll strip them of their skins to give you more.'

The constable thrust him aside.

'Move on, there! move on! That's enough of that nonsense!'

'Oh yes,' said Walters, as they forced him back into the seething throng; 'oh yes, one soon has enough of nonsense of that kind. Christ has come! God help us all!'

On the steps that led up to the door a woman fought with the police. She was as a mad thing, screaming in her agony:

'Let me see Christ! Let me see Him! My daughter's dead! I brought her to be healed; she's been killed in the crowd; I want Him to bring her back to life. Let me see Christ! Let me see Him!'

They would not. Lifting her off her feet, they bore her back among the people.

'What a terrible scene!' murmured the Archbishop. 'What lamentable and dangerous excitement!'

'You represent a Church, my dear Archbishop,' replied the Cardinal, 'which advocates the freedom of private judgment. These proceedings suggest that your advocacy may have met with even undesired success.'

The Archbishop, looking about him with dubious glances, said to the policeman who had constituted himself their guide:

'This sort of thing almost makes one physically anxious. The people seem to be half beside themselves.'

'You may well say that, my lord. I never saw a crowd in such a mood before; and I've seen a few. I hear they've sent for the soldiers.'