What Rachel wanted to ask Abbot John

 Rachel said, "I would like to ask our beloved Abbot John how his theology has changed over the years in the monastery and how it has changed the way he oversees the abbey."

So I asked him. He thought about it a bit, and then he said, "Look, come and sit by the fire." So we did.

He thought about it a bit more, drew breath to speak and stopped a couple of times, and then he said this —

"I think, maybe, there are two aspects — two sides — to theology. There's the ageless faith and teaching of the gospels . . . well, all the Bible really, but anyway the gospels, the teaching of Jesus . . . and of Holy Church. Our pathway of faith shaped and structured by prayer and study and debate and trying to live it all for hundreds of years. That's one part of it. And it's a well that never runs dry, you know? Every time — and I do mean every time — I go to the gospels or the Rule, looking for inspiration and some kind of guiding light for a Chapter address or a homily for Mass, or anything else really, I find something new. It's a living flame, isn't it? Eternal but not static.

"So there's that. And it always served me well, right until I was made abbot. After that I discovered a second aspect, which . . . well it changed me — I mean, changed the man I am and shaped the choices I made.

"It was because of William, really. Trying to care for him pastorally and see things from his point of view. I think the root of it was that I'd never come across anyone so damaged, struggling so hard to create peace when his instincts all led to chaos by the shortest possible route.

"And the thing is, people responded to who he was and how he conducted himself by wanting to punish him. In all honesty, I think they just misunderstood him, but if that's the case then add me to the list of people who did, because he's not always the easiest man to live with.

"But then I had to make choices, because he came to me for refuge. Suicide is a mortal sin, and he tried to kill himself, and if he ever apologised for it, it certainly wasn't to me. But then our bishop wanted him brought to account for it, and since he was effectively apostate at the time — it was while he was away from us, with Madeleine — that might have meant they'd have hanged him. Even if they hadn't succeeded with that, because he was in fact still a priest, I shudder to think what other cruelties they might have enacted upon him.

"So I had to think what on earth to do to keep him safe. Which ended up with me being less than candid with our bishop Visitor, concealing William's whereabouts, and altogether being more economical with the facts than my conscience was used to.

"But that wasn't all, was it? Because, yes, what about Madeleine? He was in holy orders, wasn't he? Living under obedience and vowed to a consecrated life of celibacy — but — Madeleine! And yet, as it all unfolded, I saw how healing it was for him. To be held, intimately, to share a bed with someone, to be touched. I mean, for his whole life long, touch had mostly been violent and brutal. He needed what she did for him. 

"But then, what about taking him back? He was never sorry about his time with her, far from it — he treasured its memory.

"So, every step of the way it all took me further and further off the beaten track of orthodox interpretation of, and faithfulness to, everything I'd always thought inherent in our Rule and doctrine and the accepted norms of Holy Church.

"But it was the principle, do you see? Something, maybe about righteousness . . . that it's not about being correct but being true — to yourself, to one another, to love, to what's real in any given set of circumstances. I mean, if you don't start with reality, well, where can you go from there that's any good?

"I've searched my heart over and over about this. I love him for sure, dearly, but I don't think I was indulgent with him. I think — I'm not certain — that I just gave him the help he needed to leave his past behind. But doing that took me off what I'd always seen to be the strait and narrow, leaving the rules and customs behind, just hanging on to the principle and making up the rest as I went along.

"So I came in the end to the second aspect of theology — as you might say, the practice as distinct from the theory. You know how a recipe is made up of two parts, the ingredients and the method? Well, I think the  scriptures and the tradition put the ingredients into my hands, but the method of combining and shaping them came from experience arising from particular circumstances. It was the same ingredients — love and truth and faith and hope and patience and humbling yourself and forgiving, all of that — but once they were all chopped up and mixed together and put through the fire, they looked a lot different from at the start. And not only that, but yes, you can have a recipe and it all looks fine on the page — but sometimes in real life you need to substitute what you actually have, for what the recipe says you should use. Something like that.

"Look, am I . . . does that . . . is any of that any help at all? So I'd say — please pass this on to your friend Rachel with my greetings and my love — that the teaching of Holy Church and the scriptures are abiding, unchanging and universal; but how you apply them can differ startlingly depending on life circumstances.

"I hope I remained faithful, though. I really hope I did. It all proved to be more complex than I ever imagined. I tried to keep it simple. I tried to hold on tight to the foundational principle of love. Is that all right? Does that help?"

That's what he said.