“How about imputed righteousness?”
“There’s not a word in Scripture about imputed righteousness, though it does say that God will not impute iniquity; that is, that he sees us as we ought to be, as we will be; and that all His blows and chastisements are simply to set free this divine ideal, as a sculptor liberates the angel imprisoned in his block of marble. Does the sculptor impute roughness or lack of graceful form to the marble?”
Dr. Richards turned suddenly and looked down at his wife, who had at the moment leaned rather heavily upon his arm. Then he replied, though with less verve than before,—
“Well, you haven’t touched my spiritual optic nerve yet, Mr. Clare. How about the millions who die still in the rough, and live on in eternal torment?”
“I think you mean everlasting, not eternal, which has nothing to do with time. And no one who used his eyes, Dr. Richards, would claim that the angel is always liberated in this life.”
“Then, you believe”—
“What I believe, my dear friend, is of very little consequence, unless you can make it out from what I do. And yet I do believe in the Love of God and His uncovenanted mercies, to which those He has promised and made sure are as a mote in the sunshine to the boundless atmosphere in which it floats.”
“I suppose it makes you happier,” said the doctor, with a sigh; “and I never interfere with any one’s happiness,” he added with a glance at his wife.
When the Richardses had been left at their own door, and Mr. Clare and Louis went on alone, the latter said,—
“Mr. Clare, I’d give my right hand if I could believe all you said in your sermon to-day.”