Great wisdom from fictional clergy

 Many of our favourite classics of the western world are full of Christian ministers from all sorts of denominations. And heaven knows, the clergy of celebrated fiction are an odd bunch who say all sorts of outrageous nonsense. Look no further than Jane Austen's obnoxious parsons or Charlotte Bronte's ridiculous curates or Barbara Kingsolver's condemnatory, misguided Reverend Price. Then there's the likes of the rigid, destructive Father Reynaud from Joanne Harris' Chocolat. Since so many crooked ministers pop up in the world of literature, it's well worth chalking up a hallelujah whenever a good one raises his head! 

Here's a short list of clergy from classics or bestsellers with genuinely sound or thought-provoking wisdom for us to take on board.  

1) Father Jean Latour (from Death Comes for the Archbishop).

Where there is great love, there is always miracles.

This young man has a fascinating grasp on the nature of divine encounters. He and his best friend, Father Joseph Vaillant, are walking along discussing 'thin places' such as Lourdes, where astounding miracles seem to happen on a regular basis. Father Joseph wistfully comments that he wishes he could visit one, to which Father Jean has a decisive reply.

'Where there is great love, there is always miracles. One might almost say that an apparition is human vision cemented by divine love. The miracle of the church seems to me to rest not so much upon faces or voices of healing power coming suddenly near to us from afar off, but upon our perceptions being made finer, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what is there about us always.' 

I love his conviction that a veil simply exists between our everyday lives and a wonderful realm beyond our five sense which is not really as mind-blowing as we may imagine. Not to mention his insinuation than any place has the potential to be as holy as any other. Well spoken, Father Jean. 

2) Reverend John Knox Meredith (from the Anne Series by L.M. Montgomery).

God is infinitely little as well as infinitely big.

During the grim WW1 era of Rilla of Ingleside, Reverend Meredith discusses the mystery of divine protection with Miss Gertrude Oliver. Gertrude mentions her suspicion that the carnage of fallen soldiers and their grieving loved ones may make no more impression on the Almighty than the toppling of an ant hill does on us. Reverend John has a ready reply.

'You forget that an infinite power must be infinitely little as well as infinitely great. We are neither, therefore there are things too little as well as too great for us to apprehend. To the Infinitely Little, an ant is of as much importance as a mastodon.'

Three cheers, Reverend John! He's so staunch in his faith that the God who knows each hair on our heads, or when a sparrow falls, has the tiniest things in his sight, and they are no way as significant (or insignificant) as we may assume them to be. Including ourselves. 

3) Reverend Francis Welles (from The Signature of All Things).

The miracle is in my own head.

This diminutive minister serves a congregation of native Tahitians who put him through his paces, because they keep demanding observable, in-your-face miracles which he (and by extension his God) cannot deliver. Reverend Welles believes that he can offer them nothing but the miracle which occurred in his own head. He used to be a wild reprobate but now professes to know deep in his heart that without God's saving grace, he'd be a wretch. He can't blame the Tahitians for not feeling that's a sufficient miracle, for they have no access to the hugely contrasting states of his heart before and after. Here is what Reverend Francis tells the main character, Alma Whittaker.

'I can scarcely fault them for they cannot see into my heart. They cannot see the darkness that was once there, nor can they see what has replaced it. But to this day, it is the only miracle I have to offer, and you see, it is a humble one.' 

But no less of a miracle for all that. This man is a self-sacrificing hero all through the novel. 

4) Father Zossima (from The Brothers Karamazov).

The butterfly effects extends from 19th century Russia to us. 

A huge chunk of this brick-thick classic is chock full of this man's homilies, and to young Alyosha Karamazov, Fr Zossima is a hero, saint and worthy role model. Therefore it's well worth choosing one of his many contributions for this list.

Zossima exhorts his listeners to be loving and inoffensive to children, which includes making sure that our own appearance is pleasant and seemly. To those who think these two things seem to have no connection one to the other, Zossima has this to say.

'You pass by a little child, you pass by spitefully with foul language and a wrathful heart; you may not have noticed the child, but he has seen you. And your face, ugly and profane, will perhaps remain in his defenceless heart. You may not know it, but you have perhaps sown an evil seed in him and it may grow, and all because you did not exercise sufficient care before a child, because you did not foster in yourself a discreet, active love.'

Father Zossima goes on to explain that this matters greatly, because everything in the world is connected. The impression you and I leave on random kids we pass may have more far-reaching repercussions in the world out there than we might ever imagine. Dismissing any moment as transient and unimportant is shortsighted on our part, so we should always present our best face to the world.

5) Sister Beatrix (from The Harp in the South).

God has his own ways of giving us experience. 

She is standing in as proxy for Father Cooley, but the solemn and austere nun who has always made the Darcy sisters a trifle nervous says exactly the right thing at the right time. Rowena Darcy is a young woman who has undergone a traumatic experience from which she struggles to recover physically and emotionally. She has been beaten by thugs and lost the baby she carried. There's a flurry of anxiety in the Darcy household when Sisters Beatrix and Theophilus are on their way. They half expect disapproval, but Sister Beatrix has this to say.

'God has his own ways of giving us experience, Rowena. Don't regret all the pain you have suffered. You will learn in the long run that it gave you wisdom or strength. Lift up your heart, as Father says in the mass, and be glad that God thought you worthy to go through this trial for his sake and your own.' 

Somehow, everything seems transformed once she's departed, and they learn to look at hardship through a lens of not being wasted.   

Those are five favourite incidents that spring to my mind, and I'm hoping that including them all together in the one spot may impart something of the same wow factor I got out of them individually. If any of you can think of any other admirable fictional clergy whose words and presence have affected you the pages, I'd love you to share.