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she had sat swinging her feet and yawning as a child had only repelled her。 She could recall her father； aloof and awe…inspiring in his Sunday black； passing round the bag。 Her mother； always veiled； sitting beside her； a thin； tall woman with passionate eyes and ever restless hands； the women mostly overdressed； and the sleek； prosperous men trying to look meek。 At school and at Girton； chapel； which she had attended no oftener than she was obliged； had had about it the same atmosphere of chill compulsion。 But here was poetry。 She wondered if； after all； religion might not have its place in the worldin company with the other arts。 It would be a pity for it to die out。 There seemed nothing to take its place。 All these lovely cathedrals； these dear little old churches； that for centuries had been the focus of men's thoughts and aspirations。 The harbour lights； illumining the troubled waters of their lives。 What could be done with them？ They could hardly be maintained out of the public funds as mere mementoes of the past。 Besides； there were too many of them。 The tax…payer would naturally grumble。 As Town Halls； Assembly Rooms？ The idea was unthinkable。 It would be like a performance of Barnum's Circus in the Coliseum at Rome。 Yes； they would disappear。 Though not； she was glad to think； in her time。 In towns； the space would be required for other buildings。 Here and there some gradually decaying specimen would be allowed to survive； taking its place with the feudal castles and walled cities of the Continent： the joy of the American tourist； the text…book of the antiquary。 A pity！ Yes； but then from the aesthetic point of view it was a pity that the groves of ancient Greece had ever been cut down and replanted with currant bushes； their altars scattered； that the stones of the temples of Isis should have come to be the shelter of the fisher of the Nile； and the corn wave in the wind above the buried shrines of Mexico。 All these dead truths that from time to time had encumbered the living world。 Each in its turn had had to be cleared away。
And yet was it altogether a dead truth： this passionate belief in a personal God who had ordered all things for the best： who could be appealed to for comfort； for help？ Might it not be as good an explanation as any other of the mystery surrounding us？ It had been so universal。 She was not sure where； but somewhere she had come across an analogy that had strongly impressed her。 〃The fact that a man feels thirstythough at the time he may be wandering through the Desert of Saharaproves that somewhere in the world there is water。〃 Might not the success of Christianity in responding to human needs be evidence in its favour？ The Love of God； the Fellowship of the Holy Ghost； the Grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ。 Were not all human needs provided for in that one comprehensive promise： the desperate need of man to be convinced that behind all the seeming muddle was a loving hand guiding towards good； the need of the soul in its loneliness for fellowship； for strengthening； the need of man in his weakness for the kindly grace of human sympathy； of human example。
And then； as fate would have it； the first lesson happened to be the story of Jonah and the whale。 Half a dozen shocked faces turned suddenly towards her told Joan that at some point in the thrilling history she must unconsciously have laughed。 Fortunately she was alone in the pew； and feeling herself scarlet； squeezed herself into its farthest corner and drew down her veil。
No； it would have to go。 A religion that solemnly demanded of grown men and women in the twentieth century that they should sit and listen with reverential awe to a prehistoric edition of 〃Grimm's Fairy Stories；〃 including Noah and his ark； the adventures of Samson and Delilah； the conversations between Balaam and his ass； and culminating in what if it were not so appallingly wicked an idea would be the most comical of them all： the conception of an elaborately organized Hell； into which the God of the Christians plunged his creatures for all eternity！ Of what use was such a religion as that going to be to the world of the future？
She must have knelt and stood mechanically； for the service was ended。 The pulpit was occupied by an elderly uninteresting…looking man with a troublesome cough。 But one sentence he had let fall had gripped her attention。 For a moment she could not remember it； and then it came to her： 〃All Roads lead to Calvary。〃 It struck her as rather good。 Perhaps he was going to be worth listening to。 〃To all of us； sooner or later；〃 he was saying； 〃comes a choosing of two ways： either the road leading to success； the gratification of desires； the honour and approval of our fellow…menor the path to Calvary。〃
And then he had wandered off into a maze of detail。 The tradesman； dreaming perhaps of becoming a Whiteley； having to choose whether to go forward or remain for all time in the little shop。 The statesmanshould he abide by the faith that is in him and suffer loss of popularity； or renounce his God and enter the Cabinet？ The artist； the writer； the mere labourerthere were too many of them。 A few well…chosen examples would have sufficed。 And then that irritating cough！
And yet every now and then he would be arresting。 In his prime； Joan felt； he must have been a great preacher。 Even now； decrepit and wheezy； he was capable of flashes of magnetism； of eloquence。 The passage where he pictured the Garden of Gethsemane。 The fair Jerusalem； only hidden from us by the shadows。 So easy to return to。 Its soft lights shining through the trees； beckoning to us； its mingled voices stealing to us through the silence； whispering to us of its well…remembered ways； its pleasant places； its open doorways； friends and loved ones waiting for us。 And above； the rock…strewn Calvary： and crowning its summit； clear against the starlit sky； the cold； dark cross。 〃Not perhaps to us the bleeding hands and feet； but to all the bitter tears。 Our Calvary may be a very little hill compared with the mountains where Prometheus suffered； but to us it is steep and lonely。〃
There he should have stopped。 It would have been a good note on which to finish。 But it seemed there was another point he wished to make。 Even to the sinner Calvary calls。 To Judaseven to him the gates of the life…giving Garden of Gethsemane had not been closed。 〃With his thirty pieces of silver he could have stolen away。 In some distant crowded city of the Roman Empire have lived unknown； forgotten。 Life still had its pleasures； its rewards。 To him also had been given the choice。 The thirty pieces of silver that had meant so much to him！ He flings them at the feet of his tempters。 They would not take them back。 He rushes out and hangs himself。 Shame and death。 With his own hands he will build his own cross； none to help him。 He； tooeven Judas； climbs his Calvary。 Enters into the fellowship of those who through all ages have trod its stony pathway。〃
Joan waited till the last of the congregation had disappeared； and then joined the little pew…opener who was waiting to close the doors。 Joan asked her what she had thought of the serm