The conversation turned to the article Jack had found, “God and the American People.” It was contemptuous of the entire enterprise of religion in the United States. But it was awkwardly reasoned, so the two old clergymen could enjoy refuting it. They had labored earnestly at propagating the true faith, which had never seemed to them to have national traits or boundaries. Nor did they feel directly implicated in whatever eccentricities and deficiencies in the local practice of it they might be obliged to grant.
Jack came out on the porch with a glass of lemonade and took a chair. There was a little silence. “Reverend,” he said.
Ames said, “Jack, it’s good to see you,” and he glanced away, at Boughton, at the glass in his hand.
Jack watched him for a moment. Then he said, “I heard you two laughing about that magazine. It’s pretty foolish, all in all. Could I see it for a second? Thanks. I thought he made one interesting point in here somewhere, though. He said the seriousness of American Christianity was called into question by our treatment of the Negro. It seems to me there is something to be said for that idea.”
Boughton said, “Jack’s been looking at television.”
“Yes, I have. And I have lived in places where there are Negro people. They are very fine Christians, many of them.”
Boughton said, “Then we can’t have done so badly by them, can we? That is the essential thing.”
Jack looked at him, and then he laughed. “I’d say we’ve done pretty badly. Especially by Christian standards. As I understand them.” Jack sank back into his chair as if he were the most casual man on earth and said, “What do you think, Reverend Ames.”
Ames looked at him. “I have to agree with you. I’m not really familiar with the issue. I haven’t been following the news as closely as I once did. But I agree.”
“It isn’t exactly news—” Jack smiled and shook his head. “Sorry, Reverend,” he said. Robby brought the tractor to show him, let him work the steering wheel, ran the tractor along the arm and over the back of his chair.
Boughton said, “I don’t believe in calling anyone’s religion into question because he has certain failings. A blind spot or two. There are better ways to talk about these things.”
Ames said, “Jack does have a point, though.”
“And I have a point, too. My point is that it’s very easy to judge.”
That was meant to end the conversation, but Jack, who was studying the ice in his glass, said, “True. Remarkably easy in this case, it seems to me.”
“All the more reason to resist that impulse!”
Jack laughed, and Ames looked at him, not quite reprovingly. Jack’s gaze fell.
Boughton said, “If there is one thing the faith teaches us clearly it is that we are all sinners and we owe each other pardon and grace. ‘Honor everyone,’ the Apostle says.”
“Yes, sir. I know the text. It’s the application that confuses me a little.”
Ames said, “I think your father has shown us all a good many times how he applies that text.”
Jack sat back and held up his hands, a gesture of surrender. “Yes, sir. Yes, he has. For which I have special reason to be grateful.”
Ames nodded. “And so have I, Jack. So have I.”
There was a silence. Her father averted his face, full as it was of vindication and conscious humility.
Lila came up the walk. Jack saw her first and smiled and stood. Ames turned and saw her and stood, also. When she came through the screen door, Boughton gestured toward his friend and his son and said, “I’d stand up, too, my dear, if I could.”
“Thank you, Reverend.” She said, “I can’t stay. I just come to tell John I fixed a supper for him. It’s cold cuts and a salad, so there’s no hurry about it.”
Boughton said, “Join us for a few minutes. Jack will get you a chair.”
Jack said, “Please take mine, Mrs. Ames. I’ll bring one from the kitchen.” And he seated her beside his father with that gallantry of his that exceeded ordinary good manners only enough to make one wonder what was meant by it.
Glory thought Jack might have made an excuse to have a word or two with her about how she thought things were going, so she went into the kitchen after him. She was ready to tell him it might be time to mention the weather, baseball, even politics. But he pointedly did not meet her gaze and went out to the porch again.
Ames said to his wife, “We were just talking about the fact that the way people understand their religion is an accident of birth, generally speaking. Where they were born.”
Jack said, “Or what color they were born. I mean, that is a subject of the article. Indirectly. It seems to me.”
Lila could never really be drawn into these conversations, though Ames tried to include her. She seemed more interested by the fact that people talked about such things than she was by anything they talked about, and she watched the currents of emotion pass among them, watchful when they were intent and amused when they laughed.
Boughton said, “Yes, that’s very interesting.” Then he fell back on his experience of Minneapolis, his closest equivalent to foreign travel. “Mother and I went up to the Twin Cities from time to time, and we saw Lutheran churches everywhere. Just everywhere. A
