“I more or less thought that myself. What little I remember of church, everything is all done very methodically.”
“I suppose that’s true enough, but one of the things that I remember a preacher saying was, ‘I’d like to see things in the service get out of control.’”
“Out of control! Why, that sounds like Methodist enthusiasm.”
“What he meant was that we program our worship so strictly that there is no liberty to it. You’ll find the services to be quite regular at the New Park Street Chapel, but Mr. Spurgeon somehow gives it an air of spontaneity. Still, he has his detractors.”
As the carriage rolled along the street toward the centre of London, Serafina listened as Dylan spoke of Charles Haddon Spurgeon. It was not difficult to ascertain that he was an admirer of the man, and she was curious to see what sort of preacher Dylan would like. He himself seemed almost wildly unorthodox. In the first place, very few actors were active Christians, and then there was his tendency to just speak his faith wherever he was, in the kitchen with Nessa or talking about horses with the groom.
It didn’t seem to matter. For some reason she found this intriguing, and she questioned him gently about how he had come to know God.
“I wasn’t converted when I was a lad, which would have been better,”
Dylan said. He frowned and shook his head. “When I came to England, as I told you, I fell in with a family that were basically burglars. They taught me their trade, and I thought that God was not interested in a man who was a thief, so I put Him off.”
“What about when you were in the Army?”
“That’s when I found the Lord, ay. I told you,” he said, “about losing—”He hesitated as if he found it difficult to speak the words.“About losing Eileen.”
“Yes, I remember.” Serafina saw it pained him still to talk of the young woman he had loved. “Did she have something to do with your becoming a Christian?”
“Yes, in a rather indirect way,”Dylan said soberly. He looked up, and she saw his eyes were filled with painful memories. “When Eileen died, I hated God for taking her. I’ll not tell you all the things I shouted out at God in my grief. I thought I was going to lose my mind really.”
“What changed you?”
“A very simple thing it was, Viscountess. I had left the barracks and gone out to walk. It was a day of rest for us, and most of the men were laughing and gambling. I couldn’t stand it, and I left the camp and went for a walk. There was a copse there, and I entered into it and sat down on a log to think of nothing but Eileen and how I’d never see her again. I remember I put my head in my hands and wept like a baby. First time I’d done that in years,” he mentioned. He fell silent then for a time.
“And then what?” Serafina asked quietly.
“I remember when I had just about worn myself out with grief, I had thrown myself down face forward on the ground and was crying out to God that He was unfair. Like a crazy man, I was, and then—” He paused, and a smile turned the corners of his lips upward. “And then something happened.Never have been able to explain it. There are instances in the Bible where God spoke audibly to men and women, but I’ve never had that experience. But somehow within my heart, which had been nothing but a raging storm, there was suddenly a quiet and a peace such as I didn’t know existed. A verse of Scripture that I heard years before came to me. I didn’t even know it was in my heart, but it seemed to mount up until it filled my mind.”
“What was it?”
“A verse you probably know. ‘God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have eternal life.’ The words came to me as clearly as if they were printed on a page. I knew it was the Lord, so I began to pray, asking God why He had taken Eileen. I never did get an answer for that really, but I began to call upon God to ask Him to give me peace, and He did. I asked Him to save me, for I knew the Gospel, and when I called, He answered. I stayed out in those woods all day long praying, but the burden had lifted. I still missed Eileen as much as a man would miss his arm that he lost, but somehow the peace of God had come upon me, and from that day to this I have walked in it.”
Serafina wanted to answer, but she did not know what to say. It was exactly the sort of religion that she had doubted. She was relieved, in a way, when the carriage pulled up, and Dylan said,“We’re here.”He stepped outside, helped her to the ground, and paid the cabby. “Come you, then,” he said, and when she took his arm, they moved toward the entrance.
Serafina was rather startled as she watched the crowd. People from everywhere, from all walks of life, were headed toward the large building with the massive pillars in front—the New Park Street Chapel that housed Charles Spurgeon’s flock had caught the attention of all of England. She held on to Dylan’s arm and joined the people passing through the gates. It was still half an hour before the time of the service, and when they reached the doors, they were greeted by a man who said, “You can’t get in without a ticket.”
