‘We are the children of God; the Epistle of Paul to the Romans, the eighth chapter, the sixteenth verse. As some of you will know, what you are about to hear is called a sermon, that is to say an address, a talk about religion, about God and ourselves. It won’t be a long talk. Please listen carefully, because what I have to tell you is very important and very interesting.’
Already Glover was into his stride, speaking confidently and clearly; training, habit, whatever it was had told after all. He had dictated the whole thing to his granddaughter, who had read it back to him sentence by sentence till he had it by heart. Not once was he to make even the smallest slip.
‘St Paul never met Our Lord Jesus Christ, but he knew a great deal about him, and about God the Father too, probably more than anybody else has ever done, and he handed on what he knew in as straightforward a way as he could. He was a very direct man. He meant what he said. So, when he said, “We are the children of God,” he wasn’t using the phrase in the vague sentimental way in which people used to talk about children of light or children of love. No, St Paul was speaking precisely. We – by which he meant the whole human race as long as it lasts, including all of us here this afternoon – we were created by God, put in this world by God. We are the children of somebody who is not a human being, somebody who is infinitely more powerful than any human being can ever be, and also infinitely more loving, that is, his love is without limit and without end. We are the children of our parents too, and we all know how loving they can be, but we also know that their love is not without limit, and quite right too: limitless parental love would be unreasonable. God is not only infinitely loving but also infinitely wise, and again we all know from our ordinary experience, some of us as parents ourselves, how necessary it is that love should be accompanied by wisdom.’
Glover spoke for a few minutes about these and others of God’s qualities, avoiding with practised skill the ticklish problem posed by a divine love that apparently tolerated what could be severe affliction being experienced by the objects of that love. He hoped he was making some sense to some of his listeners, even that he had some listeners; he sensed that, deprived of the stimulus of perceiving the effect of his words, he was delivering them with less animation than he would have liked. At least no loud objection or other response was being voiced; now and then he fancied he caught movement towards the back of the church, but it was too dark there for him to be sure. He ended by saying as earnestly as he could,
‘A world without purpose except that of survival is a miserable place. It’s also a sinful place, but I’m not going to pursue that today. The freedom we once enjoyed is gone for good, and England will never be happy again. But there is one certain way of triumphing over whatever may be done to us, of turning our defeat not into victory but into defiance, of resisting the oppressor in a place he can never subdue, our minds and souls. It is the one way to recover our pride as a nation and our sense of purpose as men and women. And God is the way. More than at any time before, we need God, need him not as a man with holes in his clothes needs new ones, but as a man with only one leg needs a crutch, or even as a drowning man needs air. God is our father; he wants what is best for us; and he knows what is best for us. Wouldn’t most people give a lot to know the best way to live their lives, something more attractive and enlivening than just hanging on to them? What we must do is ask God. He always listens. Pray to him,’ he always answers. If you don’t believe in him, pray to him just the same; if you want to believe in him, he will help you to. Of course he will. We are his children. All of us.
‘We will sing the hymn “Jesu, Lover of my Soul”.’
Although he had nothing to go on beyond surmise, and despite the assurances of Commissioner Mets that no official interest would be taken in any part of the service, Glover was quite sure that a full text of his sermon would soon reach the authorities, had probably been relayed to them already. But he found it hard to care. He had glorified God. The doubts he had had earlier, whether, there being no bishop anywhere in the land, his own service of reconsecration had proved efficacious – these quite fell away from him. In his mind he thanked the young Russian officer who had pressed him into doing what he had done today.
After the Blessing, his granddaughter came and led him out of the church. He failed to hear the closing voluntary stop abruptly in mid-bar as the blower broke down. Nor had he any way of knowing that, of the more than two hundred people who had been present at the start, only eleven remained. Some had left in the earlier stages, but the largest exodus had been in the first few minutes of the sermon. They had made as little noise as possible and no fuss; they had too much respect for that.
Kitty was one of the eleven who had stayed, because her father had stayed. She looked with approval and some affection at the old clergyman as he slowly made his way down the aisle. Under his dark jacket he wore a curious undivided collar-like affair without tie and what was evidently a black shirt. He was smiling. So was she; it had been a very pleasant occasion, arousing tranquil feelings in those capable of appreciating it, sadly above the heads of most.
Joseph Wright was not smiling. He had started pestering Kitty to be ready to go to the church over an hour before the service was due to start, had driven them there in the little Russian-made Badger runabout in a style that sent horses scattering, and had sat through the opening organ voluntary at a high pitch of expectation, all this to his own surprise. He had had no idea what he had been expecting, but he knew plainly enough that it had not taken place; he had stuck it out to the end from pure obstinacy. He realised that he had begun to put a growing emotional stake on the service ever since the evening Glover had in effect agreed to officiate. And nothing had happened, so unequivocally and with such finality that the chance of any significant event, any change, was ruled out for ever. That was the day Wright finally despaired.
16
‘What a glorious day.’
‘All put on specially for you, my darling. You look your loveliest in the sunlight. It brings out the colours in your hair.’
‘It also brings out the freckles on my skin. I suppose you’re going to say you hadn’t noticed them.’
‘You underrate me. To say I hadn’t noticed them would be to slight them. In fact they constitute one of your great beauties.’
‘Dearest Theodore, I really think you should try to be a little more selective in your flattery.’
‘Now you do me an injustice: I’m highly selective. Should I ever come across a piece of you I don’t find beautiful I intend to keep silent on the matter.’
‘You’ll have plenty to choose from.’
Nina had spoken without thinking. When she did think, desire made her catch her breath and turn her head away. She had on the instant such a vivid sense of lying naked in Theodore’s arms that she found it hard to believe that it had never happened, that their closest physical intimacy had been a kiss, an embrace that no one living could possibly have found improper, or rather a fairly crowded series of embraces. Hearing of this from her, Alexander had shown or feigned surprise and indirectly (but clearly) intimated that it could be nothing but the result of deficient erotic drive, especially on Theodore’s part. As if he had read her thoughts the latter got hastily to his feet at that moment and strolled up the ornamental steps to the small summer-house, containing a likewise small sarcophagus, near which they had been sitting. On every side were assorted saplings and the stumps of cedars, oaks and pines.