London's Heart: A NovelFarjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
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London's Heart: A Novel
Farjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
London (England) -- Fiction
Such, at all events, the preaching of the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell
went to prove. According to his pulpit-doctrine, corruption was the
normal state of man--and woman also, of course. This condition was bad
enough in all conscience, but it was a miserable thing to be compelled
to believe that it could never be bettered. The conviction was forced
upon them by their pastor; his utterings were destructive of hope. He
had preached to them a library of sermons, and middle-aged sinners of
his congregation had grown old during his term. Inevitable time was
pushing them nearer and nearer to the grave; but there was no more
hope for them now than there had been long ago, when there were many
years of life before them. Sinners then, sinners now. How was
salvation to be obtained? They went to church, and listened to their
pastor's words, but found no consolation in them. The refrain of his
sermon was the same now as it had been the first day on which he
ascended the pulpit, and preached to them not salvation but the other
thing. As he and the members of his flock grew older, he grew more
stern, and they more disconsolate. The time for them for reaching
grace was getting very short, and still corruption held them fast,
would not let them go indeed. When the Sabbath service was ended, they
wended their way home, depressed and in the saddest of moods. For
their pastor hurt and bruised the miserable sinners without mercy. He
said, "This shall ye do out of fear of the Lord;" and no suggestion of
love brought light to the benighted ones. He told them to cleanse
their souls; he had told them to do this any time for twenty years,
but he did not supply them with the divine soap and water necessary
for the operation. He spoke in parables, and left them to draw the
moral. He presented problems to them, hard nuts of divinity which they
found it impossible to crack. He used the Bible like a catapult, and
from this engine he, week after week, hurled terrible inflictions at
their hands, until some impressionable souls grew to believe that God
was a very dreadful creature, and that it would have been better for
them if they had never been introduced into this world of sorrow,
which was to be followed by another full of penalties.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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