Part 4 (1/2)
”But I want to ask you one question, papa: do you think that we should not know Jesus better now if he were to come and let us see him--as he came to the disciples so long, long ago? I wish it were not so long ago.”
”As to the time, it makes no difference whether it was last year or two thousand years ago. The whole question is how much we understand, and understanding, obey him. And I do not think we should be any nearer that if he came amongst us bodily again. If we should, he would come. I believe we should be further off it.”
”Do you think, then,” said Connie, in an almost despairing tone, as if I were the prophet of great evil, ”that we shall never, never, never see him?”
”That is _quite_ another thing, my Connie. That is the heart of my hopes by day and my dreams by night. To behold the face of Jesus seems to me the one thing to be desired. I do not know that it is to be prayed for; but I think it will be given us as the great bounty of G.o.d, so soon as ever we are capable of it. That sight of the face of Jesus is, I think, what is meant by his glorious appearing, but it will come as a consequence of his spirit in us, not as a cause of that spirit in us.
The pure in heart shall see G.o.d. The seeing of him will be the sign that we are like him, for only by being like him can we see him as he is. All the time that he was with them, the disciples never saw him as he was.
You must understand a man before you can see and read his face aright; and as the disciples did not understand our Lord's heart, they could neither see nor read his face aright. But when we shall be fit to look that man in the face, G.o.d only knows.”
”Then do you think, papa, that we, who have never seen him, could know him better than the disciples? I don't mean, of course, better than they knew him after he was taken away from them, but better than they knew him while he was still with them?”
”Certainly I do, my dear.”
”O, papa! Is it possible? Why don't we all, then?”
”Because we won't take the trouble; that is the reason.”
”O, what a grand thing to think! That would be worth living--worth being ill for. But how? how? Can't you help me? Mayn't one human being help another?”
”It is the highest duty one human being owes to another. But whoever wants to learn must pray, and think, and, above all, obey--that is simply, do what Jesus says.”
There followed a little silence, and I could hear my child sobbing.
And the tears stood in; my wife's eyes--tears of gladness to hear her daughter's sobs.
”I will try, papa,” Constance said at last. ”But you _will_ help me?”
”That I will, my love. I will help you in the best way I know; by trying to tell you what I have heard and learned about him--heard and learned of the Father, I hope and trust. It is coming near to the time when he was born;--but I have spoken quite as long as you are able to bear to-night.”
”No, no, papa. Do go on.”
”No, my dear; no more to-night. That would be to offend against the very truth I have been trying to set forth to you. But next Sunday--you have plenty to think about till then--I will talk to you about the baby Jesus; and perhaps I may find something more to help you by that time, besides what I have got to say now.”
”But,” said my wife, ”don't you think, Connie, this is too good to keep all to ourselves? Don't you think we ought to have Wynnie and Dora in?”
”Yes, yes, mamma. Do let us have them in. And Harry and Charlie too.”
”I fear they are rather young yet,” I said. ”Perhaps it might do them harm.”
”It would be all the better for us to have them anyhow,” said Ethelwyn, smiling.
”How do you mean, my dear?”
”Because you will say things more simply if you have them by you.
Besides, you always say such things to children as delight grown people, though they could never get them out of you.”