‘I’m sorry,’ I said in the special meek voice of the monk who concedes his recalcitrance. ‘I wouldn’t like you to trouble the Bishop when I can see so plainly that I’ve been in error, giving way to anger and making this difficult interview so very much more unpleasant for you than it should have been. Let me now try to make your task easier by asking for your advice. I can’t give up the healing; I believe it to be a call from God. But what can I do to stop it exacerbating the divisions in the community?’
Aysgarth said without hesitation: ‘Don’t use the parish church for the healing in future – in fact try to keep the healing ministry as separate as possible from your parish duties. Is it possible, do you think, that you could confine all future healing to some quiet corner of the Manor?’
And then I knew I was face to face at last with the chapel of my vision.
I have long been interested in the claims of spiritual healers, about which I am perhaps unduly sceptical.
W. R. INGE
Dean of St Paul’s 1911–1934
A Pacifist in Trouble
So enrapt was I by the fact that the chapel was now poised to move to the centre of my ministry that I found myself capable of penning my first frank letter to Francis for some months.
‘I confess I’ve found my life as a country priest difficult,’ I wrote, ‘and no doubt this was only to be expected, since I took on the curacy for the wrong reasons (yes, I admit it – better late than never!), but I’m happy to report that at last events appear to be moving in a more promising direction.’ And having given a detailed account of my new ministry I described the service of healing with an enthusiasm which I was careful to temper with modesty.
‘Unfortunately,’ I continued, my pen travelling with increasing fluency over the paper, ‘the Archdeacon now informs me that the bigoted minority who have consistently opposed my efforts to improve the spiritual life of this parish have been protesting about my use of the church for what they are pleased to call quackery, and it’s now been suggested to me by Aysgarth himself that I should confine my healing to “a quiet corner of the Manor”. Could there be a clearer indication that I’m called to use the chapel? I think not. I also see at last why the back pews must be removed: we’ll be obliged to create extra space
for the wheelchairs. So bearing all these things in mind I have no doubt now that this ministry of healing represents a true call from God, and this confidence will give me the patience to tolerate the ill-natured opposition. I admit I find the dissension in the parish tedious, but of course I see now that the parish is only of secondary importance here.
‘You will be wondering about my marriage so let me report that we’re very happy with no problems whatsoever. No doubt you’ll want to know what form Anne’s parish work has finally taken, and I can tell you with pride that despite the heavy demands on her time made by her war-work on the estate she has provided notable assistance at a number of special events held to raise money for charity. Certainly she gives me constant moral support and I couldn’t wish for a better wife. Indeed I’ve quite overcome my fear that I’d be miserable as a married man – and I’m delighted to tell you that I’ve also quite overcome my fear of fatherhood. Anne is expecting a child in September.
‘I confess I could not immediately overcome this latter fear, but finally after a time of considerable torment a miracle happened. Francis, I’m not a man who uses such language lightly, but in my opinion this incident was a gift from God. I experienced another “showing”, and after that I was aware only of the kind of joy and comfort received by Julian of Norwich. I don’t have to remind you of the quotation.’
Having described the vision of Nicholas I added: ‘I feel God wouldn’t have been so generous to me if I’d been on the wrong road, and that’s why I believe this showing was not only a promise that I’m to have the sort of son I’ve always wanted but also a confirmation of my call to the ministry of healing. It’s hard to describe how I felt afterwards, but it reminded me of how I feel when people ask me to heal them: all my problems fall away and none of my difficulties seem to matter any more. Isn’t it wonderful that by the grace of God I can cast aside my self-centred preoccupations in order to serve others? I really believe that in this new ministry I shall both do good and find the most unique fulfilment at last.’
I reread the letter carefully but could find no fault with it,
and greatly relieved to have renewed an honest correspondence with my spiritual director I waited in pleasant anticipation for a benign and laudatory reply.
‘My dear Jon,’ wrote Francis by return, ‘how very pleased I am that you have at last felt able to write to me at length. Of course you’ve been much in my thoughts during this silence, and now that we’re in touch again I have the satisfaction of knowing that at least one of my prayers has been answered.
‘First of all may I congratulate you on your impending fatherhood and say that I’m extremely glad that you’ve been able to welcome the prospect. Your description of the new “showing” is certainly intriguing. Have you discussed it with Cyril? You will remember how adamant Father Darcy was that you should report any psychic experience immediately to your spiritual director and/or confessor so that the experience can be properly analysed. I’m not suggesting that this latest vision is a demonic delusion – your peace and joy afterwards are certainly more compatible with divine intervention – but it’s always possible that such an experience isn’t quite as you think it is and is in fact conveying a message which you’ve entirely failed to read.
‘I hesitate to conduct an analysis from a distance but I’d like to put two questions to you. (I) Did this child look
exactly
as you did according to the photograph taken when you were four? (Forget the difference in clothes.) I know a remarkable likeness can exist between fathers and sons, but an exact replica must be extremely rare, perhaps even impossible. (2) Who was the woman calling Nicholas from the terrace? Are you quite sure this voice was unknown to you? You’re treating this experience as a glimpse of the future but in fact it could equally well be a bizarre distortion of the present and past.
‘I trust I’m not impertinent enough to discuss your marriage with you until I know a great deal more about it than the
euphoric picture you painted in your letter. Suffice it to say that I’m delighted that you’ve been rendered so charmingly uxorious. I must confess, however, to a twinge of anxiety about your wife who seems to be trying to be all things to all men: a farmer dedicated to producing more food for a nation at war, a wife dedicated to producing the ideal marital partner for a harassed country priest, and a woman dedicated to producing an infant. Dare I ask if you’ve actually had a frank conversation with her about the emotional, mental and physical stresses of her life at present? No, I daren’t! Let me turn instead to your ministry of healing, a subject on which, unlike matrimony, I’m rather more qualified to speak candidly.
