Early Christianity had kept its eyes
fixed on another world, and had ignored this: had overlooked the fact
that every man and woman was put here to do a particular work. In the
first epistle of Peter the advice was given, "submit yourselves to every
ordinance of man for the Lord's sake." But Christ had preached
democracy, responsibility, had foreseen a millennium, the fulfilment of
his Kingdom, when all men, inspired by the Spirit, would make and keep
in spirit the ordinances of God.

Before they could do God's work and man's work they must first be
awakened, filled with desire. Desire was power. And he prayed that some
of them, on this day, would receive that desire, that power which nothing
could resist. The desire which would lead each and every one to the
gates of the Inner World which was limitless and eternal, filled with
dazzling light . . . .

Let them have faith then. Not credulity in a vague God they could not
imagine, but faith in the Spirit of the Universe, humanity, in Jesus
Christ who had been the complete human revelation of that Spirit, who had
suffered and died that man might not live in ignorance of it. To doubt
humanity,--such was the Great Refusal, the sin against the Holy Ghost,
the repudiation of the only true God!

After a pause, he spoke simply of his hope for St. John's. If he
remained here his ambition was that it would be the free temple of
humanity, of Jesus Christ, supported not by a few, but by all,--each in
accordance with his means. Of those who could afford nothing, nothing
would be required. Perhaps this did not sound practical, nor would it be
so if the transforming inspiration failed. He could only trust and try,
hold up to them the vision of the Church as a community of willing
workers for the Kingdom . . .

III

After the service was over the people lingered in the church, standing in
the pews and aisles, as though loath to leave. The woman with the
perfume and the elaborate hat was heard to utter a succinct remark.

"Say, Charlie, I guess he's all right. I never had it put like that."

The thick-necked man's reply was inaudible.

Eleanor Goodrich was silent and a little pale as she pressed close to
Alison. Her imagination had been stretched, as it were, and she was
still held in awe by the vastness of what she had heard and seen. Vaster
even than ever,--so it appeared now,--demanding greater sacrifices than
she had dreamed of. She looked back upon the old as at recedin