“You consider our intellects incomplete and our doctrines in error?”
“Certainly. All of ours are,” Timothy went on. “I would far rather trust God for biblical uncertainties than to convince myself that I am sure of his will on every thorny issue as many seem to consider it their duty to do. Being wrong does not frighten me nearly so much as being unable to trust God to do what is right and good, though my fallible human intellect will of a certainty be unable to discern how he will accomplish that in every instance. That is why I do not take sides in this dispute, but say only, ‘God knows.’”
A long silence followed.
At length Mrs. Packer, her face still red, nodded to her two colleagues. They rose.
“I think we have heard enough,” she said. “Good day, Mr. Diggorsfeld.”
Chairman Roul offered a tentative hand in Timothy’s direction.
“Just to set your mind at ease,” he said, “we had agreed before we came that your salary would continue for a month. You will also have continued use of the parsonage during that time. We will, however, arrange for a supply minister for this Sunday and for all subsequent services until a permanent replacement has been found.”
Timothy shook his hand, still not believing what he was hearing, then looked at the two women. Mrs. Packer was unmoved.
“You have preached your last sermon at New Hope Chapel,” she said firmly. “Good day, Mr. Diggorsfeld.”
She turned and led the others out of the room and to the door, which she opened herself and hurried through before Timothy had a chance to reach it.
49
Refuge
When Timothy Diggorsfeld arrived at Heathersleigh Hall four days later, one look at his face the moment Jocelyn saw him standing at the open door told her something dreadful must have happened. He had not been able to summon the strength to telephone her, but had simply arranged his affairs, notified a few of his parishioners, packed two small bags, and then taken the train to Devon at his earliest opportunity.
“Timothy!” exclaimed Jocelyn. “You look devastated—what is it? Are you ill?”
At sight of his friend, Timothy broke into tears. Jocelyn went to him with open embrace. They stood in one another’s arms for several long moments.
“Actually, Jocelyn dear,” said Timothy as he stepped back with a thin smile, “I think it was seeing you that finally made me break down more than what happened. But now that I am here, I am already feeling better.”
Behind them Catharine and Amanda approached from the kitchen with concerned looks on their faces.
“But what is it, Timothy?” repeated Jocelyn as they stepped inside and she closed the door. “What happened?”
“I have lost my church,” Timothy replied simply.
“Timothy . . . what . . . how!”
“The difficulties I told you about before had escalated more than I was aware. I am being replaced. I was notified four days ago.”
“I cannot believe it. Oh, Timothy, I am so sorry!”
“It is not such a bad thing, perhaps. Once the pain ceases, I shall probably be happier for it. But it is not easy when a man’s work and lifeblood are rejected by those very ones he has tried to serve. Although no doubt the Lord would have something to say to me about my present attitude with regard to such things.”
“It makes me angry!” said Catharine. “How dare they do this to the best minister in London?”
Timothy laughed. “Catharine, you will be a good tonic for me!” he said, still laughing.
“I mean it!” she said. “I have a good mind to make you give me the people’s names and then go to the city myself and tell them a thing or two!”
“Well, we shall see, my dear! I must admit,” he went on, more seriously again, “that I am concerned for a few in the congregation. Some had begun to make great progress toward seeking the heart of their Father in new ways. I think especially of your sister and brother-in-law, Jocelyn.”
“I am certain they will continue in the ways you have taught them.”
“Some will. But the engulfing tide of the evangelical elder-traditions will surge in to re-swallow others, and that is unfortunate. However, I must remind myself that God is far more concerned about their—”
He stopped as the unfamiliar figure of a woman descending the staircase caught his eye.
“Oh, I’m sorry . . . I didn’t know you had—” he began again.
Glancing back, Jocelyn saw Sister Hope approaching to join them.
“Oh, this is too wonderful,” exclaimed Jocelyn, the fact just dawning on her, “having the two of you here together!—Timothy, this is our special guest from Switzerland.”
“You remember, Timothy,” now put in Amanda excitedly, “—the chalet where I stayed. This is Sister Hope.”
“Hope,” added Jocelyn, “meet our dear friend, Rev. Timothy Diggorsfeld.”
“Hello, Rev. Diggorsfeld,” said Hope, walking toward him with a smile and outstretched hand, “I am Hope Guinarde.”
“I have indeed heard about you!” said Timothy, receiving her warmly. “But the Reverend won’t do at all. And I can already tell that neither is this an occasion for the Mister. Please call me Timothy. And let me say that it is an honor to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise,” smiled Hope.
“This is so exciting,” said Jocelyn. “I am sorry, Timothy, about what has happened. But I cannot help being happy you are here!”
“What did happen?” asked Hope. “I missed out on the beginning of the conversation.”
“Nothing serious,” replied Timothy as they all now made their way into the sitting room. “I have just been ousted from my pastorate is all.”
“On what grounds?” she asked.
“Let me just say that I apparently have a disconcerting way of putting things,” replied Timothy. “I encourage free thought. I enjoy exploring theological gray areas. And I believe that the Father of Jesus is a good and loving Father. That probably about sums it up, other than to add that the more tradition bound among my denomination tend to find some of my perspectives unnerving.”
