“But surely,” exclaimed Philippa, looking up in surprise, “there is grace of congruity?”
“Grace of congruity! grace of condignity!” (see Note) cried the monk fervently. “Grace of sin and gracelessness! It is not all worth so much as one of these rushes upon your floor. If you carry grace of congruity to the gates of Heaven, I warn you it shall never bear you one step beyond. Lay down those miserable rush-staffs, wherein is no pith; and take God’s golden staff held out to you, which is the full and perfected obedience of the Lord Jesus Christ. That staff shall not fail you. All the angels at the gate of Paradise know it; and the doors shall fly wide open to whoso smiteth on them with that staff of God. Lord, open her eyes, that she may see!”
The prayer was answered, but not then.
“What shall I call you?” asked Philippa, when the monk rose to depart.
“Men call me Guy of Ashridge,” he said.
“I hope to see you again, Father,” responded Philippa.
“So do I, my daughter,” answered the monk, “in that other land whereinto nothing shall enter that defileth. Nothing but Christ and Christ’s—the Head and the body, the Master and the meynie (household servant). May the Master make you one of the meynie! Farewell.”
And in five minutes more, Guy of Ashridge was gone.
Note. “Condignity implies merit, and of course claims reward on the score of justice. Congruity pretends only to a sort of imperfect qualification for the gifts and reception of God’s grace.”—Manet’s Church History, iv. 81.