But if, by some incredible accident, there were here tonight a man who all his life had thus immensely misunderstood us, I would put this question to him: 'When those Christians met in those Catacombs, what sort of moral reputation had they in the streets above?
What tales were told of their atrocities by one educated Roman to another?
Suppose' (I would say to him), 'suppose that we are only repeating that still mysterious paradox of history.

Suppose we seem as shocking as the Christians because we are really as harmless as the Christians.

Suppose we seem as mad as the Christians because we are really as meek."' The applause that had greeted the opening sentences had been gradually growing fainter, and at the last word it stopped suddenly.

In the abrupt silence, the man with the velvet jacket said, in a high, squeaky voice-- "I'm not meek!" "Comrade Witherspoon tells us," resumed Gregory, "that he is not meek.
Ah, how little he knows himself! His words are, indeed, extravagant; his appearance is ferocious, and even (to an ordinary taste) unattractive.
But only the eye of a friendship as deep and delicate as mine can perceive the deep foundation of solid meekness which lies at the base of him, too deep even for himself to see.

I repeat, we are the true early Christians, only that we come too late.