Hope laughed with delight. “People have the same problem with me!”
“Then you and I will have to have a long talk,” rejoined Timothy. “I am anxious to hear about it.”
“As I am to learn of your disconcerting perspectives! There is nothing I enjoy more than a disconcerting doctrine.”
Timothy roared with glee. He liked this woman already.
Catharine, however, could not get over her profound annoyance at the reason for Timothy’s visit.
“I don’t see how you can laugh, Timothy,” she said. “Don’t you care what people think, that they say wrong things about you? It would make me so angry.”
Timothy sighed and quieted.
“It hurts if I dwell on it,” he answered after a moment, “that I could have given them so many years and yet at the first opportunity these few are ready to believe distortions and untruths about me. But the ones who care to know the truth will come to me and ask for my perspective and will try to sort it out for themselves. As for those who don’t care to find out the truth, I don’t suppose there is much I can do, and I will have to grow to a point where I no longer care.”
“You are not there yet?” asked Hope.
Timothy smiled. “Sad to say, no,” he replied. “It hurts, though I am embarrassed to admit it. I wish I were full enough of love that I did not notice when others do me wrong. But then I am not quite done with this life, and the flesh does still pester me more than I would like.”
50
Do Your Will, Lord
Later that same evening, all the inhabitants of Heathersleigh Hall, including Sarah Ministerly, Hector Farnham, Elsbet Conlin, Timothy Diggorsfeld, Hope Guinarde, and Jocelyn Rutherford and her two daughters, Amanda and Catharine, gathered informally in the sitting room.
Sarah and Jocelyn were busy serving everyone tea and light snacks. Hope was showing Betsy how to turn a flat sheet
of paper, by many twists, folds and unfolds and refolds, and other mysterious crinklings and shapings, into a little paper donkey.
Timothy and Catharine were enjoying yet another laugh over Catharine’s plan to march to Birmingham and take the denominational headquarters by storm.
Amanda had asked Hector which had been her father’s favorite horses and why, and for the last half an hour had been listening to an animated breeding history of Heathersleigh’s stables.
If only Maggie could be with them, thought Jocelyn, then all would be nearly complete.
Timothy intended to stay a few days, then return to London to begin preparations for packing up his belongings and few earthly possessions. Beyond that his plans were uncertain.
He and Hope had hit it off immediately and could not already be two more kindred spirits in the Lord had they known one another for twenty years. That afternoon they had ridden out together to see the recuperating Maggie, had enjoyed a stroll in the heather garden, and had been talking continuously almost from the moment of Timothy’s unexpected arrival.
“I hope you will consider my offer, Timothy,” Jocelyn said, approaching with a tray of biscuits. “You may have a room to yourself rent free for as long as you like. It could not suit me better if you stayed for the rest of your life! You may use Charles’s office for study, for writing, to use as your own.”
“Timothy, why don’t you write a book!” exclaimed Catharine.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” replied Sister Hope.
“The Scotsman started writing because he was removed from his church too,” added Catharine.
“Yes, I am familiar with the story,” said Timothy, “—Arundel, it was.”
“Didn’t you meet him once?” asked Jocelyn.
“Yes, after discovering his books I made the pilgrimage to Italy to see if I might catch a glimpse of him. I’d forgotten to tell you and Charles about it.”
“You actually met him . . . in person?” said Hope.
Timothy nodded. “He received me graciously,” he said. “There was a gentleness to his spirit that somehow reminded me of one of the great apostles of old—humility, strength, spiritual fire, even holiness. However, he was very elderly at the time. Our encounter was brief. I wanted to ask about his experience in the pastorate but could not bring myself to do so. I had always wondered what it must have been like for him, so when I returned to England, I visited his former church in Arundel. When several years later I read in the Times that he had died, I wept.”
“A remarkable story,” said Hope. “Perhaps it shall be for you to follow his example.”
“It would seem I am following it now in matters of my church more than I would have ever dreamed of doing.”
“And perhaps now the time has come for you likewise to leave the pulpit to preach to a wider audience through your pen.”
Timothy smiled. “You are all very kind,” he said. “I appreciate your encouragement, Jocelyn, and your generous offer. But does the Lord want my new home to be in Devon? That is the question. My heart would leave London in an instant. But I must go where he wants me. I must do what he wants. If he wants me in the city, I must be willing. I intend to talk to Stuart tomorrow and seek his counsel and prayer on the matter as well.”
“When will you return to London?” asked Hope as Jocelyn set the tray down and took a seat.
“In two or three days,” replied Timothy.
“I must return to the city as well,” said Hope. “I have a number of things I must attend to there.”
“Why not join me?” exclaimed Timothy. “We shall ride in on the train together.”
“Splendid,” said Hope. “I cannot think of anything I would enjoy more.”
“I wish I had a guestroom to offer you, but the parsonage is small, and,” Timothy added with a sigh, “as you know, I can hardly any longer even consider it my own. One of my first decisions will be what to do about lodgings after this month is out.”
