The chapel of St.Spitz was crowded that fine Sunday morning, and the clang and thud of its bells came merrily through the thin quick air to worshippers arriving in their luxurious motors.The amiable oddity of the lay reader's demeanour as priest had added a zest to churchgoing.The congregation were particularly pleased, on this occasion, to see Gissing appear in surplice and stole.They had felt that his attire on the previous Sundays had been a little too informal.And when, at the time usually allotted to the sermon, Gissing climbed the pulpit steps, unfurled a sheaf of manuscript, and gazed solemnly about, they settled back into the pew cushions in a comfortable, receptive mood.They had a subconscious feeling that if their souls were to be saved, it was better to have it done with all the proper formalities.They did not notice that he was rather pale, and that his nose twitched nervously.
"My friends," he said, "in this beautiful little chapel, on this airy hilltop, one might, if anywhere, speak with complete honesty.For you who gather here for worship are, in the main, people of great affairs; accustomed to looking at life with high spirit and with quick imagination.I will ask you then to be patient with me while I exhort you to carry into your religion the same enterprising and ambitious gusto that has made your worldly careers a success.You are accustomed to deal with great affairs.Let me talk to you about the Great Affairs of God."Gissing had been far too agitated to be able to recognize any particular members of his audience.All the faces were fused into a common blur.Miss Airedale, he knew, was in the organ loft, but he had not seen her since his flight from Atlantic City, for he had removed from the Airedale mansion before her return, and had made himself a bed in the corner of the vestry-room.He feared she was angry: there had been a vigorous growling note in some of the bass pipes of the organ as she played the opening hymn.He had not seen a tall white-haired figure who came into the chapel rather late, after the service had begun, and took a seat at the back.Bishop Borzoi had seized the opportunity to drive out to Dalmatian Heights this morning to see how his protege was getting on.When the Bishop saw hislay reader appear in surplice and scarlet hood, he was startled.But when the amateur parson actually ascended the pulpit, the Bishop's face was a study.The hair on the back of his neck bristled slightly.
"It is so easy," Gissing continued, "to let life go by us in its swift amusing course, that sometimes it hardly seems worth while to attempt any bold strokes for truth.Truth, of course, does not need our assistance; it can afford to ignore our errors.But in this quiet place, among the whisper of the trees, I seem to have heard a disconcerting sound.I have heard laughter, and I think it is the laughter of God."The congregation stirred a little, with polite uneasiness.This was not quite the sort of thing to which they were accustomed.
"Why should God laugh? I think it is because He sees that very often, when we pretend to be worshipping Him, we are really worshipping and gratifying ourselves.I used the phrase 'Great Affairs.' The point I want to make is that God deals with far greater affairs than we have realized.We have imagined Him on too petty a scale.If God is so great, we must approach Him in a spirit of greatness.He is not interested in trivialities-- trivialities of ritual, of creed, of ceremony.We have imagined a vain thing--a God of our own species; merely adding to the conception, to gild and consecrate, a futile fuzbuz of supernaturalism.My friends, the God I imagine is something more than a formula on Sundays and an oath during the week."Those sitting in the rear of the Chapel were startled to hear a low rumbling sound proceeding from the diaphragm of the Bishop, who half rose from his seat and then, by a great effort of will, contained himself.But Gissing, rapt in his honourable speculations, continued with growing happiness.
"I ask you, though probably in vain, to lay aside for the moment your inherited timidities and conventions.I ask you to lay aside pride, which is the devil itself and the cause of most unhappiness.I ask you to rise to the height of a great conception.To 'magnify' God is a common phrase in our observances.Then let us truly magnify Him--not minify, as the theologians do.If God is anything more than a social fetich, then He must be so much more that He includes and explains everything.It may soundinconceivable to you, it may sound sacrilegious, but I suggest to you that it is even possible God may be a biped--"The Bishop could restrain himself no longer.He rose with flaming eyes and stood in the aisle.Mr.Airedale, Mr.Dobermann-Pinscher, and several other prominent members of the Church burst into threatening growls.A wild bark and clamour broke from Mr.Towser, the Sunday School superintendent, and his pupils, who sat in the little gallery over the door.And then, to Gissing's horror and amazement, Mr.Poodle appeared from behind a pillar where he had been chafing unseen.In a fierce tenor voice shaken with indignation he cried:
"Heretic and hypocrite! Pay no attention to his abominable nonsense! He deserted his family to lead a life of pleasure!""Seize him!" cried the Bishop in a voice of thunder.
The church was now in an uproar.A shrill yapping sounded among the choir.Mrs.Airedale swooned; the Bishop's progress up the aisle was impeded by a number of ladies hastening for an exit.Old Mr.Dingo, the sexton, seized the bell-rope in the porch and set up a furious pealing.Cries of rage mingled with hysterical howls from the ladies.Gissing, trembling with horror, surveyed the atrocious hubbub.But it was high time to move, or his retreat would be cut off.He abandoned his manuscript and bounded down the pulpit stairs.
"Unfrock him!" yelled Mr.Poodle.