“Oh, I have tickets,”Dylan said.He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out two tickets. The usher smiled and said, “Go right in, sir, and you, ma’am. Take your place.”
“Is it always this crowded?” Serafina asked as Dylan led her to the seats.
“Always. Sunday mornings, Sunday night. Even on Thursday night for prayer meeting sometimes.”
“I never heard of needing a ticket to get into a religious service.Why is that?”
“Too small the church is for all who want to come and hear Mr. Spurgeon. I’ve heard him urge people to go worship in their own churches. He wants the lost to hear the Gospel, see? And many times I’ve seen Christian people give their tickets to a sinner so they could hear the Gospel. I’ve done it myself, yes.”
“He must be a great orator.”
“That he is not,”Dylan said. “You won’t be impressed with his looks, for he is not a handsome man, he. And you’ll be surprised at his sermon, how simple it is. He has a sense of humour, too, which I like.”
Serafina took her seat with Dylan. The large clock on the platform pointed to ten minutes until eleven, and she was shocked to hear people talking in unabated voices, and even laughing. It was not at all like her memory of the Church of England services! Eleven o’clock came then. The doors at the back of the platform opened, and a stout, plain man stepped out.
“That’s Mr. Spurgeon,” Dylan whispered to her.
Serafina studied the famous preacher. He was somewhat under medium height, short from loin to knee, with a deep chest and a very massive forehead.He was not a handsome man, as Dylan had warned her, but his presence held her attention as he stepped forward and addressed the congregation. And what a voice he had! When he greeted the congregation and then gave the pastoral prayer, his voice was like an organ. Without effort it filled the massive building. It seemed to be not the voice of a man preaching to six thousand people; instead she felt as if the preacher were speaking to her alone, and she was relatively certain that everyone else felt the same way.
After the prayer, Mr. Spurgeon said, “We will now worship the Lord in songs of praise.” The singing began then, and it was like nothing Serafina had ever heard. There was no choir. A middle-aged man simply stood beside Mr. Spurgeon, and his high tenor voice rose above the others. She took the hymnal that Dylan gave her, and she saw that the hymns were simple, not ornamented with flowery language as many she had seen.
She could not join in the singing, but she could hear Dylan and was impressed at what a clear, ringing, bell-like voice he had. As he was an actor, of course, she had expected this.
Finally it was time for the sermon, and the massive crowd grew still. Spurgeon read a Scripture verse: “Come unto Me all that labor, and I will give you rest.” The sermon was simple, almost to the point of basic language, and personalized somehow. She listened as Spurgeon ticked off points, first saying, “I will give
you
rest. You all need rest. There may be in here a marquis, perhaps a countess . . .” When he said this, Serafina flinched and knew that Dylan felt it. “There may be a duke. There are certainly many of you this morning who barely know where your next meal will come from, but duke, marquis, countess, poor shoemaker, widow without any support—you all need this rest that the Lord Jesus has promised.”
His next point was simple. “I will
give
you rest.”And Serafina listened as Spurgeon spoke, his eyes gleaming and his plain features alive with passion. He paused often to tell simple stories to illustrate his message. She listened throughout the rest of the sermon, and all through it she noticed that the name of Jesus was often spoken. Everything was Jesus, according to Mr. Spurgeon’s own words.
Finally, as the sermon went on, she felt herself seized by a peculiar sensation.
Have I missed something? Is there something to this religion
after all?
The feeling grew, and finally, when the service was over, she heard Mr. Spurgeon say, “Are you here this morning, and your heart is like a troubled sea? Jesus can calm that sea as He did the storm on Lake Galilee.
He just simply said, ‘Peace, be still,’ and the sea abated. He will say the same to your troubled heart, my dear friends. Be you king or beggar, it’s all the same. The ground at the foot of the cross is level.”
The service ended then, and Dylan escorted her back to the carriage.
