Philip did not speak. He looked out again toward the tenements. The winter day was drawing to its close. The church spire still stood out sharp cut against the sky. Finally he turned to his wife, and almost with a groan he uttered the words: "Sarah, I do not to like to believe it. The world is full of the love of Christ. It is not the same world as Calvary saw."
"No. But by what test are nominal Christians and church-members tried to-day? Is not the church in America and England a church in which the scribes and pharisees, hypocrites, are just as certainly found as they were in the old Jewish church? And would not that element crucify Christ again if He spoke as plainly now as then?"
Again Philip looked out of the window. His whole nature was shaken to its foundation. Repeatedly he drove back the thought of the church's possible action in the face of the Christ of this century. As often it returned and his soul cried out in anguish at the suggestion of the truth. Even with the letter of Calvary Church before him he was slow to believe that the Church as a whole or in a majority of cases would reject the Master.
"I have made mistakes. I have been lacking in tact. I have needlessly offended the people," he said to his wife, yielding almost for the first time to a great fear and distrust of himself. For the letter asking his resignation had shaken him as once he thought impossible. "I have tried to preach and act as Christ would, but I have failed to interpret him aright. Is it not so, Sarah?"
His wife was reluctant to speak. But her true heart made answer: "No, Philip, you have interpreted Him so faithfully. You may have made mistakes; all ministers do; but I honestly believe you have preached as Christ would preach against the great selfishness and hypocrisy of this century. The same thing would have happened to him."
They talked a little longer, and then Philip said: "Let us go down and see the Brother Man. Somehow I feel like talking with him."
So they went downstairs and into the room where the invalid was sitting with the old man. William was able to walk about now, and had been saying that he wanted to hear Philip preach as soon as he could get to church.
"Well, Brother Man," said Philip, with something like his old heartiness of manner, "have you heard the news? Othello's occupation's gone."
The Brother Man seemed to know all about it. Whether he had heard of it through some of the church people or not, Mrs. Strong did not know. He looked at Mr. Strong calmly. There was a loving sympathy in his voice, but no trace of compassion or wonder. Evidently he had not been talking of the subject to any one.
"I knew it would happen," he said. "You have offended the rulers."