“And also I think that the attention demanded in our service is a mistake—­it’s a mixture of two ideas; the liturgical ceremony which touches the eye and the emotion, rather than the reason; and the sermon and the prayer in which the reason is supposed to be concerned.  I think the Catholic idea is a better one, a solemnity performed, in which you don’t take part, but receive impressions.  There’s no greater strain on the mind than forcing it to follow a rapid and exalted train of intellectual and literary thought and expression.  I confess I don’t attempt that, it seems to me just a joyful and neighbourly business, where one puts the mind in a certain expectant mood, and is lucky if one carries a single thrill or aspiration away.”

“What do you do, then?” I said.

“Well, I meditate,” said Father Payne.  “I believe in meditation very much, and in solitude it is very hard work.  But the silent company of friends, and the old arches and woodwork, some simple music, a ceremony, and a little plan of thought going on—­that seems to me a fruitful atmosphere.  Some verse, some phrase, which I have heard a hundred times before, suddenly seems written in letters of gold.  I follow it a little way into the dark, I turn it over, I wonder about it, I enjoy its beauty.  I don’t say that my thoughts are generally very startling or poignant or profound; but I feel the sense of the Fatherly, tolerant, indulgent presence of God, and a brotherly affection for my fellow-men.  It’s a great thing to be in the same place with a number of people, all silent, and on the whole thinking quiet, happy, and contented thoughts.  It all brings me into line with my village friends, it gives me a social mood, and I feel for once that we all want the same things from life—­and that for once instead of having to work and push for them, we are fed and comforted.  ’Open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it’—­that’s a wholesome, childlike verse, you know.  The whole thing seems to me a simple device for producing a placid and expectant mood—­I don’t know anything else that produces it so well.”

“You mean it is something mystical—­almost hypnotic?” I said.

“Perhaps I should if I knew what those big words meant,” said Father Payne, smiling.  “No; church seems to me a thing that has really grown up out of human nature, not a thing imposed upon it.  I don’t like what may be called ecclesiasticism, partly because it emphasizes the intellectual side of belief, partly because it tries to cast a slur on the people who don’t like ceremonial, and whom it does not suit—­and most of all because ecclesiasticism aims at making you believe that other people can transact spiritual business on your account.  In these democratic days, you can’t have spiritual authority—­you have got to find what people need, and help them to find it for themselves.  The plain truth is that we don’t want dogma.  Of course it isn’t to be despised, because it once meant something, even if it does not now.