What Emma asked Abbot John

Emma sent Abbot John a thoughtful question that I think will resonate for many of us. Any of you who have read all the Hawk and the Dove books, including the three from Series 2, will quite likely immediately respond “Ah! Brother Felix!” — because what she outlines here is so much along the lines of the struggle he had/has, and his story is told in Brother Cyril’s Book and A Path of Serious Happiness. But I know Emma has not got as far as Series 2 yet, so Brother Felix will have to wait until she catches up with him. And yes, he wants to gently remind us it’s Father Felix now.

Emma, if you decide to skip a few books and read those two I mentioned, just to say that can be done without becoming completely bewildered, but of course there will be spoilers with regard to the books you skip over.

Someone who understands Felix very well indeed is my friend Debi Peck, who has written the most excellent pastoral book, The Hijacked Conscience. Emma, I commend that book to you. I think you would find it helpful.

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So, here’s the question Emma sent to Abbot John.

Something I want to ask is about healthy introspection/self-examination vs. obsessive and damaging introspection. I want so much to always do what's right and do it in the right way, without hurting any people or doing anything wrong in the process. It's such a strong desire, though, that it leads to what I've learned is a very unhealthy perfectionism, which keeps me terrified to take steps forward if they're not guaranteed to be the right ones, and then keeps me second-guessing beforehand and ever afterward about whether I did the right thing (in the right way, at the right time, to all the right effect—especially when other people are involved and will be affected). 

It also manifests in the area of what I believe, not just steps I take. Say I've searched the Scriptures on a particular matter and come to believe this is what God is saying; well, how can I be sure I have the right interpretation, especially if others have also searched the Scriptures and come to a different conclusion? How will I ever know which one is right? How can I ever believe and live in confidence regarding matters that aren't black-and-white this-or-thats?

I wondered if Father John could speak to this. How can I self-examine without vortexing into a spiral of uncertainty and fear that maybe I did wrong (with no way to unequivocally prove the rightness or wrongness of the action either way)? (Or, in regard to beliefs/interpretations: a spiral of uncertainty and fear that maybe I believe something wrong, and therefore might live wrongly because of it.)

It seems like it would have to be either all or nothing: either I self-examine—to infinity and unsatisfied compulsion—or I don't self-examine—leading to blindness and arrogant self-assurance. What's in the middle? I truly don't know how to land there, and I drive myself and sometimes others crazy with this need to KNOW that I'm doing right / believing right. I would love to hear any thoughts / insights / advice Father John could share about this.

I find Abbot John sitting at his big oak table in his atelier on this grey, misty October afternoon, with its lowering sky and the air full of damp. Brother Tom isn’t there — Brother Stephen is weaning and castrating the bull calves at this time of year, and usually needs Tom's help. If they aren’t doing that, they’ll be trimming the hedges.

It’s gloomy out of doors, but lovely in here. There’s a modest fire glowing on the hearth, fragrancing the air and taking the chill off the room, and the candles in the wall sconces are lit. Father John has a candle on his table as well, by the light of which he’s been reading the question I left with him.

One of the chairs that usually stand near the fireside has been moved for me to sit across from Father John, so I do. Oh, my goodness, I do like it here. The sense of calm and kindness, the sense of welcome and acceptance — I just love it, I treasure it; it’s become a rare thing in a touchy and antagonistic world.

“Thank you for this,” says Abbot John, looking up at me from the piece of paper I gave him; “and please say thank you to Emma. To live with a good conscience and do your best to walk in holiness is something beautiful. I esteem her for that.

“And you — I think  you might already know what I’m going to say — you have explored some of these matters with our Father Felix; who is well at the present time, settled and contented, although . . . well, let’s hope it lasts.

