“Of course I have,” I said.
“Well, and what do you think of what you saw in the French Presbyterian church, this morning?”
“Think! I simply think it was unintelligible.”
“Well, say, quite as unintelligible as our Latin, for instance?”
“Yes, but not for the Frenchmen who were there.”
“But if those Frenchmen had been in a Presbyterian church in America, they would have been as badly off as you were this morning. And if both you and they went to a German church, as Calvinistic as you could wish and as like your own in belief, would not you and your French friends be all at sea, as the saying is?”
“Exactly so; but what are you driving at?”
“Only this: that, when you go to the church, and know that the people believe pretty much as you do, you would like, I think, to be able to join in their devotions, and not feel yourself left out in the cold, as if you were a heathen or a Mormon, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course; but it can’t be helped.”
“I tell you it can, my dear fellow. Look at us, millions and millions of Catholics, all believing the same doctrine, all going to the same ceremonies, and taking part in the same devotions, because we have only one language for our services, one language that is spoken in Canton, in San Francisco, in London, in Africa, everywhere where a Catholic altar is put up and a Catholic priest says Mass.”