The Secret of Pembrooke Park(28)

Abigail glanced up and saw the candles in the chandelier above her had been lit for the service. She wondered if William Chapman was even now in the vestry wiping the soot from his hands before donning his white surplice. She felt a grin quiver on her lips at the thought.

A moment later a side door opened and that very man entered. She blinked at the sight of ironic and playful William Chapman in white cleric’s robe. Hands clasped, he beheld his congregation with a benign closed-lip smile before making his way to the altar. For a moment his gaze landed on her. Did a flicker of doubt cross his fair eyes? She hoped he was not sorry to see her, nor that he had guessed her secret motive for attending.

Mac, in his role as clerk, pronounced in a loud voice, “Let us sing to the praise and glory of God the forty-seventh psalm.”

Abigail found it strangely affecting and edifying to hear the small clutch of congregants in this humble parish church raising their voices together in the praise of their Maker. In the soaring London church, there had been instruments and professional singers, but somehow the music here was all the sweeter for being performed by the peaceful and pious inhabitants of this rural village. The congregation sang and prayed alternately several times. The tunes of the psalms were lively and cheerful, though at the same time sufficiently reverent. William Chapman read the liturgy. The responses were all regularly led by his father, the clerk, the whole congregation joining in one voice.

Mr. Chapman looked at his father meaningfully, and Mac took his cue, rising to stand at the reading desk and positioning spectacles on his long, narrow nose. He traced his finger along the page of the book, already open on the stand, and read in a deep voice. “A reading from the first chapter of James, the last two verses. ‘If any man among you seem to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, this man’s religion is vain. Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.’”

William Chapman nodded his thanks to his father and then climbed the stairs into the pulpit. “Good morning, everyone,” he began informally, smiling at the congregation, looking from face to face. He turned his smile on Abigail. “And welcome, Miss Foster. We are pleased to have you among us. Those of you who have not yet met our new neighbor will wish to do so after the service.”

He glanced down at his notes, cleared this throat, then began his sermon.

“A man I recently met told me that he was not interested in religion because religious people were a bore, not to mention hypocritical, pretending to be righteous while inwardly being as selfish and sinful as the next man. And during my years at St. John’s College in Oxford, I heard many fellows and professors espousing that very view. Bemoaning the fact that Sunday services are often attended only for appearance sake, while our churches echo empty during the week on high days and holy days.

“Jesus himself clashed with the religious leaders of his day, namely the Pharisees, who were guided by their own tradition and man-made rules and less by love for God or their fellowman. Jesus wanted fellowship with them, but they were not willing to come to Him, nor to receive Him. Relying instead on their outward adherence to the law.

“Are you religious? Am I? If being ‘religious’ means following a set of rules so we can impress others, so that we can appear righteous—instead of cultivating a deep relationship with the Savior himself—then I agree with the detractors. I am not interested in that sort of religion. And, I suggest, neither is the Lord. Jesus offers forgiveness and love to all who truly seek Him, believe in Him, and worship Him. Regardless of which pew we sit in on a Sunday morning. Or our annual income. Or our family connections.”

Abigail slid lower in her seat. Was that comment directed at her?

“He is waiting for you to come to Him,” he continued. “To rely on His guidance and goodness. To listen and obey and serve. Are you listening—spending time reading His Word and seeking His guidance in prayer? Are you serving Him and your fellowman—the widows and orphans among you? I hope you will this week.”

Did she spend time listening, obeying, and serving? Abigail asked herself. Not really. Not enough, at any rate.

“Let us pray . . .”

Abigail blinked as around her heads bowed and eyes closed and Mr. Chapman led them in prayer in preparation for the offering and Communion. She didn’t recall ever hearing a sermon so brief and to the point. If she had, she might have attended more often. Around her the whole congregation joined in solemn prayer, and the sound of it touched Abigail’s heart.

William had meant to go on to expound on several verses in Matthew 23 and John 5, but having Miss Foster there in the front box, staring at him with those keen dark eyes, had unsettled him, and he’d quite forgotten. His parishioners, especially the older ones, already gave him grief about his short sermons. And he would hear about this one, no doubt.

After the service concluded, he proceeded down the aisle to bid farewell to his parishioners at the door and to receive their comments. Although the title officially belonged to the rector, most called William Parson as a term of fond respect. But there was one exception.

“I must say, Mr. Chapman, that was an exceedingly short sermon today,” Mrs. Peterman began. “Could you not be bothered to compose a longer one? I do wonder what we are paying you for.”

“You pay him nothing, Mrs. Peterman,” Leah tartly retorted, coming to stand near his elbow. “And the rector pays him a very small sum indeed.”