Absolute Truths (17 page)

FIVE

‘
Nothing blinds us to the true and living image of God except
the false man-made idol, worldliness.’

AUSTIN FARRER

Warden of Keble College, Oxford, 1960-1968

Said or Sung

When I had the chance to observe him at dose quarters I saw that
he was merely a plain man in his early forties with a thickset figure
which would have profited from regular exercise on a golf course. His nose was too large, his jaw too square and his mouth too thin
for his features to be judged other than irregular. At a loss to
understand why he should be planted in my hall when he had no
appointment to see me, I gave him my chilliest stare and waited
for Miss Peabody to rush from the office to my rescue.

But the priest was clearly not a man who let the
grass
grow
under his feet. Moving forward he held out his hand and said
warmly in a courteous voice: ‘Good morning, Bishop! My name’s
Lewis Hall.’

Finally detaching my feet from the threshold I closed the front door and allowed my hand to be gripped. But before I could utter
a word Miss Peabody erupted from the office. ‘Oh Bishop —’ I
had seldom seen her so flustered — this is the gentleman from Radbury whom we were discussing earlier. I did explain that it was quite impossible for you to see him, but when I mentioned
that you’d gone to the hospital to visit Father Wilton he asked if
he could wait for your return so that he could hear the latest news.’

This was a move which contrived to be both thoroughly
Christian and immensely cunning. As Miss Peabody quivered
vanquished before me and I found myself registering a reluctant
admiration for the man who had outwitted her, the stranger saw
the chance to build on his success by cornering me for conver
sation.

I clearly remember thinking to myself: this man shall not pass
the threshold of my study.

Meanwhile the man was saying soberly: ‘I do hope Father
Wilton’s progress is satisfactory. I was very struck by the way you
spoke of him at matins.’

I could not recall saying anything in particular about Desmond
himself; I had merely announced that he had been the victim of
an attack. Confused by the discrepancy I became fatally hesitant.
‘Well,’ I began, but that was all I was allowed to say.

‘
Since you referred to him as Father Wilton., I assume he’s an
Anglo-Catholic,’ said my visitor, ‘and if you’re now looking for a
locum, may I volunteer for the job? I’m an Anglo-Catholic myself, and Miss Peabody confirms that you have my reference from the
Abbot-General of the Fordite monks.’ He gave Miss Peabody a
radiant smile.

Miss Peabody turned pink, in the manner of a wallflower
suddenly asked to dance by the beau of the ball, and babbled: ‘I
did mention the reference to you, Bishop, and if you want me to
fetch it –’

I held up my hand. She stopped.
I opened
my mouth to take
control of the conversation. ‘I thank you for your kind offer, Mr
Hall,’ I said. ‘I shall forward it to the Archdeacon. And now I
have a train to catch shortly. If you’ll excuse me –’

‘
Yes, of course, Bishop. I’ll be only too happy to come back at
a more convenient
time.’

This assurance was not what I wished to hear at all. In a moment
of fury I repeated to myself: this man will
never cross
the threshold
of my study.

‘
Mr Hall,’ I said, ‘I’m aware that you feel called to establish a
healing centre and certainly I wish you every success. However, I
feel bound to say that in this diocese I have a policy of never
licensing –’

‘
I want to specialise in priests who have suffered a spiritual
breakdown.’

Silence fell upon us all, but now I no longer saw the
stranger,
still
as a
statue, or Miss Peabody, fluttering in the background. As
the memories of 1937 cascaded through my mind I saw only Loretta on that Surrey hillside and Alex Jardine removing the
decanter from me when I had been so very drunk at his episcopal
palace – although I never thought of those incidents nowadays, never, they were all buried so deep in my mind that I never had to think about them – indeed I never had to think about any incident from that spiritual breakdown, my first catastrophe, but
now I was thinking, now I was remembering, and I could hear
my younger self reciting the words of the General Confession to Jon, who had helped me survive.

‘
... spare thou them that confess their faults ... restore thou them that are penitent ...’ I remembered how I had been spared
and restored. I remembered how conscious I had been of the
healing power of the Holy Spirit
as
it moved ceaselessly through
the world to raise up and renew all that was broken and cast down.
I remembered that I had not always been a strong, successful bishop, battling
contra mundum
to preach the absolute truths.

My worldliness and my sophistication, those two hallmarks of
a civilised man at the top of his profession, abruptly dissolved; it
was as if a curtain had been rent from top to bottom by an unseen
hand so that light could pour into the darkened room beyond.
Acting instinctively – because for one mysterious moment my
entire intellect had been by-passed – I turned, gestured to the door
of my study and said to the stranger: ‘Come in.’

Then I myself led the way over the threshold which seconds ago
I had sworn he would never cross.

