“You know, Señora, Padre Josè isn’t really a priest. But he said he had to stay in the Church in order to teach me. I never could understand why. I am sure he just thought wrong about it. But, anyway, he will not have to be a priest any more, now that I have gone, will he? You know, Don Jorge said priests were a bad lot; but that isn’t so, for there are many good priests, aren’t there? Yes, there are. Only, they don’t understand, either. Why, Señora,” she exclaimed, suddenly remembering the Sister’s previous injunction, “is this a church? You said there would be Mass in the chapel––”
“No,” replied the Sister, still studying the girl attentively, while her manner became more severe; “this is a home for old people, a charitable institution.”
“Oh,” replied Carmen, with a very vague idea of what that meant. “Well,” her face alight and her eyes dancing, “I don’t belong here then, do I? I am never going to be old,” she meditated. “Why, God never grows old! And we are His children, you know. The Bible says we are made in His image and likeness. Well, if that is so, how can we ever grow old? Just think of God hobbling around in heaven with a cane and saying: ‘Well, I’m getting old now! I’ll soon be dying!’ Isn’t that awful! We wouldn’t grow old and die if it wasn’t for our wrong way of thinking, would we? When we think His thoughts, why, we will be like Him. But not until then. Padre Josè says this, and he knows it is true––only, he seems to have a hard time proving it. But, Señora, we have all got to prove it, some time, every one of us. And then there will not be any places like this for old people––people who still believe that two and two are seven, you know. And that’s my message.”
The woman looked at her blankly; but the girl rambled on. “Padre Josè sometimes talked of the charitable institutions out in the world, and he always said that charity was a crime against the people. And he was right, for that is just the way Jesus looked at it, isn’t it? Jesus did not give money to beggars, but he did better, he healed them of the bad state of mind that was making them poor and sick. Why don’t the priests do that? Can you heal the sick? Jesus, when he taught, first said a thing, and then he turned right around and proved it. Now do you do that? I try to. I’ve tried it all my life. And, why, Señora, I’ve had thousands of proofs!”
The Sister did not reply; and Carmen, stealing a covert glance at her, continued:
“You know, Señora, it is just as wicked to be sick and poor as it is to tell a lie, because being sick and poor is just the ex––the ex-ter-nal-i-zation of our thought; and such thought is not from God; and so to hold such thoughts and to believe them real is to believe in power apart from God. It is having other gods than the one God; and that is breaking the very first Commandment, isn’t it? Yes, it is; and you can prove it, just as you can prove the principles in mathematics. Señora, do you know anything about mathematics?”
The astonished woman made an involuntary sign of negation.
“Oh, Señora,” cried the enthusiastic girl, “the things that Jesus taught can be proved just as easily as we prove the rules in mathematics! Why not? for they are truth, and all truth 21 can be demonstrated, you know. You know, Señora, God is everywhere––not only in heaven, but right here where we are. Heaven, Padre Josè used to say so often, is only a perfect state of mind; and so it is, isn’t it? God, you know, is mind. And when we reflect Him perfectly, why, we will be in heaven. Isn’t it simple? But,” she went on after catching her breath, “we can’t reflect Him as long as we believe evil to be real and powerful. Evil isn’t anything. It is just zero, nothing––”
“I’ve heard that before,” interrupted the woman, recovering somewhat from her surprise. “But I think that before you get out of New York you will reverse that idea. There’s a pretty fair amount of evil here, and it is quite real, we find.”