CHAPTER VIII

THE FIRST MASS

MARK had not lost his faith. There was no violent reaction that left him with a passionate unbelief. But hitherto he had never had even a momentary doubt, and he now found himself assailed by questions and compelled to battle hard to keep what of all his spiritual possessions had seemed the least likely to be attacked. In the dismay of this insecurity Mark had confided in Ogilvie what his feelings had been at the very moment of the Bishop's laying on his hands.

"It's not a case for argument," the Rector had said. "It's a case for prayer."

"I think that faith is always a case for prayer," Mark had replied. "And perhaps I have never really prayed intensely for faith. It was given to me with such generosity that I suppose it never entered my heart or my head to think that what God had given God might take away."

"You should have been particularly on your guard when you were reading those books by the Modernist school. I have no hesitation in saying that they do more harm with their subtle policy of gradual surrender than all the crude and violent attacks of avowed infidels."

"I think that's true," Mark had agreed. "I was reading a book about the Virgin Birth the other day, by a young Oxford don; I believe that he is Divinity Dean at one of the colleges. He prefaced his work by avowing his own belief in the Virgin Birth, after which he examined most sympathetically what the other side had to say. At the end of the book one put it down with the feeling that the only answer to the other side was Quia Impossibile. I know that the learned young men are trying hard to bring our creed into line with the advance of modern knowledge. But that's exactly what the great

heresiarchs set out to do. It's certain that Arius, Pelagius, Nestorius and the rest of them wanted to bring Christianity into line with the most recent thought."

"I always remember some words in Ecclesiasticus,” the Rector had said, reaching down for the volume from the shelf. "Where are they? The third chapter, if I remember. Yes, here we are:

My son, go on with thy business in meekness; so shalt thou be beloved of him that is approved.

The greater thou art, the more humble thyself, and thou shalt find favour before the Lord.

Many are in high place, and of renown: but mysteries are revealed unto the meek.

For the power of the Lord is great, and He is honoured of the lowly.

Seek not out the things that are too hard for thee, neither search the things that are above thy strength.

But what is commanded thee, think thereupon with reverence; for it is not needful for thee to see with thine eyes the things that are in secret.

Be not curious in unnecessary matters; for more things are shewed unto thee than men understand.

For many are deceived by their own vain opinion; and an evil suspicion hath overthrown their judgment.

"Those are words of great wisdom. I do not think that such ancient observations upon the characteristics of human nature have been supplanted, or even much added to, by all our weight of modern psychology. And I cannot help wondering if modern knowledge has added much to Truth. I am quite sure that it has not supplanted it."

"But that's the mischief of the Modernists," Mark had said. "They don't claim that the Divine revelation has been supplanted or even added to, but that it has been amplified. They want to eat their cake and have it. They want to run with the hare of revelation and hunt with the hounds of empiricism."

"I should leave them alone for a while," Ogilvie had advised.

"But that would mean an admission that I am afraid of them," Mark had protested. "No, my faith has got to be tried. Already I have gained much by a sudden

For

comprehension of that second theological virtue, about which I had never thought a great deal until now. at least I can say that I do hope. I wonder who first thought of the anchor as Hope's symbol? Don't worry about my spiritual future, Rector. The worst that can happen is that I shall become more bigoted than I otherwise might. I will never adapt my religion to modern needs, for in my opinion the adaptation of religion to modern needs means adding so many coats of sugar to the pill that the efficacy of the pill itself is thereby destroyed. Material progress, and most of our knowledge comes from material progress, is only an extension of the sin of Adam. It's the application of man's free will to upset the natural order of the universe."

"You seem very positive for one whose faith has been shaken," the Rector had said with a smile.

"Ah, yes, but at the back of everything I am telling myself that there is always a question. Suppose this is all untrue? Suppose that this never happened? All I can say all the time positively and fervently is that I hope it is true and that I hope it did all happen and that I hope for immortality, and for salvation in eternity."

Mark would have preferred to say his first Mass in the little church of Green Lanes; but he knew that to do this would hurt the feelings of his Vicar, who would be quite unable to understand such a desire. And he was very glad that he had not suggested this when the Vicar asked him to say his first Mass on St. Thomas's Day.

