The Altar Steps by Compton MacKenzie
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Compton MacKenzie >> The Altar Steps
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The Bishop's head wagged slowly to and fro in the silence that succeeded
his words, and Mark pondering them in that silence felt no longer that
he was saying "Lord, Lord," but that he had been called to follow and
that he was ready without hesitation to follow Him whithersoever He
should lead.
The quiet Ember Friday came to an end, and on the Saturday there were
more formalities, of which Mark dreaded most the taking of the oath
before the Registrar. He had managed with the help of subtle High Church
divines to persuade himself that he could swear he assented to the
Thirty-nine Articles without perjury. Nevertheless he wished that he was
not bound to take that oath, and he was glad that the sense in which the
Thirty-nine Articles were to be accepted was left to the discretion of
him who took the oath. Of one thing Mark was positive. He was assuredly
not assenting to those Thirty-nine Articles that their compilers
intended when they framed them. However, when it came to it, Mark
affirmed:
"I, Mark Lidderdale, about to be admitted to the Holy Order of Deacons,
do solemnly make the following declaration:--I assent to the Thirty-nine
Articles of Religion, and to the Book of Common Prayer, and the
ordering of Bishops, Priests, and Deacons. I believe the doctrine of the
Church of England, as therein set forth, to be agreeable to the Word of
God; and in Public Prayer and Administration of the Sacraments I will
use the Form in the said Book prescribed, and none other, except so far
as shall be ordered by lawful authority.
"I, Mark Lidderdale, about to be admitted to the Holy Order of Deacons,
do swear that I will be faithful and bear true Allegiance to His Majesty
King Edward, his heirs and successors according to law.
"So help me God."
"But the strange thing is," Mark said to one of his fellow candidates,
"nobody asks us to take the oath of allegiance to God."
"We do that when we're baptized," said the other, a serious young man
who feared that Mark was being flippant.
"Personally," Mark concluded, "I think the solemn profession of a monk
speaks more directly to the soul."
And this was the feeling that Mark had throughout the Ordination of the
Deacons notwithstanding that the Bishop of Silchester in cope and mitre
was an awe-inspiring figure in his own Chapel. But when Mark heard him
say:
_Receive the Holy Ghost for the office and work of a Priest in the
Church of God_,
he was caught up to the Seventh Heaven and prayed that, when a year
hence he should be kneeling thus to hear those words uttered to him and
to feel upon his head those hands imposed, he should receive the Holy
Ghost more worthily than lately he had received authority to execute the
office of a Deacon in the Church of God.
Suddenly at the back of the chapel Mark caught sight of Miriam, who must
have travelled down from Oxfordshire last night to be present at his
Ordination. His mind went back to that Whit-Sunday in Meade Cantorum
nearly ten years ago. Miriam's plume of grey hair was no longer visible,
for all her hair was grey nowadays; but her face had scarcely altered,
and she sat there at this moment with that same expression of austere
sweetness which had been shed like a benison upon Mark's dreary boyhood.
How dear of Miriam to grace his Ordination, and if only Esther too could
have been with him! He knelt down to thank God humbly for His mercies,
and of those mercies not least for the Ogilvies' influence upon his
life.
Mark could not find Miriam when they came out from the chapel. She must
have hurried away to catch some slow Sunday train that would get her
back to Wych-on-the-Wold to-night. She could not have known that he had
seen her, and when he arrived at the Rectory to-morrow as glossy as a
beetle in his new clerical attire, Miriam would listen to his account of
the Ordination, and only when he had finished would she murmur how she
had been present all the time.
And now there was still the oath of canonical obedience to take before
lunch; but luckily that was short. Mark was hungry, since unlike most of
the candidates he had not eaten an enormous breakfast that morning.
Snow was falling outside when the young priests and deacons in their new
frock coats sat down to lunch; and when they put on their sleek silk
hats and hurried away to catch the afternoon train back to Silchester,
it was still falling.
"Even nature is putting on a surplice in our honour," Mark laughed to
one of his companions, who not feeling quite sure whether Mark was being
poetical or profane, decided that he was being flippant, and looked
suitably grieved.
It was dusk of that short winter day when Mark reached Silchester, and
wandered back in a dream toward Vicar's Walk. Usually on Sunday evenings
the streets of the city pattered with numerous footsteps; but to-night
the snow deadened every sound, and the peace of God had gone out from
the Cathedral to shed itself upon the city.
"It will be Christmas Day in a week," Mark thought, listening to the
Sabbath bells muffled by the soft snow-laden air. For the first time it
occurred to him that he should probably have to preach next Sunday
evening.
_And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us._
That should be his text, Mark decided; and, passing from the snowy
streets, he sat thinking in the golden glooms of the Cathedral about his
sermon.
EXPLICIT PRAELUDIUM
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