Produced by David Widger
By Winston Churchill
It was the last Sunday in May, and in another week the annual flight tothe seashore and the mountains would have begun again. The breezesstealing into the church through the open casements wafted hither andthither the odours of the chancel flowers, and mingled with those fainterand subtler perfumes set free by the rustling of summer gowns.
As on this day he surveyed his decorous and fashionable congregation,Hodder had something of that sense of extremity which the great apostleto the Gentiles himself must have felt when he stood in the midst of theAreopagus and made his vain yet sublime appeal to Athenian indifferenceand luxury. "And the times of this ignorance God winked at; but nowcommandeth all men everywhere to repent." . . Some, indeed, stirreduneasily as the rector paused, lowering their eyes before the intensityof his glance, vaguely realizing that the man had flung the whole passionof his being into the appeal.
Heedlessness—that was God's accusation against them, against the age.Materialism, individualism! So absorbed were they in the pursuit ofwealth, of distraction, so satisfied with the current philosophy, sointent on surrounding themselves with beautiful things and thus shuttingout the sterner view, that they had grown heedless of the divine message.How few of them availed themselves of their spiritual birthright to renewtheir lives at the altar rail! And they had permitted their own childrento wander away . . . . Repent!
There was a note of desperation in his appeal, like that of the hermitwho stands on a mountain crag and warns the gay and thoughtless of thevalley of the coming avalanche. Had they heard him at last? There werea few moments of tense silence, during which he stood gazing at them.Then he raised his arm in benediction, gathered up his surplice,descended the pulpit steps, and crossed swiftly the chancel . . . .
He had, as it were, turned on all the power in a supreme effort to reachthem. What if he had failed again? Such was the misgiving that besethim, after the service, as he got out of his surplice, communicated bysome occult telepathy . . . . Mr. Parr was awaiting him, andsummoning his courage, hope battling against intuition, he opened thedoor into the now empty church and made his way toward the porch, wherethe sound of voices warned him that several persons were lingering. Thenature of their congratulations confirmed his doubts. Mrs. Plimpton,resplendent and looking less robust than usual in one of her summer Parisgowns, greeted him effusively.
"Oh, Mr. Hodder, what a wonderful sermon!" she cried. "I can't expresshow it made me feel—so delinquent! Of course that is exactly the effectyou wished. And I was just telling Wallis I was so glad I waited untilTuesday to go East, or I should have missed it. You surely must come onto Hampton and visit us, and preach it over again in our little stonechurch there, by the sea. Good-by and don't forget! I'll write you,setting the date, only we'd be glad to have you any time."
"One of the finest I ever heard—if not the finest," Mr. Plimptondeclared, with a kind of serious 'empressement', squeezing his hand.
Others stopped him; Everett Constable, for one, and the austere Mrs.Atterbury. Hodder would have avoided