Nineteen hundred? A forecast and a story

by Marianne Farningham

One of the last to go was Fanny Burton, who had lingered in case any laggards among the people needed shepherding. She found several, and took them to church with her. “I will wait for you,” she said; “we must not disappoint Mr. Knight to-day. It is his birthday—don’t you know?—and such a little thing as he asks in return for all the great things he has done for us, we couldn’t be so base as to deny him, not if we tried ever so.”

And all the people found a home in the Father’s House. The best places, if there were any best, were allotted to those who had come in their working attire, because they had no other. The children were not put away in the gallery by themselves, but sat with their parents. The church was light and bright and comfortable; the colours were harmonious, and the arrangements simple and artistic.

A great hush fell upon the congregation, and then the organ sounded softly, and the choir began to sing the first public words heard in the new sanctuary, “I will arise and go to my Father.” Next they knelt, and repeated together the prayer which Christ taught His disciples; and lips quivered and hearts throbbed as the old words, “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven,” seemed to take new meanings. Then the grand Te Deum rang exultingly through the building, and linked it to the sacred edifices of all the centuries, and the minister offered a short dedicatory prayer:—“Let the glory of the Lord fill the house of God. Let Thine eyes be open and Thine ears attend unto the prayer that is made in this place. Choose and sanctify this house that Thy name may be here for ever, and Thine eyes and Thy heart be here perpetually. Here may Thy wandering children come home to Thee, their Father; and here may they learn to love and to keep Thy statutes and Thy commandments. And here may Thy Son, Jesus Christ our Saviour, see of the travail of His soul and be satisfied, because through Him Thy children turn to Thee and are reconciled. Here let the little ones call His name blessed. Here may the old men find rest and peace in Him. And here may men and women come to have all that is good in them strengthened, and all that is evil cast out. From this place let us all go forth to do our work and live our lives in the way that is pleasing in Thy sight. And so let this our Father’s House be the dear home of all this people.”

The service throughout was bright and attractive and conducted with great reverence. The organ was a good one, and the hymns were sung to well-known tunes. The sermon was short and very practical, and the children were not forgotten. There was no inattention, no weariness anywhere; and Mr. Davies was resolved that there never should be. He had his chance now, for all the people were there, and he meant them all to come again, not because Mr. Knight wished it, but because they chose to come. The minister was not one to talk about himself, and therefore no one knew how he had agonised in prayer to God for some souls to be given him on that day, spending a whole night in prayer asking for Divine light and guidance, so that this great opportunity might be used to its fullest extent. It was a rousing little sermon, which called forth a feeling of gratitude among the people. At its close there was silence for a few minutes, in order that souls might be offered in secret to the Lord, whose presence in His sanctuary so many people felt.

And then Arthur Knight stepped upon the platform, and gazed upon the faces, eager with interest, and beautiful with feeling, of these people who belonged to him, and for whose welfare he was passionately solicitous.

“My friends,” he said, and there was a tremor in his voice which instantly awoke a response, “I thank you for giving me the joy of welcoming you one and all to our Father’s House, a building which by prayer we have this day consecrated to our highest welfare, and one which will be open every day, so that any of you may at any time come in for quiet and rest, in which you may make known to Him your wants. I am not afraid of desecrating either the church or the day, though I speak to you on some subjects which, perhaps, hitherto we have not considered religious; but I know it will not be easy to get you all together again, and I cannot let slip the chance which has been given me. Mr. Davies uttered a sentence which, if I had to preach a sermon, I would almost take as my text—‘Every social reform that starts at Calvary will be successful.’ I hope his words are true, though, indeed, I am sure of it, for that is where this started. Several years ago, in a foreign land where I knew no one but the two friends with whom I travelled, one was taken ill. He knew that he had to die, and he was afraid, for death opened his eyes, and he saw a Beyond, a Hereafter, of which he had been sceptical before. Neither of us knew anything of religion, but we had all heard of Jesus, and I remembered His death on Calvary, and the story of His resurrection. So I prayed to Him, and asked Him, if He were really living and able to save, to save my friend, and make it easy for him to die. And we remembered some words of His: ‘Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out’; and my friend asked Him to take him, and to give him some assurance of His pardon and peace. And a most wonderful change then came over the dying man; I think that his eyes saw the King in His beauty, for his face grew radiant, and his voice triumphant, and he said several times, ‘He loved me, and gave Himself for me,’ and he told us that he was glad to depart and be with Christ, and so he died. I think you will not be surprised to hear that I have never been the same since. The Lord Jesus Christ has been a great deal more to me than a person in history, or a great reformer, or anything of that kind; He has been to me a living personal Saviour and Friend. I started from Calvary, and because He had died there for my sins, I felt that I must give my whole life to pleasing Him; so I studied the New Testament, which is the revelation of Him; and I soon saw that the most acceptable thanks I could offer Him would be to imitate Him as far as I could. You know how, soon after my return home, my father died, and his business came into my hands, and with it you, my people. And my prayer became one you have all heard before, ‘Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?’ I think that by degrees He has shown me. Because you were my own people I wanted you to be good and happy. I could not bear to live in my own large house with every luxury, and think of you, in miserable courts, cramped for space, and denied most of the things which I liked. I was grieved, but not at all surprised to find that many of you had left off caring about doing the right; that men and women drank beer and gin to make them forget for awhile their woes and wrongs; and that only those chiefly who knew the love of God, or who were gifted with great strength of character, had power to resist the demoralising influences that were around you. I soon began to see that my duty was to make things better for you, and I have tried to do it in the way that seemed to me the best. Many of you have not had a chance, but you have one now, to make your life a different thing altogether. The future is in your own hands; for me I can do no more. I was a rich man, but I am a poor man now. If this venture is to be made a success, it is you, not I, who must do it. If you choose to be idle, and careless of the interests of the firm, we shall all be ruined together. To-morrow you will begin work. You know all that I can tell you of the great competition in the markets of the world, and how articles that are badly made or expensive will be returned on our hands. At my father’s dying request I have made a change in our productions, and henceforth Knight’s goods are to be of the first class only. I am told that I shall end my days in the workhouse. I am not afraid of it, because I trust you. And this I declare, on this Sabbath morning, in God’s house—you shall have a rightful share in all the profits that accrue from your labour. Your houses can be in time bought by you, and so can the business itself; and very glad shall I be if, on honourable and just terms, we are able eventually to turn it into a co-operative concern. There are two matters in regard to you respecting which I am most anxious—one is work, and the other is character, the latter being by far the more important. There are certain things in regard to the manifestations of character which are in my power, and this power I shall exert to the utmost. I will not have swearing, or drinking, or gambling, or immorality carried on in any building or space that belongs to me. This is a law, and the breaking of the law will be followed by instant dismissal. Of that I am determined. But I pray you help me in this, by voluntarily giving up habits which you know to be wrong. And if you cannot hate sin, ask my Helper to help you; for Christ knows what temptations are, and it is He only who can cleanse us at the source of all our actions, the heart and the will. We have no police; you must be your own policemen. I trust to the public opinion of our little community, and to the efforts of all good men among you, to keep the peace. At present—and I hope we shall remain so—we are simply a private family, with whom no one outside has a right to interfere; and the affairs of the village will be managed by a board chosen by you all.

