Part 29 (2/2)
”Goodness--right-doing.”
”Those be unclear words, methinks. They may mean well-nigh aught. For me, I would say, Holiness is walking with G.o.d, and according to the will of G.o.d.”
”Well! Is not G.o.d pleased with the doing of good?”
”G.o.d is pleased with nothing but Christ. He is not pleased with you because of your deeds. He must first accept _you_, and that not for any your deserving, but for the sake of the alone merits of His Son; and then He shall be pleased with your deeds, since they shall be such as His Spirit shall work in you. But nothing can please G.o.d except that which cometh from G.o.d. Your works, apart from Him, be dead works. And you cannot serve the living G.o.d with dead works.”
Blanche's half-unconscious shrug of the shoulders conveyed the information that this doctrine was not agreeable to her.
”Surely G.o.d will be pleased with us if we do out best!” she muttered.
”By no means,” said Mr Tremayne quietly. ”Your best is not good enough for G.o.d. He likeneth that best of yours to filthy rags. What should you say to one that brought you a present of filthy rags, so foul that you could not so much as touch them?”
Blanche, who was extremely dainty as to what she touched, quite appreciated this simile. She found an answer, nevertheless.
”G.o.d is merciful, Mr Tremayne. You picture Him as hard and unpitiful.”
”Verily, Mistress Blanche, G.o.d is merciful: more than you nor I may conceive. But G.o.d hath no mercies outside of Christ. Come to Him bringing aught in your hand save Christ, and He hath nought to say to you. And be you ware that you cannot come and bring nothing. If you bring not Christ, a.s.suredly you shall bring somewhat else,--your own works, or your own sufferings, or in some manner your own deservings.
And for him that cometh with his own demerits in hand, G.o.d hath nought saving the one thing he hath indeed demerited,--which is--h.e.l.l.”
Mr Tremayne spoke so solemnly that Blanche felt awed. But she did not relish the doctrine which he preached any better on that account.
”How have I demerited that?” she asked.
”G.o.d Himself shall answer you. 'He that hath not the Son of G.o.d hath not life.' 'He that believeth not is condemned already.'”
”But I do believe--all Christians believe!” urged Blanche.
”What believe you?”
”I believe unfeignedly all that the creed saith touching our Lord.”
”And I believe as unfeignedly all that the Commentaries of Caesar say touching that same Julius Caesar.”
”What mean you, Master Tremayne?”
”What did Julius Caesar for me, Mistress Blanche?”
”Marry, nought at all,” said Blanche, laughing, ”without his invading of England should have procured unto us some civility which else we had lacked.”
Civility, at that time, meant civilisation. When, according to the wondrous dreamer of Bedford Gaol, Mr Worldly Wiseman referred Christian, if he should not find Mr Legality at home, to the pretty young man called Civility, whom he had to his son, and who could take off a burden as well as the old gentleman himself,--he meant, not what we call civility, but what we call civilisation. That pretty young man is at present the most popular physician of the day; and he still goes to the town of Morality to church. The road to his house is crowded more than ever, though the warning has been standing for two hundred years, that ”notwithstanding his simpering looks, he is but a hypocrite,”--as well as another warning far older,--”Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom.” [Job twenty-eight verse 28.]
”But now,” said the Rector, with an answering smile, ”tell me, what did Jesus Christ for me?”
”He is the Saviour,” she said in a low voice.
”Of whom, dear maid?”
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