I should make it clear that I did not immediately think: ah, this is
the Holy Spirit in action and I must give this man everything he
asks for. I merely wish to explain why I let Hall cross the threshold
of my study when I had resolved to refuse him admittance. In fact
one has to be most cautious about detecting the presence of the Holy Spirit. It is
all
too easy to be driven, by mental stress or
psychological peculiarities or faulty reasoning, to make a mistaken
identification, and I knew
as
soon as I had recovered from my
moment of impulsiveness that I would have to be very careful what
I said next. It was more than possible that Hall’s invasion of the
South Canonry had nothing to do with the will of God at all.
Indeed one could just as easily argue that the Devil was pushing
this man into my diocese to cause disruption, and that the mem
ories of my spiritual breakdown had reduced me to a state of
addle-headed incompetence.

Having thus flogged myself back within the boundaries of
common sense, I said abruptly to Hall: ‘What’s so special about
the Starbridge diocese that you should feel called to work here?’

‘You.’

‘Me?’

‘
Yes, my friends among the Fordite monks said you took a
special interest in priests who had suffered breakdowns. They men
tioned no names, but they told me about one priest who’d been
kicked out of the London diocese after an incident in
a
public
lavatory. No one else would touch him but you gave him a second
chance.’

I found I was too overwhelmed by the irony of this latest twist
of the conversation to reply. My decision to give Desmond a job
– a decision which had just been proved disastrously unsound –
was now being presented to me
as a
powerful Christian action
which was still having important consequences. So confused did
I feel at this point that I had to make a considerable effort to
concentrate on what Hall said next.

‘
I was intrigued by this story,’ he was adding, ‘because it was
so contrary to your popular image as a bishop tough on sexual
sin. That was when I realised you had to be a far more subtle and
complex character than your enemies were willing to believe. I
decided to find out more about you, and soon I realised how much
I respected your attempt to uphold traditional moral standards,
your advocacy of spiritual direction, your friendly attitude to both wings of the Church and your unusual ability to be both a highly-
qualified theologian and a gifted spiritual leader. I felt then that
you were exactly the bishop I was looking for – and after the
recent change of bishops at Radbury I assure you I was
looking
hard
. I got on well with Derek Preston, but Sunbeam leaves
me
cold.’

I emerged from my stupefied silence. ‘Sunbeam?’

‘
Leslie Sunderland, the new bishop of Radbury. Surely you
know that his clergy call him Sunbeam! It’s a tribute to his radiant
liberal optimism.’

Recognising my obligation to be loyal to a brother-bishop, even
a radically liberal brother-bishop, I suppressed my amusement and
said austerely: ‘I did notice that you enclosed no reference from
Bishop Sunderland with your letter.’

‘
I confess I never wasted time asking for one, but the Fordites will speak up for me. You know the Abbot-General, don’t you?’

‘
Well enough to be surprised that he hasn’t told you my policy
on the licensing of divorced priests.’

‘
He did tell me, but of course I knew that an exceptional bishop
like you would always know when to be flexible about applying
those sort of rules. After all, why should you wish to penalise me
for the fact that my wife ran off with another man? With your
happy marriage you’d be much more likely to offer me sympathy.’

‘
I certainly wouldn’t hesitate to be sympathetic, but –’

‘
And of course you’ll have grasped that
as an
extremely conven
tional Anglo-Catholic I don’t believe remarriage is an option for a divorced priest. In fact I shall never embarrass you either by
remarriage while my wife’s still alive or by any other unsuitable
behaviour,’ said Hall firmly, and added, looking me straight in the
eyes: ‘I consider myself called to celibacy.’

After a pause I said in my most neutral voice: ‘Really.’ But before
I could say more we were interrupted – to my relief – by the
buzzer of the intercom.

‘
You must leave for the station in twenty minutes, Bishop,’
intoned Miss Peabody, ‘and don’t forget that you still have to talk
to Roger about the government’s education graphs.’

‘
Thank you.’ I replaced the receiver. ‘Well, Mr Hall,’ I said,
rising to my feet. ‘I confess this has been an interesting interview
– and certainly, despite your marital status, I wouldn’t object to
engaging you on a temporary basis as a locum, but –’

‘
Thank you so much, Bishop, I knew I could rely on you to be
flexible. Now, I’d only need about twenty minutes to explain my
plans for the healing centre, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find
a slot for me in your diary, particularly since I can come back here
at any hour of the day or night –’

There was a tap on the door and Lyle peeped in. ‘Excuse me,
Charles, but Michael’s here again. Could you have a quick word
with him before you rush off to London?’

I immediately wanted Hall to expound for twenty minutes on
his healing centre.

Meanwhile Hall himself was saying rapidly: ‘I’ll see Miss Peabody, shall I, to fix a time when I can come back?’

As I heard myself consenting docilely to this suggestion, it
occurred to me to wonder if I had been hypnotised.