It struck Mark for the first time that the Church, in decreeing the commemoration of St. Thomas four days before Christmas, had shown a profound sense of dramatic fitness. St. Thomas was perhaps of all the apostles the one most easily imaginable in the present, and his sturdy scepticism must have been the consolation of many Christian souls. Now just before the festival of the Incarnation, which was to put such a strain on humanity's will to believe, the Christian world was reminded in the story of St. Thomas that faith was not easy and that even one who had beheld the miracles and heard the very speech of our Blessed Lord was yet able to doubt. How much that incredulous disciple had done for generations

of Christians to come, for without his questioning spirit the narrative of Christ's appearances after death might have been criticized so much more easily as a narrative that deliberately sought for marvels. Moreover, was not Thomas the disciple who, when danger threatened his leader, was the first to urge that they should all accompany Him into Judaea that they might die with Him?

There were no bouquets or cards for Mark's first Mass; and there was not a large congregation in St. Luke's Church on the morning of the twenty-first of December. In fact, apart from the Vicar, it was composed of two pious ladies. Mark had rehearsed the ceremonial many times, and he did not feel nervous, or rather he did not feel any nervousness about his practical ability to get through without blunders. He did have a spiritual nervousness that when he reached the words of consecration he should fail in awe of what his humanity was privileged to effect. The verses in the Gospel of St. John about St. Thomas were of the greatest comfort:

Reach hither thy fingers, and behold My hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into My side: and be not faithless, but believing.

And Thomas answered and said unto Him,

My Lord and My God.

And when the moment came for him to whisper the mighty words of consecration, the soul of Mark cried out with the Blessed Thomas in eternity, My Lord and My God. This is Thy Body. This is Thy Blood.

Thenceforth in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament Mark was never assailed with doubt; but when he was away from the Blessed Sacrament his mind was always vulnerable. He had never been slow to insist upon the necessity of bringing people to the feet of Christ by such a boundless channel of Grace; but he had done so as it were from an external conviction rather than from living knowledge and experience. Now when his own weakness without It was plain, he demanded It for hungry souls with such passion as a mother might demand bread to feed her starving children. Nothing in religious observance that did not lead directly to God upon the altar seemed to Mark anything but a waste of time.

"Nobody questions the ethical value of Christianity except a few oversexed egomaniacs," he declared. "But we must make the living God more than a copy-book of Divine maxims. The failure of Christianity has been, is, and will be that neat copy-book religion, which can be blotted and scribbled over and defiled and torn to little bits by naughty boys. No priest who allows for one moment that human nature can approach Christ except through the Blessed Sacrament is worthy of his order." These were the words that Mark used when the Vicar questioned the advisability of a midnight Celebration upon Christmas Eve.

"Nobody is more anxious than myself, Lidderdale, to bring people to the Blessed Sacrament. But we should do wrong for the sake of a few to offend the many."

"No, no, no," Mark cried. "You're wrong, Vicar, you're wrong! Here and now in this room I have my doubts about the Virgin Birth. I wonder if the Ascension is to be accepted as one accepts an historical fact. I ask myself if the Transfiguration may not have a perfectly natural explanation. I even ask myself if the whole of our Christology is not due to the mythopoeic impulse of mankind. But away from this room and in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament I don't care that about historical facts. My Lord and my God is there."

"I'm afraid that I don't quite follow your reasoning," the Vicar said. "I don't quite see how you can believe in the Real Presence of our Lord on the altar and apparently have doubts about His Real Presence on earth nineteen hundred years ago. It doesn't seem logical."

"Logic! Logic!" Mark cried. "The cruellest opinions and the most atrocious behaviour have been expressed or committed in the name of logic. But to return to the point at issue, Vicar. Would you have any objection to my having a midnight Mass in the basilica at Oaktown? Nobody is going to be offended there. I do wish you'd give your consent. I can't help feeling that Oaktown ought to have some service for Christmas, and you know how hopeless it would be to try to get them out on Christmas afternoon."

"Very well," the Vicar agreed after a pause. "I give