“On that point Scripture is not so clear.”
“What does your own experience suggest, Reverend?” “Generally, a person’s behavior is consistent with his nature. Which is only to say his behavior is consistent. The consistency is what I mean when I speak of his nature.” I recognized a redundancy there, a circularity. He smiled. “People don’t change, then,” he said.
“They do, if there is some other factor involved — drink, or some sort of personal influence. That is, their behavior changes. Whether that means their nature changes or that another aspect of it becomes visible is hard to say.”
He said, “For a man of the cloth, you’re pretty cagey.”
That made old Boughton laugh. “You should have seen him thirty years ago.”
“I did.”
“Well,” his father said, “you should have been paying attention.”
Jack shrugged. “I was.”
Now, that got to me a little. I don’t know why Boughton would have led him on like that. Cagey at checkers, maybe. I said, “I’m just trying to find a slightly useful way of saying there are things I don’t understand. I’m not going to force some theory on a mystery and make foolishness of it, just because that is what people who talk about it normally do.”
Your mother looked at me, so I knew I must have sounded upset. I was upset. Nine-tenths of the time when some smart aleck starts in on theological questions he’s only trying to put me in a false position, and I’m just too old to see the joke in it anymore. Then Glory came to the door and said, “Your five minutes aren’t up yet,” as if anyone needed to underscore the futility.
But your mother spoke up, which surprised us all. She said, “What about being saved?” She said, “If you can’t change, there don’t seem much purpose in it.” She blushed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You’ve made an excellent point, dear,” Boughton said. “I worried a long time about how the mystery of predestination could be reconciled with the mystery of salvation. I remember thinking about that a great deal.”
“No conclusions?” Jack asked.
“None that I can remember.” Then he said, “To conclude is not in the nature of the enterprise.”
Jack smiled at your mother as if he was looking for an ally, someone to share his frustration, but she just sat very still and studied her hands.
“I should think,” he said, “that the question Mrs. Ames has raised is one you gentlemen would approach with great seriousness. I know you have attended tent meetings only as interested observers, but — Excuse me. I don’t believe anyone else wants to pursue this, so I’ll let it go.” Your mother said, “I’m interested.”
Old Boughton, who was getting a little ruffled, said, “I hope the Presbyterian Church is as good a place as any to learn the blessed truths of the faith, including redemption and salvation first of all. The Lord knows I have labored to make it so.”
“Pardon me, Father,” Jack said. “I’ll go find Glory. She’ll tell me how to make myself useful. You always said that was the best way to keep out of trouble.”
“No, stay,” your mother said. And he did.
There was an uneasy silence, so I remarked that he might find Karl Barth a help, just for the sake of conversation. He said, “Is that what you do when some tormented soul arrives on your doorstep at midnight? Recommend Karl Barth?”
I said, “It depends on the case,” which it does. I have found Barth’s work to be full of comfort, as I believe I have told you elsewhere. But in fact, I don’t recall ever recommending him to any tormented soul except my own. That is what I mean about being put in a false position.
Your mother said, “A person can change. Everything can change.” Still never looking at him.
He said, “Thanks. That’s all I wanted to know.”
So that was the end of the conversation. We went home to supper.
I was left wondering what he was referring to when he mentioned tent meetings. And I have thought a lot about that word “cagey.” I have always dreaded having to talk theology with people who have no sympathy for it. I’ve been evasive from time to time, that’s true. I see the error of assuming a person is not speaking with you in good faith. It’s not respectful, I know that, and I don’t do it often. Nor do I have much occasion to around here, where it seems as if I’ve baptized half the people I pass on the street and taught them all the theology they will ever know.
But it is hard for me to see good faith in John Ames Boughton, and that’s a terrible problem. As we were walking home, your mother said, “He was only asking a question,” which was almost a rebuke, coming from her. Then, after we’d walked a little farther, she said, “Maybe some people aren’t so comfortable with themselves.” Now, that was a rebuke. And she was quite right. What need had an old soldier like me to defend himself even from mockery, if that was what he was up to? There was no question of need, there was only habit.
I believe I have tried never to say anything Edward would have found callow