He helped her in, then took his place across from her. He had a peaceful look on his face. “It always does me such good to hear Mr. Spurgeon. I’m glad I know one man that means every word he says.”
Serafina wanted to answer, but she found that the
rest
that Mr.
Spurgeon had spoken of was not something she possessed. She realised her emotions had been for many years like a troubled sea, exactly as the preacher had said. She found herself wishing that somehow she could find the rest that the passage of Scripture had offered. She looked up to see Dylan watching her cautiously, and knew that he would not question her. He did say, “Thank you for coming with me, Viscountess.”
“It was . . . very nice,” she said.
“Spurgeon is living proof that our way of selecting great preachers is wrong.We look for men of eloquence, and if they are tall and imposing with good looks, that’s even better. If they are highly educated and can quote from all of the classics, that’s who we think is the ideal preacher.”
“Mr. Spurgeon doesn’t fit that description. What
does
he have, Dylan?” She leaned forward and watched his face.
“He has within him the Spirit of the living God. I know that sounds like religious talk to you, but true it is.When a man comes to Jesus, Christ comes to reside in his heart. All believers have this presence, but some men and women are filled with the Holy Ghost so that the power spills out of them. I expect Charles Wesley had this and many others. Mr. Spurgeon has it. You could feel the fire of God, couldn’t you?”
Serafina did not know how to answer. If she said yes, it would be perfectly logical for him to assume that she was on her way to finding God. She did not want to commit herself and stubbornly said, “Well, I’m glad I went. I see there is another side to Christianity than the one commonly believed by skeptics.”
“There is,” he said. “Jesus is the answer for all of us.”
Serafina did not speak again.He let her out at the house and told her, “I’m still looking for our man with the steel hook. There’s no performance today, so I’ve got all day and tonight. I hope that I’ll find that man. The trial will be next week, and we have nothing really.”
Serafina trembled at his words. “Yes, go look for him, Dylan. We must help my brother—and that man Simmons. He’ll testify that Clive wasn’t the man he saw go into Kate’s house, won’t he?”
“Yes, he will. I think he’s our big hope, Lady Trent. He’s out of jail now, and Sir Leo has been talking to him.”
“How do you know that, Dylan?”
“I asked him.” Dylan grinned crookedly. “He’s a closemouthed man when he wants to be, Sir Leo is, but I could tell he’s depending on Simmons to sway the jury.”
“I—I hope so,Dylan.” Serafina turned and walked away, and when she got inside, she closed the door and leaned against it. She felt exhausted, worn out, and could not understand why. Slowly she moved to the stairs and climbed them, and when she got to her room, she simply sat down in a chair and put her head in her hands. She wanted to pray but did not know how, and finally she lifted her head and said,“Dylan will find a way. I know he will!”
A
loud banging on his door brought Dylan Tremayne out of a deep Asleep. He had spent all Sunday afternoon and late into the night searching for the man with the steel hook, with no success whatsoever. He had managed to go by and visit Callie and her family and had given them some money from the Viscountess Trent.When he had arrived home, it had been late, and he had fallen into bed exhausted. He was ordinarily a rather light sleeper, but the double strain of performing in the play every night except Sunday, and helping Lady Serafina Trent find something that would free her brother, had worn him thin.
“All right—all right, I’m coming!”
Rising from the bed, Dylan seized a robe and struggled into it as he moved toward the door.He threw the lock, opened it, and saw Albert Givins, Serafina’s coachman, standing there. “Albert, what are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but the viscountess, she wants to see you right now.”
“What about?”
Givins smiled broadly, exposing a gap in his teeth. “I wouldn’t be knowing that, sir, would I now? But she was very insistent.”
“All right. Come on in, Albert. Let me get some clothes on, and I’ll go.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dylan dressed hurriedly and, glancing at the pendulum clock on a table across the room, saw that it was just a little past five o’clock.
What in the world could she be wanting with me this time of the morning?
It must be pretty serious
. The thought touched his mind, and he pulled on his boots and then got up, saying, “All right, Albert, I’m ready.”