A Church in the Spirit World

Monsignor and his friends are walking along the edge of a wood when Roger, newly-arrived spirit, pointing into the distance, observes a church —

That looks remarkably like a church. 

It is a church, said Ruth, but with a difference.

Would you care to go to inspect it? I asked, and Roger answering in the affirmative, we turned in that direction.

The ‘church’ in question had all the appearance of its familiar country counterpart on earth, excepting, of course, that of age. It had antiquity of form without showing the effects of the ravages of time, and there was now no occasion for us to tell the boy that physical decay, brought about by the elements and the passage of years, was a condition that did not exist in the spirit world, and though an edifice might look as though it had been erected but yesterday, it may have been standing many hundreds of years.

The ‘church’ we were now visiting was no exception to the rule. In point of fact, I do not believe that, in the spirit world, there are any exceptions that are supposed to prove a rule! There were, however, other features about this ‘church’ that Roger might have passed without realising their full implication, and so, as we drew close to it, we asked him if he saw anything unusual about it.

The lad had a very keen eye and was quick to seize upon the principal characteristic.

Yes, he observed; the “church” has a familiar look about it, but its surroundings are so unusual that it almost makes the “church” itself look different.

Good for you, Roger, I said. You’ve only recently come from the earth, and so earthly things are still fresh in your mind, as it were. You can make comparisons with greater fineness.

The “church” you see here is a complete exemplification of what could be done on earth, if an effort were only to be made, in making the churches there things of real beauty in their externals. The whole of this has been built, including the fabric itself, to show exactly what can be done even in a limited space. As you can see, the territory round the building is spacious, but nevertheless, it has not been used to its full extent, so as to preserve, as nearly as possible, the customary conditions on earth, where space is usually somewhat limited.

As we drew near we could see a low brick wall running irregularly round the church grounds in imitation of an earthly situation where other land rights encroached. The wall was trim and neat without being too plain and uninteresting. We passed through a lych gate, walking on a wide path that had been made of composite substance to give the appearance of asphalt, for in a matter of pure utility, a grass path would have soon worn ‘threadbare’ under the tread of many feet, and our reproduction had to be exact.

Flowers being in constant bloom in these lands, we had perforce to strike a compromise between what would be a general appearance in summer and that in winter. To do this many evergreen trees and bushes were introduced, and the flowers were so planted that horticultural anachronisms were avoided as far as each bed was concerned. Some flower beds were left empty to suggest the extreme of winter when few, if any, flowering things are possible out of doors.

Running along one side of the grounds was a small brook carefully confined to a straight course, and which had its source in a small cascade, while the sides of the brook itself were lined with flowers. Here and there were lily ponds, while the whole was encircled with many fine trees. In imagination, therefore, one could see the great possibilities of such an arrangement on earth, making full allowance for the infinitely greater beauty of a spirit world counterpart. Such a scheme and its fulfillment are here, and could be emulated upon earth with the removal of the unsightly and unnecessary burial grounds so often to be seen about church buildings, and so often nothing but a wilderness of weeds and neglect.

Roger noticed at once the absence of a burial ground, to which so much importance is attached on earth, nor could he see anything in the way of a notice board.

Ruth told you there was a difference, you remember, Roger. There are differences within, as well as without. In truth, this is only a church in name and appearance; a sample of what could be done if earth folk had a mind to bring about a few alterations. It is only the outside, the surroundings, that we are offering as an example, for this is not a “place of worship” in the earthly sense. In other words, there are no services held here, though what takes place inside is really of more value than what goes on perennially in so many of the earthly churches. Still, we won’t pursue that line of thought. Let us go inside.

We found the building empty of people when we entered. It was a fair-sized structure built on the lines of a ‘parish church,’ and as it was no church in the strict meaning of the word, there was much absent that would otherwise have been conspicuous: the font, for example, and the pulpit. But what struck Roger most forcibly was the absence of a high altar.

