Charles Williams writing about a church of which I was the Pastor in the 1990s. As he reached the other side he saw
before him a church. It was a small, old,
rather ugly Wesleyan church; the doors were open because of the heat, and apparently
the service was not yet over. Richardson,
casually attracted, looked at his watch: nearly nine. He paused on the pavement and looked in. It must, he thought, be some kind of
after-service, and, after a few moments' search, the notice-board confirmed the
idea. On the third Sunday in the month
there was apparently the Breaking of Bread.
It must, he thought, be a rather out-of-date place; most of the Nonconforming
Churches had adopted the words "Holy Communion." Besides, this
building still called itself "Zion," which was surely a rather old-fashioned
title. But perhaps he was wrong; he
didn't pretend to be an expert in ecclesiology. All that sort of thing was very well for the
minds that could use it; he couldn't use it, neither the small dull gatherings
of the Evangelicals or the large gaudy assemblies of the Catholics. "The flight of the alone to the
Alone." But no doubt this was proper to them--if it increased their speed
upon the Way. Speed, speed, and always
speed! His mind remembered that wild careering herd; so, and swifter than so,
he desired the Return. He seemed to
hear the beating hooves again, and while for a moment he attended to that
interior echo something huge and rapid drove past him and into the church. Certainly he had felt it, though there was
nothing visible, but he had felt the movement of a body and heard the sound of
hooves. Within him his chief concern
renewed itself in a burst of imperious ardour; he burned towards the--no, not
fire; no, not darkness; no words, no thought, nothing but...nothing but...well,
but--that which was when all other "buts" had been removed, and all
hindrances abolished. For a moment he
felt a premonition; something wholly new and exquisite touched him and was gone.
He
was standing in front of the church and looking into it. There didn't seem to be many there; one or
two figures were moving at the upper end; a few more were scattered about the
small building. They were seated as if
waiting--perhaps for the Breaking of Bread; and as he gazed a gleam of extreme
brightness struck through the building and vanished, for the lights within had
flashed upon something moving that caught and reflected their radiance in one
shining curve as if a sword had been swung right across the church. Blinded by its intensity he took a step back,
then he recovered and looked again.
This time--and his spirit livened
again with his habitual desire--he saw it.
It was standing at the other end of Zion; it was something like a horse
in shape and size, but of a dazzling whiteness, and from the middle of its
forehead there grew a single horn. He
recognized the myth of poems and pictures; he saw the Divine Unicorn gently
sustaining itself in that obscure and remote settlement of the faithful. He recognized the myth, but he recognized something
else too, only he could not put a name to it.
The thing moved, pure and stately, a few paces down the aisle, and as it
did so he was transported within himself a million miles upon his way. It moved with the beauty of swiftness,
however small the distance was that it went; it lowered and tossed its head,
and again that gleaming horn caught all the light in Zion, and gathered it, and
flashed it back in a dazzling curve of purity.
As the brightness passed he saw that within they were still intent upon
the service; the deacons were bearing the Bread of the Communion to the few who
were there, and as they did so it seemed to the watcher that the unicorn moved
its head gently in the direction of each, nay, that some eidolon of itself,
though it remained unchanged in the centre, went very swiftly to each, and then
he lost sight of the images.
Only now he was aware--and only
aware--of a sensation of rushing speed passing through his being; it was not
for him to ad or e the unicorn; he was the unicorn. He and those within, and others--who and
when and where he did not know, but others--a great multitude whom no man could
number--they went swiftly, they were hastening to an end. And again the shining horn flung back the
earthly lights around it, and in that reflection the seeker knew himself
speeding to his doom. So slow, so slow,
the Way had seemed; so swiftly, so swiftly, through aeons and universes, the
Principle, the Angel of man's concern, went onwards in unfailing strength. Yet it had not moved; it stood there still,
showing itself, as if in a moment's dream, to the fellows of devotion, so that each
beheld and supposing it to be a second's fantasy determined not to speak of it. But
pure and high the ardour burned in every soul, as Zion shone in Zion, and time
hastened to its conclusion in them. The
minister gave out a hymn; the voices began it; the great beast of revelation
that stood there moved again, and as Richardson unconsciously moved also he felt
his arm caught from behind.
Startled and constraining himself,
he turned his head. Behind him, a little
to his left, clutching his arm, and staring at him with fierce bloodshot eyes,
stood Foster. For a few seconds Richardson
did not take in the fact; the two remained staring. Then, he could not have told why, he broke
into a little laugh; Foster snarled at him, and the hand that was on the
other's arm seemed to clutch and drag at it.
Richardson took a step or two backward, his eyes going once more to the
aisle as he did so. But this time he
could see nothing unusual; indeed, he felt doubtful already of what he had
seen, only he knew that there was working within him a swiftness more than he
had ever dreamed. The hesitations and sloths
that had often hampered him had vanished; he looked at Foster from a distance,
down a precipice from the forest of the unicorn to the plain of the lion.
Foster said, "It's here."
"It's always here," the younger man answered,
"but we have to go a long
way to find it."
Charles Williams
The Place of the Lion
(1933)
Chapter
Twelve