Join David, Heidi, and Sean as they discuss insomnia, despair, the spiritual dark night of the soul, and much, much more found in Bernanos’ deeply contemplative novel.
I'm behind on the book and the podcast episodes because . . . Diary of A Country Priest is less compelling than Anna Karenina. But after listening to this podcast episode, it has become more compelling.
I was just telling a friend, how talking about books with people who love/like/are enthusiastic about the book you haven't read tells you pretty much what you need to know to give it a shot.
One of the things I love about you guys is how often you talk about real things, not just literary things. Things that enlighten me, sometimes convict me, and in this case, touch my heart.
I’m finally catching up on these episodes-I’ve been so excited to hear a Close Reads take on this book after reading it for the first time at the end of last year. First, this book is so hard to get through for all the reasons described; it’s a Good Friday book with Easter Sunday just barely peeking through. And no one wants to linger on Good Friday. I also agree that it’s a “tonic” and a “mirror” of sorts. You read this and are forced to take a good, long, hard look at yourself and your life. And it’s not a look that flatters. It’s a laceration and surgery of sorts without anesthesia. Second, I’m reading Middlemarch right now and I am struck by a thematic similarity between these two very different novels: we cannot fully know the other, and that inability to fully know and be known by the other is a source of deep deep suffering in our lives. But it can also be an invitation to greater compassion for others. Dorothea and the Priest both desperately wish to be known and judged for their good intentions and holy longings, and both are constantly misunderstood by others. The Priest is far far lonelier and bears a heavier cross, but I think they are kindred souls in their ardency. What’s interesting is contrasting these novels in how they handle this particular human suffering-form wise they are opposite. The narrator in Middlemarch is intrusive, is the one who can do what real humans can’t and know the hearts of others, and can remind us as readers to be empathetic. In Diary of a Country Priest, we get a claustrophobic first person POV with a narrator who can’t get into the hearts and minds of others and has no one really (outside of the Cure of Torcy) who can do for him what the narrator does for the characters of Middlemarch. Anyone else who has read both books have thoughts?
From The Ethics of Beauty, speaking of the divine justice of the cross:
“This is also the mission of the priest. He goes into a parish, he receives the chaos into himself and converts it into life. If he is able to do this, it is because liturgy has become innate for him. He’s not just a priest, but he is also the victim, because he is going to take it from everyone.”
I first read this novel as a seminarian, now again after having been a parish priest for four years. Quite a different experience. Seeing very little fruit and seeing a lot of brokeness is not an uncommon experience for a parish priest.
Heidi said in this episode, "You're getting to heart of the book if you're looking for nothing more than the full weight of human suffering" ... that's probably true of the heart of the priesthood too, though to both I would add "from the perspective of deep faith in Christ". Though the book certainly portrays a severe testing of that faith, as Heidi said, "to the brink of spiritual despair". I think he tears out the pages that cross over into despair.
A brother priest who is studying Spiritual Theology thinks that this book is too dark a portrayal of the dark night of the soul. That God is too absent for it to be a real reflection of what some of the Saints went through. What do you all think?
Hi, Father. I'm curious to hear more about why your brother priest considers the book to be an inaccurate portrayal of the dark night.
At the beginning of the book, I had the impression that the priest was struggling to enter into his own deep heart. While he was still quite discerning, he was at times too concerned about how others perceived him, and he was perhaps too quick to diagnose pride in others.
In this section, Chapters 3 & 4, I do not notice the same self-concern. He seems more able to see the virtues in others, particularly the Cure de Torcy. And he willingly descends to the depths of his parishioners' sufferings.
Without getting too far ahead, I think the episode with the Countess in Chapter 5 dispels the sense that the priest's dark night is portrayed too darkly. His own faith (and his faithfulness to God in the midst of his own sufferings) restores the Countess's hope. I think he recognizes God's work in that conversation, even as he himself is denied sensible consolations.
Hey there Ed, yes! I think that's a very good point about his conversation with Mde le Comtessse. In fact when my friend first said that to me I mentioned that same scene to him.
I think it's also true of his conversation with Chantal in the preceding chapter. We see God acting through him and even the priest realises that some of his words are 'not his own'. Even if those actual graces are not evidently received by those they're being offered to.
I hadn't thought of looking at his moral growth as a sign of his own sanctification through the darkness.
Though in his own soul the priest seems to be only in agony. I'll have to have a longer conversation with my friend when I see him.
Thank you so much for the honest conversation about the difficulties of reading this book and for creating a community where we can do this together. I'm not much for participating in discussion usually, but there is something supportive about knowing that dozens (hundreds?) of people are reading this at the same time. I wish I had invested in a paper copy of this book, since I do my closest reading and deepest thinking with a pen or pencil in hand. There are so many passages worth contemplating, though I feel untethered from the narrative thread. However, my journal would look like this (without the eloquence)--lots of ink spilled about my thoughts and emotions and responses and only very oblique allusions to the events that produced them! So in that respect, there is something raw and real about Diary of a Country Priest.