The sanctuary itself remained the same, with the usual flights of steps leading up in a series of ‘orders,’ to the highest, where there was a broad space upon which were a number of handsome chairs, the chief of which, placed in the centre, being slightly more ornate than its fellows. Above them was a fine lancet window, containing some exquisite coloured glass. Instead of the familiar religious pictures, the glass represented pleasant rustic scenes such as one sees depicted in tapestries and the like.

On the wall immediately above the chairs were two inscriptions worked in mosaic, and placed side by side. Roger’s attention was immediately attracted to these, and turning to me asked, why are those two beams of light coming down on the texts?

They’re not coming down, Roger; they’re going up and out. The lad read the Latin inscription aloud: ‘Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis.’

Correct, Roger, but if you will forgive me, your pronunciation of the Latin is appalling!

That was the way I was taught, he laughed.

Of course you were, my dear fellow. So was I, at first. That’s another example of the cult of the hideous on earth, the rule being: if possible always choose the ugly!

Oh, come, Monsignor; things aren’t altogether as bad as that.

Not far from it, then. You know what those words mean— if not, they’ve been conveniently translated for you: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of goodwill.” Note the last, Roger. Different from what you were used to, perhaps, on earth. It’s the better rendering, because it means so much more. Peace, my dear boy, will never come to the folk of earth without there is goodwill first. If there were universal goodwill, there would be universal peace. If any one doubts it, let it be tried.

The light you see might be going either way, might it not, but as it happens it is ascending. It came about in this way. This whole building with its gardens, was originally put up by the folk living hereabouts to serve as a pleasant place to receive the numerous teachers, and so on, who come from time to time from the higher realms to help us in a multitude of ways. Hence the chairs there, where the altar stone would normally be. The principal visitor will occupy the central chair, as you would guess, while the others would be taken by those who come with him.

Look round you, and what do you see; or rather, what don’t you see?  

Roger turned about him: No memorials on the walls, he enumerated, no religious pictures, no hymn board, no candles or other ornaments. In fact, it’s just the empty shell of a church, but with comfortable chairs instead of hard pews.

The side windows were also of coloured glass, and the rays of light passing in upon both sides produced the most delicate rainbow tints that met and mingled.

Those two texts that you see, were put there at the express wish of the folk who were responsible for the whole building. As with the rest of us here, they have a wholesome horror of war, the most detestable scourge that ever could assail the people of earth. So they tried to think of some way in which to show their general concern, and at length they hit upon the scheme of taking that familiar quotation and emblazoning it upon the walls, right behind and above those high visitors when they are seated there, and in full view of  every person as soon as he enters. They had it worked in mosaic, exquisitely, as you can see, in those bright colours, and made it a permanent prayer by their thoughts. That is what you see ascending in that light, and it is never allowed to grow weak or feeble. You will always find it bright and strong. An infinitely small drop, my dear fellow, in an immense ocean of good thoughts; powerful enough in its way, though not powerful enough to stop or prevent war.

You will have seen by now, Roger, that in these lands nothing is left undone merely for want of trying. Whatever the outcome of any enterprise, however hopeless it may seem from the start, yet an attempt will be made. We have our failures, and we have our successes too. War, my boy, is a large subject, and not a cheerful one, especially to you who are sampling the delights of the spirit world. Ruth and I don’t want to depress you.

You won’t do that, Monsignor; I like to know things, even if they’re not too pleasant.

At the ‘west’ end of the building there was a deep narthex upon which was reposing a large organ. It was not an instrument of advanced design or construction, and the pipes were arranged in their conventional order.

A nice instrument, Roger. Anyone who wishes is at liberty to play upon it. Come along upstairs, and examine it, and perhaps Ruth will play us a tune.

We mounted the stairs, and found ourselves in a wide gallery.

There can’t be electricity here, so would you like me to pump for you, Ruth? Roger suggested.

