“In some worship which is called Christian, I join not, because its superstition is greater than I can bear. Where the priest offers for the people prayers which they cannot understand, and makes them worship a dressed doll, and rings bells, and burns candles in the daylight, I feel no more that it is my God whom they worship, and I turn away as from idolatry. Such is the Christianity of my country. Far better is the simple homage of the spirit among the hills.”
“Far better, indeed,” said Mr. Byerley: “but why should not that simple homage be Christian? You have till lately seen no worship but the Catholic worship of your own country, where it is more grossly superstitious than almost any where else; but if you love truth, if you love religion as much as I believe you do, you will not be satisfied till you have learned a little more what Christianity is. You have already found that Latin prayers, wax lights, and incense make no part of it; and if you will go into our meeting-houses, you will find external observances more simplified still. From the solemn Easter service of our cathedrals, which you acknowledge to be impressive, down to the silent worship of the Friends’ meeting-house, which you would perhaps find no less so, you might, by discovering what Christianity is not, become better informed than you now are what it is.”
“I own, my friend, that this diversity is too perplexing for me. I meet many Christians; and they all tell me differently of their faith. I——.”
“Look to the records of their faith, and judge for yourself, instead of taking any man’s word.”
“I was about to say, that I look into the Scriptures and find many things which I cannot understand or believe; but much, very much, which is more pure in morals, more lofty in feeling, more grand in piety to God, and more winning in love to man, than I can find in any other religion, whether in the heart or in books. Therefore I read very often the words of Christ with veneration, and therefore I attend the worship of your churches. I believe that all things come from God, the consolations of all religions, and of your best religion among others; and as long as I make use of it and give thanks for it, it matters not to me to enquire about those parts which I cannot believe.”
“You cannot be sure whether you can believe them or not till you do enquire,” observed Mr. Byerley, “as you would yourself remark in any other case; and as I think you will admit hereafter, when you have learned more of our faith, as separate from the superstitions with which you have hitherto seen it united. If you will only study this subject as fairly as you do any other which interests you, you will find Christianity far more precious to you than you can conceive: more precious than the religion which you now value above every thing. It is, in fact, the same religion, enlarged and enriched.”
“Ah! what is man without religion?” exclaimed his friend. “I believe not myself to have suffered more than many others; but what but religion could have strengthened me to live? My country, my beautiful Italy, is spoiled and trampled on by tyrants; and I, her son, who loved her so much, how should I escape? I have given in sacrifice all I have; but neither myself nor her many devoted children have ransomed her from her slavery. Our struggles to set her free have doubled her chains; and her oppressors laugh at her miseries and insult her defenders, who, torn from her bosom, mourn eternally their exile.”
“The wrongs of your country, Elvi, afflict you more than your own. This is patriotism.”
“Give me no unjust praise, my friend: my own sorrows find fewer words because they lie deeper. My home, and they who dwell there, shall see me no more! When I saw my son fall on the field; when his generous spirit escaped before he could speak the last words of love to me; when, again, the sea rolled between me and my own land, and I had not given my wife one farewell, I thought that fate had heaped her last injuries upon me, and I trusted that I could not live under so many griefs. But I talk no more of fate, but rather think of God; and though I live, and my griefs live also, and make a resting-place in my heart till death, I am content to remain till affliction has made me patient, and my patience has made me hopeful, as your apostle has wisely said. Now, what but religion could give me this content and this hope?”
“Nothing, my friend. No other spirit of peace is always awake and always nigh. But whence did you derive your religion?”