‘Of course I’m deeply interested by the turn your life has now taken, but I’m also deeply perturbed. I need not mention Father Darcy in this context; his opinion on your suitability for such a ministry is unlikely to have been forgotten by you, although you may well feel entitled to dismiss his opinion as irrelevant now that you believe you’re responding to a call from God. However I feel bound to remind you that such a ministry poses great problems for those who undertake it, and as it’s vital that you should be in first-class spiritual health in order to perform such work successfully, I urge you to see Cyril
at least
once a week to make your confession and discuss any difficulties which may arise. I’d also like you to come up to town for a couple of days to see me. I’ve no wish to cast any aspersion on Cyril, who’s certainly more than capable of giving you the proper direction, but there’s so much about you that Cyril doesn’t know and something tells me – am I being excessively cynical? – that you haven’t been too busy enlightening him.
‘There’s more I could say but I shall hold my fire. I could ask, for instance, how the parish is going to fare now that you’ve dismissed it as being of only secondary importance. I could also ask whether the miraculous feeling of release from your problems, a phenomenon which you say accompanies your work as a healer, could not better be described as a psychological escape from reality. However I shan’t ask either of those tiresome questions, my dear Jon, because I’m sure I’ve already
irritated you quite beyond endurance, so all I shall now do is conclude this letter by begging you to let me know by return when I’m to have the pleasure of seeing you again.’
This letter did indeed make me feel exceedingly irritated, and it occurred to me to wonder if Francis were jealous – subconsciously, of course – of my young wife and my new career in the world. Even a man who thrived on the cenobitic life was never immune from the desire to embrace the worldly blessings he had renounced, and deciding that Francis was being influenced by feelings which his jealous nature could not quite control I wrote severely but not (I hoped) unkindly:
‘My dear Francis, I thank you for your letter but regret that I’m unable to accept your invitation. Much as I would like to see you I’m reluctant to leave Anne on her own at this time.
‘With regard to my new ministry, let me hasten to assure you that I’m well aware of the problems; I’m neither ignorant nor a fool. A very heavy responsibility has certainly been placed upon me, but since I have no doubt whatsoever that the call is genuine I believe that by the grace of God I shall be granted the strength and wisdom to respond in the right way. The latest “showing”, as I tried with apparent lack of success to explain, indicates that I can proceed into the future with confidence; I was unmistakably assured that all would be well. The fact that I’m being driven to use the chapel for my ministry – even driven to remove the back pews – also leaves me in no doubt that my call is unfolding in accordance with my vision.
‘What heavy weather you’ve made of the showing! The child was certainly very like me, but how can I say whether or not he was a replica? I had to compare this little boy with my memory of a sepia photograph which I haven’t seen for many years. You’re implying, I know, that he was not my future son but a mirror-image drummed up out of my subconscious mind, but although I myself thought this at first I was convinced by the end of my vision that I was mistaken. If he were indeed my past self, why didn’t the woman call him Jon? You’re implying, of course, when you ask who the woman was, that at some time in the past I heard a woman call out: “Nicholas! Nicholas!” and
that my memory has now tossed up this forgotten incident to complete my delusion. However a far more simple explanation is that the woman was the child’s nurse; Anne is already talking of engaging a nanny for the baby.
‘As you say you don’t intend to ask the questions which you nonetheless posed in your last paragraph, I really fail to see why I should answer them. But of course I must assure you that I shan’t neglect my parish duties. Your suggestion that I’m in reality serving myself (by running away from my problems) instead of serving God (by responding to a genuine call) is worthy of Father Darcy at his most malign and I believe my most effective response is to preserve a dignified silence. I deeply regret that you should take such a suspicious, cynical view of my current activities.’
Francis wrote in return: ‘My dear Jon, I’m extremely sorry if I’ve given you offence. Remember that I write only with your spiritual welfare in mind and remember too that a morbid sensitivity to criticism is often a symptom of an unhealthily rampant pride.
‘Taking my courage in both hands I’ll now point out a couple of distortions in your logic. (1) I see no evidence in your showing that the reassurance “all will be well” extends beyond your family life. If the showing be genuine it certainly has nothing to do with your ministry of healing and cannot be regarded as setting the seal of approval on it. (2) You mention the removal of the back pews as if this too were a confirmation of your call, but in fact all the removal proves is the remarkable degree of clairvoyance you achieved when you saw the interior of the chapel in your vision. You may now indeed feel you have a cogent reason for removing the pews, but this has no bearing whatsoever on whether or not your call is valid. You’re like someone who sets a table and says: “Now that the table’s laid I’ve proved that dinner’s about to be served!” But in fact the larder’s empty and no one’s on duty in the kitchen.
‘I can’t stress too strongly how careful you must be not to jump to convenient conclusions. Why have you really undertaken this ministry of healing? It may well be a call from God,
but until you’re completely honest with yourself about your motives true discernment can only be displaced by wishful thinking, a self-deceiving frame of mind which will clog your psyche as you seek to open it to receive the Holy Spirit. Go and see Cyril, open your heart to him and let him help you put your current life under the necessary microscope.
‘If you’re still reading this letter I shall now deliver my parting thrust which I’ve saved to the end in the hope that it’ll ring the vital alarm bell resoundingly in your ears: REMEMBER WHITBY!’
I laughed. Then I exclaimed: ‘What a blow below the belt!’ and tearing up the letter I tossed the fragments abruptly into the wastepaper basket.
‘Have you heard from Francis yet?’ said Anne who knew I had finally written to him at length.
‘Yes.’
‘What does he think of the healing?’
‘He said he was deeply interested by the turn my life has taken.’