“The first thing that came to my mind, when I read Emma’s question, is to wonder — who is her confessor? Those of us who try with all our heart and soul to walk in the light authentically can so easily tie ourselves in knots over matters of conscience. Having the corrective of someone we trust and esteem bringing a different perspective can help a lot. Living under monastic discipline that’s a given, of course. It does have its frustrations, admittedly. If you live under obedience, there may be all kinds of courses of action that seem like straightforward common sense, but if your abbot or your novice master says ‘No', you just have to let it go. But when it comes to examination of conscience, it’s more often reassuring — it cuts the binding cords of tension and obsessive shame. To be heard, to be seen for what you are, by someone who accepts and understands, can be such good medicine. When you confess whatever vile and embarrassing thing you’ve done, and your confessor smiles and says, ‘Yes, we all do that,’ it's such a relief. And to hear his absolution, telling you with certainty that your (very real) sins are forgiven, is the best thing in the world, sometimes.

“But that might not be the framework Emma lives in. Maybe she just has to think things through for herself. If that’s her situation, I think my counsel would be to find a trusted friend — someone of holy life and intelligent mind, someone she can rely on for good counsel and wise discernment, to help her with these moral choices and matters of conscience.

“Then there’s her concern about interpreting the Scriptures — theologians have argued vehemently over this since the ink was wet on the page. I mean, look at the letter to the Galatians, St Paul saying, ‘When Peter came to Antioch I told him to his face I was opposed to what he was doing, because it was clearly wrong.’ Except it obviously wasn’t clear to Peter. And if those two great apostles had such entrenched differences of opinion, what hope is there for the rest of us? It’s a tangled knot, is this one. 

“I think — and heavens, I’m an abbot but I’m not God; I might be barking up the wrong tree entirely — I’d counsel two things about this. The first is that the New Testament urges us to be gentle, to be kind, to be mild-mannered, to cut each other a bit of slack, to be merciful. I dare to suggest that it might not matter if you’re right, but it always matters if you’re kind. If it comes to a choice between being right and being kind, choose to be kind — because if you do that, you’ll be right. Sometimes, of course, you have to be a lone voice speaking up for what you believe, sometimes you have to call someone out on seriously bad personal conduct, and sometimes you have to deliver unpalatable truths. Even then; be kind.

“The second thing I’d say is that even the Scriptures are not static, the books of the Bible don't all speak with one voice. They delineate a journey. For instance, the Old Testament Law says adulterers must be stoned to death; but when Jesus is confronted with someone caught in the very act of adultery, he will not condemn her. The Law teaches an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth — so, a system of enlightened justice that sought to place limits on vengeance. But the Sermon on the Mount teaches us to love our enemies, to bless those who curse us, to make peace and forgive, leaving any vengeance we had in mind in God’s hands. So Scripture isn’t fixed, it’s a pathway, a journey, it develops, it continues. The secret is — well, this is what I think, anyway — to look for the direction it travels, which is consistent. It’s travelling away from violence and towards peace, it’s developing justice into grace. It’s moving from exclusion to inclusion, so that in the Old Testament you get Jephthah thrown out of the family circle because of who his mother was, but in the gospels you get Jesus looking round the company of his friends saying, ‘These here are my mother, my brothers.” It gives hope to the lost and the lonely, it addresses the warring factions of tribalism. Look at where the scriptures are moving, and walk in that way; don’t get hooked up on legalising insistence on the static moment. Let it relax. Let it flower. See where it’s going. Live into the potential of hope and grace and love.

“And I’d just like to say that even people who are entirely certain they’re right sometimes get things all wrong. And that getting the wrong end of the stick is very human. God understands. In my own life, I do my best, and sometimes I get it wrong — and when I do, God forgives me. That’s how it is for all of us, isn’t it?

“Now then, little Ghost, in no time at all the bell for Vespers will be ringing; you’re welcome to come in to chapel with us if you’d like to do that. I hope what I’ve said to you is of some use to Emma. Tell her she will be in my prayers. And, please tell her that God loves her; he isn’t a tyrant. His kindness is very spacious, very understanding. God can cope with Emma being wrong about some things, and even with her messing up right royally on occasion. God . . . you know . . . God is on Emma’s side.”