I've had this book sitting on my shelf for years and have been intending to read it for as long, but didn't until now. That feels significant. And now that I've read through chapter 5, I know exactly why this is the right time to read this book. Reading it in community like this has been so helpful and illuminating. I'm a lifelong Presbyterian and didn't know anything about the Catholic vision of faith and sacraments until reading/listening along with you all to the episodes for Graham Greene's novels (and others since then). It's been eye-opening to my Protestant vision of the world, and I'm finding life and faith so much richer by entering into the worlds of these novels. Thank you! This has been a hard read, but a good one and apropos for Lent.
It’s so lovely as a Catholic to read something like this and read this book in communion with my fellow Christians, where we can learn from one another and grow in our relationship with God.
Elise, thank you so much for your comment! I’m so deeply glad this is a safe space for all of us to learn and grow and share and listen. Blessings to you!
I am listening to the latest podcast for The Diary of a Country Priest, and I also just finished the book today. I am really surprised that the podcast numbers are so low for this book.
This is such a beautiful book and a wonderful Lenten read. This is most certainly up there with Death Comes for the Archbishop and The Power and the Glory. For those who are struggling in the beginning and the middle, please try to get through to the end because I found the last three people the priest encountered to be extremely compelling. I find the last person he meets the most redemptive, and that is the best I can do without spoilers.
Five stars without reservations. I will definitely want to read this novel again. (After I stop crying from the end... I think it will take at least a day.)
I am so impressed by the psychological depth of this novel, although I worry that I am not reading it particularly well on its own terms because I'm struggling to determine exactly what those terms are.
In any case, I've benefitted by reading this book in the light of certain other Christian writings that deal with anthropology, the heart, prayer, and the nature of suffering. That exercise has definitely helped me to find and enter into the characters' sufferings.
I'm grateful for the Close Reads conversation about this amazing book.
Y’all. You took me to church this morning! And I really needed the help reflecting on these chapters so far. Quoting Sean, “…until we know the man writing the diary, we don’t understand the logic”. I almost gasped. I mean , it was like a sudden reflecting glint of light off a mirror revealing the face of Jesus. I’ve been bewildered by this book (I’m literally like what is he talking about, like what is that pronoun even referring to?! Is this a translation/culture issue?!) - and yet surprised that I’m continually drawn to pick it up.
I’ve been able to just continue reading, letting the diary form do its thing - almost revealing the novel in reverse because what’s really important is the spiritual reality - something I struggle to do in real life where I prefer to stop and reread the signs trying to scratch out a meaningful reality myself. The form makes the book feel so authentic, so deep!
Our pastor (I’m an evangelical-raised Protestant with sincere interest in Orthodoxy) gave such a personally timely sermon yesterday on our need to stay weak as a church so that we continue to rely on Jesus, and Heidi pointed out Bernanos’ beautiful picture of Jesus/sainthood in describing the priest’s physical suffering and his weak inability to carry out his ministry, while he carries his parishioners’ sin and practically subsisting only on the Eucharist (“sour wine” at the end of chapter four).
This book speaks to my personality (and maybe why I’m in the minority of readership, or so my vanity would have me believe - and I LOVED Laurus ;), and I so identify with the existential torment portrayed. I tend to get stuck in the suffering of my inner life, often to despair, finding joy incomprehensible (as in Curé de Tourcy). And David, I relate to the fear you mentioned the people having toward a relationship with the priest in my own wavering seeking after God. Within my deep desire for Him is a fearful withholding when faced with the greatness of God. I agree with Heidi that this book doesn’t feel overtly Catholic. I’m reminded of Gilead, which non-Christians love apparently, and also of Silence (though I’ve only seen it, not read it).
At this point, I don’t want to “look for anything” in the book but simply keep reading/experiencing. However I hope it will help me experience a humility beyond self-loathing as well as joy in suffering.
Note - I formulated this response starting halfway through the episode and would’ve posted even without David’s invitation… so good.
I agree that Sean's comment about knowing the man in order to understand the logic is a great insight.
I'm intrigued by your statement about the diary form "revealing the novel in reverse." I think I know what you mean, and I think I might agree, but can you elaborate just a little bit?
Yeah! With each “new” entry - they’re not even labeled - we get the thoughts of the priest, but the reader doesn’t know the details of who/what/when/where. Sometimes the priest will give the information a little later, or the reader has to infer from his thoughts or later entries.
An example might be the affair situation between the Count and Mlle Louise, which even Heidi was saying she didn’t quite catch by the end of chapter four.