“No provision has been made here for three institutions, which we all admit to be good where they are necessary; but which, I hope, will not be necessary in our own village of Craighelbyl—they are the poor-house, the hospital, and the Sunday-school. There is no poor-house, because we do not mean to have any poor. There is to be a compulsory system of insurance, by which an income for the sick and the aged will be provided, and which will be supplemented by a scale of pensions to be paid out of the profits of the business. I want every one to enjoy the blessings of independence. In regard to the hospital, that is a splendid thing for people who have not comfortable homes. But when we are sick it would surely be better for us to remain with those who care for us rather than be taken away among strangers. Dr. Armitt and Miss Wythburn will be glad to train some of you young women who wish to be nurses, so that to any home where sickness should unfortunately come a nurse can come also if she be needed, and bring with her the requisites for a sick room. Of course, if a fever should break out, other arrangements would have to be made; but we will not anticipate this. An ambulance-class will be at once formed, and one of the rooms of the gymnasium is to be set apart for its use.

“What I have next to say to you will, I am sure, surprise you. Our day-schools are to be as excellent as they can possibly be made; but at present there is no Sunday-school, though that is not exactly what I mean, for I hope there will be quite a universal Sunday-school, but there is as yet no special building set apart for it. If you desire a Sunday-school on the old lines I will not oppose it. How can I when I know how much of that which is best in England is the outcome of the Sunday-school system? And our day-school buildings will be the best that could be imagined for the purposes of the Sunday-school, if such an institution should be required. But if I were a father I would trust the religious teachings of my children to no one but myself. The home is the true Sunday-school; mothers and fathers are the best teachers; it is in the family that the children should learn that which is most important for them to know. And I hope there will be little gatherings of neighbours this afternoon, in which the right sort of schools will be inaugurated. At the same time I am glad to give notice that in our church there will be, every Sunday afternoon, a young people’s service, to which all over thirteen are invited.

“In regard to the church itself, will you bear with me while I say a few words? Those of you who are Christians—and I am most thankful that you are so many—represent, no doubt, every denomination of the one great Universal Church. Divided upon some points though we are, we know that there is for us all but one Saviour, that one God is our Father, and our great hope is that at the last we shall live together as one family in one heaven. It is surely possible, therefore, for us to worship together in one building now. As you know, there is but one building provided in Craighelbyl, and I hope that we shall never furnish material for a division among Christians in this place. I am myself a Nonconformist, as my father was before me. At the same time, I honour and revere the Church of England. Ours is, of course, a Free Church. Personally, I should like the beautiful Litany to be used here, and much of the ordinary service; but this I leave to be decided by the majority of members of the church. I hope that you all—Churchmen, Wesleyans, Congregationalists, Baptists, Methodists, or whatever you are—will resolve, for the credit of our common Christianity, to keep the peace among yourselves, and that you will worship and work together for the kingdom of God. The time has surely come for the establishment of one great united Church, the members of which are resolved, if not to end all strife and competition among themselves—which God grant!—at least, to suspend all differences, and beneath the flag of truce to labour for the suppression of the evil and misery of the world. My dear friends, I congratulate you and myself on the fact that we are leading the way, and that the multitudes of Christ’s disciples will surely follow. We are doing what we can, but we need help and guidance lest we spoil our endeavour by mistakes and failures. This is a day of great joy and thankfulness; let us make it also a day of great prayer, that the spirit of wisdom and understanding may be given to us. And may God bless us, and make us blessings to each other. Amen.”

“Amen!” heartily responded the people.