We do not regret our religion, but we
are disappointed with it. There are times, perhaps, when wandering
notes from a diviner music stray into our spirits; but these
experiences come at few and fitful moments. We have no sense of
possession in them. When they visit us, it is a surprise. When they
leave us, it is without explanation. When we wish their return, we do
not know how to secure it.
All which means a religion without solid base, and a poor and
flickering life. It means a great bankruptcy in those experiences
which give Christianity its personal solace and make it attractive to
the world, and a great uncertainty as to any remedy. It is as if we
knew everything about health--except the way to get it.
I am quite sure that the difficulty does not lie in the fact that men
are not in earnest. This is simply not the fact. All around us
Christians are wearing themselves out in trying to be better. The
amount of spiritual longing in the world--in the hearts of unnumbered
thousands of men and women in whom we should never suspect it; among
the wise and thoughtful, among the young and gay, who seldom assuage
and never betray their thirst--this is one of the most wonderful and
touching facts of life.
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