There’s no need to do that, thank you, my dear, said Ruth. You’re right about our not having electricity. We’ve something much better.

She pointed to a box-like receptacle on the floor a short distance from the organ.

In there, said she, is all we require. All I have to do is set that little machine in motion, and the air is sent along the trunk to the instrument.

Yes, but what makes the machine go?

Thought, Roger, thought; that’s all, answered Ruth with a smile. You know, you’ve hardly any notion yet what thought can really do.

No, I’m beginning to realise that! Ruth seated herself at the manuals and played a short piece that had been specially composed for her by one of our master-musician friends—a light, frolicsome little work, rather in the nature of a scherzo. When the final note had sounded, Ruth left the organ seat, and taking Roger by the arm said, Now come and see what we’ve done.

We left the building, and observing Ruth and myself gazing upwards above the roof, Roger did the same and was astonished to see, high up over the building, a huge sphere like a bubble, gently rotating upon its axis. Its colours, a delicate blue and pink, interweaved themselves without losing their identity.

We should move a little farther away, I said, then Roger will see the full effect. At present we’re too much under it.

We took up a position about a quarter of a mile distant where the full effect was superb. To Roger it was somewhat awe-inspiring to see this apparently fragile form suspended in the air with ‘no visible means of support.’

All music, Roger, makes a form of some kind when it is performed, Ruth said, no matter what instrument it is played upon, though if I had played that piece on the piano, we should not have got such a large one as that. But we should have made a form; perhaps not as lovely. I’ve never played that piece on the piano, so I can’t say what exactly would have happened. It was written for the organ, where one can get sufficient volume and variety of tonal effect. It’s very beautiful, isn’t it?

You know, Ruth, said Roger, that’s more frightening, even, than anything I’ve seen so far, though frightening isn’t what I mean really.

No, old fellow, I know it isn’t. I suppose awe-inspiring is the right term—it's a peculiar emotion whatever one calls it.

Ruth and I both felt the same when we first experienced it, and even now we’ve not entirely grown out of it. I don’t believe we ever shall. I hope not. If we did fail to respond there would be something wrong somewhere, and it wouldn’t be the fault of the music. No, there’s no question about it; we shall always feel some deep emotion whenever we hear and see music written by such masters as we have here, and they are masters, Roger.

The lad was looking at Ruth with something like deep admiration, a kind of ‘heroine-worship,’ one would say, that she should be able to achieve such a remarkable feat. For her part, Ruth was amused, and not a little touched by the lad’s warmth of feeling, but she hastened to wave aside any credit to herself.

What I’ve done is nothing, Roger. Anyone who can play can produce the same result. A mechanical instrument could do it, but no mechanical instrument could compose the music —that’s where the credit must go, to the composer.

Did I understand you to say that a master-musician wrote the piece specially for you?

That is perfectly correct, Roger. Another surprise? It shouldn’t be, you know, because, if you come to think of it, all those famous composers who have died, must be somewhere, mustn’t they?

Yes, of course; that’s rummy—I never thought of that.

Ah, I remarked, I suppose that’s because most folk regard musical composers as being only half human, if even that. That’s why so many of them were half-starved when they lived on earth. When they left it, the people suddenly remembered them, and put up statues and monuments to them, and their works suddenly became very valuable. Things are a trifle better now on earth, and a composer need not actually starve, but if he has written some really good things they will be much more valuable after he’s dead. At the present moment, the earthly geniuses are notable by their absence. The real geniuses are all here. You’ve had an example, this minute, of the real genius. Even without being able to see that piece, it is a delight merely to listen to it.

How long will that ball remain there? Roger asked.

Normally, Ruth told him, it would fade in a moment or so, but Monsignor and I put our thoughts together to charge it with a little more permanence so that you could see it in all its glory. When there are orchestral or other works following one another quickly, if the form stayed too long they would all be mounted in a jumble on one another, and their shapes would be lost.