“Agreed,” said Gail; “but it outgrows them. It outgrew paganism, idolatry, and a score of minor phases in between. Now it is outgrowing the religion of creed, in its progress toward morality. What we need is a new religion.”
“You are blaming the church with a fault which lies in the people,” protested the rector, shocked and disturbed, and yet feeling it his duty to set Gail right. He was ashamed of himself for having been severe with her in his mind. She was less frivolous than he had thought, and what she needed was spiritual instruction. “The people are luke-warm.”
“What else could they be with the watery spiritual gruel which the church provides?” retorted Gail. “You feed us discarded bugaboos, outworn tenets, meaningless forms and ceremonies. All the rest of the world progresses, but the church stands still. Once in a decade some sect patches its creed, and thinks it has been revolutionary, when in fact it has only caught up with a point which was passed by humanity at large, in its advancing intelligence, fifty years before.”
“I am interested in knowing what your particular new religion would be like,” remarked Daddy Manning, his twinkling eyes resting affectionately on her.
“It would be a return to the simple faith in God,” Gail told him reverently. “It is still in the hearts of the people, as it will always be; but they have nowhere to gather together and worship.”
Daddy Manning laughed as he detected that bit of sarcasm.
“According to that we are wasting our new cathedral.”
“Absolutely!” and it struck the rector with pain that Gail had never looked more beautiful than now, with her cheeks flushed and her brown eyes snapping with indignation. “Your cathedral will be a monument, built out of the profits wrung from squalor, to the vanity of your congregation. If I were the dictator of this wonderful city of achievement, I would decree that cathedral never to be built, and Vedder Court to be utterly destroyed!”
“It is perhaps just as well that you are not the dictator of the city.” The young Reverend Smith Boyd gazed down at her from his six feet of serious purpose, with all his previous disapproval intensified. “The history of Market Square Church is rich with instances of its usefulness in both the spiritual and the material world, with evidence of its power for good, with justification for its existence, with reason for its acts. You make the common mistake of judging an entire body from one surface indication. Do you suppose there is no sincerity, no conscience, no consecration in Market Square Church?” His deep, mellow baritone vibrated with the defence of his purpose and that of the institution which he represented. “Why do you suppose our vestrymen, whose time is of enormous value, find a space amid their busy working hours for the affairs of Market Square Church? Why do you suppose the ladies of our guild, who have agreeable pursuits for every hour of the day, give their time to committee and charity work?” He paused for a hesitant moment. “Why do you suppose I am so eager for the building, on American soil, of the most magnificent house of worship in the world?”
Gail’s pretty upper lip curled.