“Timothy,” pleaded Catharine, “please come to Devon and live at Heathersleigh and write books! Heathersleigh would become famous if we had a renowned author living here.”
He laughed again.
“We shall see, Catharine!”
Gradually the mood quieted. Slowly all the individual conversations ceased, and their collective spirit, as of one accord, was drawn to prayer.
Jocelyn was the first to break the silence.
“Dear Lord, our Father,” she prayed, “how much we have to thank you for, especially one another. None of us have whole families left, yet we are family for each other. You are so good to us. We have all felt the pain of loss. I lost my husband and my son. Hope lost her husband. Betsy and Amanda and Catharine all lost their fathers. Timothy has now lost his church. Yet we have you. You are our good and loving Father, and we praise you even in the midst of our earthly losses and our earthly suffering, because you are good, and you love us, and you always keep us in the palm of your hand.”
As Jocelyn’s prayers ceased, everyone in the room reflected on the words she had just spoken. Except for Hope, who had the sisters at the chalet, and Sarah who had a sister in the city, and Jocelyn’s sister Edlyn, this was all the family the rest of them had in the world.
“We find ourselves facing uncertainty in our lives,” now prayed Timothy. “We find sudden change all around us—my dear Jocelyn and Amanda and Catharine with the loss of their Charles and George, Betsy now without her father, and myself now suddenly without my church. We seek your guidance, Lord. Show us your will.”
“And about my marriage, Lord,” added Amanda. “Show me what you want me to do . . . and give me strength to obey you.”
“And how you want us to use Heathersleigh,” added Jocelyn. “We desire that our lives and this place you have provided be what you want it to be. We do not know what your purpose for the future is for Heathersleigh or for us, but we want it to be your will that is done, not our own.”
“We pray too for Grandma Maggie,” prayed Catharine. “Restore her to health and vitality, Lord, and we thank you so much for all her life has meant to us.”
“Lord,” prayed Hope after another brief silence, “as anxious as I was about leaving my dear chalet, I should have known I could trust you. For you were sending me to a new place of life, with new friends, new brothers and sisters. I feel as at home here as if I were back in Switzerland. I pray for my dear sisters at home. Be at work in all their lives, and keep them close to one another.”
Her lips stilled as she silently prayed for guidance concerning the other matter which was on her mind. But she could say nothing openly about it yet.
“Do your will with us, Lord,” she added. “Only your will.”
“Sustain and uplift us in our weakness, Father,” Timothy now prayed. “We confess our weakness to understand and to trust you in our pain, in our uncertainty. We do not always know what you want us to do, except we do know what you want to do in us—that is for us to trust you. Thank you for bringing me to these friends to sustain me in the rich fellowship of the Spirit during this time of trial for me. Thank you for their love and encouragement.”
“And we thank you for Timothy, Lord,” added Jocelyn.
“Thank you for the new blessing of allowing me to know my sister and your daughter Hope,” Timothy went on. “Thank you for her contribution to the life at Heathersleigh. We feel life here, Lord . . . your life. We all continue to feel the pain when we think of dear Charles and George. But we know they are with you, and we know you are enriching our lives in new ways, even through this loss.”
Timothy paused, and when he began again his voice was soft and full of emotion. He was near tears as he prayed.
“And with this new loss that has come to me, I ask for your guidance as well as your sustaining strength. Sometimes I feel so weak, so unable to trust you. I have been walking with you so long, and yet have come such a short way. But you know my heart, and that my desire is to walk with you in trust and obedience. Help me, Lord, and
guide my steps at this hour when my future is uncertain.”
His voice faltered. Hope now prayed again.
“Help us remember in whatever crisis we face,” she said, “that when we feel we are hanging on to a rope for dear life in the middle of a dark, bottomless well, even when the rope is unraveling, that in the center of it is a strong steel cable called God is good, and that as long as we hang on, you will eventually pull us up to you.”
“Amen, Lord,” said Timothy again. “And I pray for the dear people at New Hope Chapel, that you will keep them growing toward truth, and growing toward you. I pray especially for my brother Roul and my sisters Packer and Paulus. Be real to them, Lord, in new ways . . . fresh, alive. Prick their brains and hearts to inquire more deeply into your nature and your purposes both for mankind and for themselves. Draw them all close to your heart.”
“Guide us through life’s uncertainties, hardships, sufferings,” added Jocelyn. “Let us never lose sight of your goodness, though circumstances unravel around us.”
Again it fell silent. For many long minutes they sat in prayerful contemplation. Gradually one by one they rose and made their way to their rooms.
51
Departure
The next afternoon, Hope again saw Betsy alone outside and followed her out across the lawn. Betsy heard the door close behind her, turned, saw Hope, then came bounding toward her. They met in embrace, then Betsy took Hope’s hand and began pulling her across the lawn.
“Come, Sister Hope,” she said excitedly.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I have something to show you!”
She led to the edge of the wood and took a few steps into the trees, still tugging on Sister Hope’s hand, gradually slowing as she went.
Finally she stopped, took her hand out of Hope’s, and gently parted the shrubbery of a bush about four feet high.
A New Dawn Over Devon Page 23