It makes me wonder how a second reading would go with the background plot-scenery already painted. Maybe there’s a better way to put it than a novel “in reverse” - inverted, inside-out?…
I'm behind on the book and the podcast episodes because . . . Diary of A Country Priest is less compelling than Anna Karenina. But after listening to this podcast episode, it has become more compelling.
I was just telling a friend, how talking about books with people who love/like/are enthusiastic about the book you haven't read tells you pretty much what you need to know to give it a shot.
One of the things I love about you guys is how often you talk about real things, not just literary things. Things that enlighten me, sometimes convict me, and in this case, touch my heart.
I’m finally catching up on these episodes-I’ve been so excited to hear a Close Reads take on this book after reading it for the first time at the end of last year. First, this book is so hard to get through for all the reasons described; it’s a Good Friday book with Easter Sunday just barely peeking through. And no one wants to linger on Good Friday. I also agree that it’s a “tonic” and a “mirror” of sorts. You read this and are forced to take a good, long, hard look at yourself and your life. And it’s not a look that flatters. It’s a laceration and surgery of sorts without anesthesia. Second, I’m reading Middlemarch right now and I am struck by a thematic similarity between these two very different novels: we cannot fully know the other, and that inability to fully know and be known by the other is a source of deep deep suffering in our lives. But it can also be an invitation to greater compassion for others. Dorothea and the Priest both desperately wish to be known and judged for their good intentions and holy longings, and both are constantly misunderstood by others. The Priest is far far lonelier and bears a heavier cross, but I think they are kindred souls in their ardency. What’s interesting is contrasting these novels in how they handle this particular human suffering-form wise they are opposite. The narrator in Middlemarch is intrusive, is the one who can do what real humans can’t and know the hearts of others, and can remind us as readers to be empathetic. In Diary of a Country Priest, we get a claustrophobic first person POV with a narrator who can’t get into the hearts and minds of others and has no one really (outside of the Cure of Torcy) who can do for him what the narrator does for the characters of Middlemarch. Anyone else who has read both books have thoughts?
From The Ethics of Beauty, speaking of the divine justice of the cross:
“This is also the mission of the priest. He goes into a parish, he receives the chaos into himself and converts it into life. If he is able to do this, it is because liturgy has become innate for him. He’s not just a priest, but he is also the victim, because he is going to take it from everyone.”
I first read this novel as a seminarian, now again after having been a parish priest for four years. Quite a different experience. Seeing very little fruit and seeing a lot of brokeness is not an uncommon experience for a parish priest.
Heidi said in this episode, "You're getting to heart of the book if you're looking for nothing more than the full weight of human suffering" ... that's probably true of the heart of the priesthood too, though to both I would add "from the perspective of deep faith in Christ". Though the book certainly portrays a severe testing of that faith, as Heidi said, "to the brink of spiritual despair". I think he tears out the pages that cross over into despair.
A brother priest who is studying Spiritual Theology thinks that this book is too dark a portrayal of the dark night of the soul. That God is too absent for it to be a real reflection of what some of the Saints went through. What do you all think?
Hi, Father. I'm curious to hear more about why your brother priest considers the book to be an inaccurate portrayal of the dark night.
At the beginning of the book, I had the impression that the priest was struggling to enter into his own deep heart. While he was still quite discerning, he was at times too concerned about how others perceived him, and he was perhaps too quick to diagnose pride in others.
In this section, Chapters 3 & 4, I do not notice the same self-concern. He seems more able to see the virtues in others, particularly the Cure de Torcy. And he willingly descends to the depths of his parishioners' sufferings.
Without getting too far ahead, I think the episode with the Countess in Chapter 5 dispels the sense that the priest's dark night is portrayed too darkly. His own faith (and his faithfulness to God in the midst of his own sufferings) restores the Countess's hope. I think he recognizes God's work in that conversation, even as he himself is denied sensible consolations.
Hey there Ed, yes! I think that's a very good point about his conversation with Mde le Comtessse. In fact when my friend first said that to me I mentioned that same scene to him.
I think it's also true of his conversation with Chantal in the preceding chapter. We see God acting through him and even the priest realises that some of his words are 'not his own'. Even if those actual graces are not evidently received by those they're being offered to.
I hadn't thought of looking at his moral growth as a sign of his own sanctification through the darkness.
Though in his own soul the priest seems to be only in agony. I'll have to have a longer conversation with my friend when I see him.
Thank you so much for the honest conversation about the difficulties of reading this book and for creating a community where we can do this together. I'm not much for participating in discussion usually, but there is something supportive about knowing that dozens (hundreds?) of people are reading this at the same time. I wish I had invested in a paper copy of this book, since I do my closest reading and deepest thinking with a pen or pencil in hand. There are so many passages worth contemplating, though I feel untethered from the narrative thread. However, my journal would look like this (without the eloquence)--lots of ink spilled about my thoughts and emotions and responses and only very oblique allusions to the events that produced them! So in that respect, there is something raw and real about Diary of a Country Priest.
