Some were cold
and narrow, some seemed theatrical and superficial, some stern and
terrible, none simple, sweet, and strong enough for humanity's many
needs. There was too much machinery, too many walls, laws, and
penalties between the Father and His children. Too much fear, too
little love; too many saints and intercessors; too little faith in
the instincts of the soul which turns to God as flowers to the sun.
Too much idle strife about names and creeds; too little knowledge of
the natural religion which has no name but godliness, whose creed is
boundless and benignant as the sunshine, whose faith is as the
tender trust of little children in their mother's love.
Nowhere did Christie find this all-sustaining power, this paternal
friend, and comforter, and after months of patient searching she
gave up her quest, saying, despondently:
"I'm afraid I never shall get religion, for all that's offered me
seems so poor, so narrow, or so hard that I cannot take it for my
stay. A God of wrath I cannot love; a God that must be propitiated,
adorned, and adored like an idol I cannot respect; and a God who can
be blinded to men's iniquities through the week by a little beating
of the breast and bowing down on the seventh day, I cannot serve.
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