The Archdeacon Returns - Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve: Great Men
“What do you make of this, Tony?” Young Tony had just gotten up to leave the
room when the Archdeacon handed him a card. Tony looked it over. It was the
sympathy card that Christa had sent the Archdeacon with the terse inscription, “Tom, I’m sorry about the
Bishop. Yours, Christa.” Tony studied it for a moment and then looked up at the
Archdeacon, somewhat perplexed.
“It’s
very odd. This is the only communication you’ve had from her since she
left three years ago?”
“Yes.
I’ve written her a couple of times, but never received anything back…until now.”
“But
why would she even bother? I mean, no
communication for three years and then…this?”
“I
know…I’m mystified.”
“Surely,
if she was suddenly moved to compassion for you over the Bishop’s death, she
would have written more than a perfunctory line.”
“Exactly…”
the Archdeacon added, “I think it was an excuse…to reach out…to test the
waters. Something has happened that has made her want to get in touch with me,
but she’s showing considerable reservation. It couldn’t have simply been the
death of Bishop Verity.”
“Hmm,”
Tony mused, “maybe it was. It was your
devotion to the Bishop that drove Christa away, after all. And now the Bishop
is gone.”
“It’s
just so terse and…”
“Unfeeling?”
“Yes.
It baffles me.”
“Well
then, Tom, what are you going do?”
“Nothing,
of course. I have too much on my plate at the moment, and anyway, how does one
even respond to something like this?”
After
Tony had left, the Archdeacon sat down and considered the gentle admonishment
he had just received. He tossed the card
into his desk drawer. He would leave that alone—for now—but he would call his
young curate and make amends. He was a likeable man, but he had a way of
driving away those who admired him and cared about him. I’m not sure if was a full-blown
self-destructive impulse or if he was just prone to a bit of run-of-the-mill
self-sabotage. He was a man of high principle,
but even high-principled men are still men, and they struggle with their egos,
their ambition and their pride, all while trying desperately seeking to do the
right thing. How many are hurt or alienated
by such a man who tries to hold himself to an unattainable standard. In his attempt to embody the high principles
to which he ascribes, he struggles existentially, and his struggle for authenticity
becomes the centre of the universe for himself, and for those around him. What
begins as a journey into a healthy sense self-hood quickly degenerates into a selfish
entitlement of self-actualization that leaves others hurt and forgotten in the
wake. The reflective man can be tempted
into too much reflection about himself, his vocation, his place in the world,
and privilege his own journey above that of his traveling companions. He never
intends for this to happen, but it does.
Those who travel with him, who have their own journey, who have their own
principles and integrity to uphold are cast as supporting characters in his
all-encompassing drama of his life story. His friends and loved ones become bit
players in the life of the “great man”.
The
Archdeacon never consciously thought of himself as a “great man.” On the contrary, he thought of himself more
as a servant. He had served his parishioners, his late bishop, his Church, and
his God. Deep down, though, if he were truly honest with himself, and he resisted
this at every turn, he really wanted to be a great man. At some level, he knew he was made for
it. Yet, fear of what it would make him
made him cower at the prospect and avoid it.
In public he would renounce it, while in the secret chambers of his
heart, he longed for it.
Now, greatness
was about to come upon him, and what he feared would happen seemed to be coming
true. He was making it all about himself.
He had others running around in his service, without regard for their feeling
or affection. He wanted to be a “great
man”, but he feared its consequences, for his soul, and for the few intimate friendships
he had left. He thought of the late Bishop for a moment. She was a “great woman”
and the cost of her greatness was the loss of closeness with any other living
person, except for perhaps, himself. And
were they really that close? He was her
servant, and yes, her friend, but it wasn’t until he discovered that he was to
be the executor of her will that he realized how much she had sacrificed for
her greatness. The sadness of it all, her Archdeacon was her “next of kin.” Of course,
for her, it wasn’t the prize of greatness that drove her. She thought of herself as a servant, too – of
the Church, and of God, and it cost her
everything save the heavenly crown of glory that now rested upon her head.
He meditated on these things for a
moment and then roused himself from these ruminations and picked up the phone
to call Maddie.
To read previous chapters, click here.
Comments