I've had this book sitting on my shelf for years and have been intending to read it for as long, but didn't until now. That feels significant. And now that I've read through chapter 5, I know exactly why this is the right time to read this book. Reading it in community like this has been so helpful and illuminating. I'm a lifelong Presbyterian and didn't know anything about the Catholic vision of faith and sacraments until reading/listening along with you all to the episodes for Graham Greene's novels (and others since then). It's been eye-opening to my Protestant vision of the world, and I'm finding life and faith so much richer by entering into the worlds of these novels. Thank you! This has been a hard read, but a good one and apropos for Lent.
It’s so lovely as a Catholic to read something like this and read this book in communion with my fellow Christians, where we can learn from one another and grow in our relationship with God.
Elise, thank you so much for your comment! I’m so deeply glad this is a safe space for all of us to learn and grow and share and listen. Blessings to you!
I am listening to the latest podcast for The Diary of a Country Priest, and I also just finished the book today. I am really surprised that the podcast numbers are so low for this book.
This is such a beautiful book and a wonderful Lenten read. This is most certainly up there with Death Comes for the Archbishop and The Power and the Glory. For those who are struggling in the beginning and the middle, please try to get through to the end because I found the last three people the priest encountered to be extremely compelling. I find the last person he meets the most redemptive, and that is the best I can do without spoilers.
Five stars without reservations. I will definitely want to read this novel again. (After I stop crying from the end... I think it will take at least a day.)
I am so impressed by the psychological depth of this novel, although I worry that I am not reading it particularly well on its own terms because I'm struggling to determine exactly what those terms are.
In any case, I've benefitted by reading this book in the light of certain other Christian writings that deal with anthropology, the heart, prayer, and the nature of suffering. That exercise has definitely helped me to find and enter into the characters' sufferings.
I'm grateful for the Close Reads conversation about this amazing book.
Y’all. You took me to church this morning! And I really needed the help reflecting on these chapters so far. Quoting Sean, “…until we know the man writing the diary, we don’t understand the logic”. I almost gasped. I mean , it was like a sudden reflecting glint of light off a mirror revealing the face of Jesus. I’ve been bewildered by this book (I’m literally like what is he talking about, like what is that pronoun even referring to?! Is this a translation/culture issue?!) - and yet surprised that I’m continually drawn to pick it up.
I’ve been able to just continue reading, letting the diary form do its thing - almost revealing the novel in reverse because what’s really important is the spiritual reality - something I struggle to do in real life where I prefer to stop and reread the signs trying to scratch out a meaningful reality myself. The form makes the book feel so authentic, so deep!
Our pastor (I’m an evangelical-raised Protestant with sincere interest in Orthodoxy) gave such a personally timely sermon yesterday on our need to stay weak as a church so that we continue to rely on Jesus, and Heidi pointed out Bernanos’ beautiful picture of Jesus/sainthood in describing the priest’s physical suffering and his weak inability to carry out his ministry, while he carries his parishioners’ sin and practically subsisting only on the Eucharist (“sour wine” at the end of chapter four).
This book speaks to my personality (and maybe why I’m in the minority of readership, or so my vanity would have me believe - and I LOVED Laurus ;), and I so identify with the existential torment portrayed. I tend to get stuck in the suffering of my inner life, often to despair, finding joy incomprehensible (as in Curé de Tourcy). And David, I relate to the fear you mentioned the people having toward a relationship with the priest in my own wavering seeking after God. Within my deep desire for Him is a fearful withholding when faced with the greatness of God. I agree with Heidi that this book doesn’t feel overtly Catholic. I’m reminded of Gilead, which non-Christians love apparently, and also of Silence (though I’ve only seen it, not read it).
At this point, I don’t want to “look for anything” in the book but simply keep reading/experiencing. However I hope it will help me experience a humility beyond self-loathing as well as joy in suffering.
Note - I formulated this response starting halfway through the episode and would’ve posted even without David’s invitation… so good.
I agree that Sean's comment about knowing the man in order to understand the logic is a great insight.
I'm intrigued by your statement about the diary form "revealing the novel in reverse." I think I know what you mean, and I think I might agree, but can you elaborate just a little bit?
Yeah! With each “new” entry - they’re not even labeled - we get the thoughts of the priest, but the reader doesn’t know the details of who/what/when/where. Sometimes the priest will give the information a little later, or the reader has to infer from his thoughts or later entries.
An example might be the affair situation between the Count and Mlle Louise, which even Heidi was saying she didn’t quite catch by the end of chapter four.
It makes me wonder how a second reading would go with the background plot-scenery already painted. Maybe there’s a better way to put it than a novel “in reverse” - inverted, inside-out?…
Ah, I suspected an affair, but couldn't have said for sure. Glad I wasn't completely off base there.