Be Still and Know that you are God

One of the major critiques of Jane Eyre and Charlotte Bronte, especially in the 1840s when it was published, is that the book and the author herself are anti-Christian. Some of this may come from the original anonymity of the novel, Bronte’s theological opinions diverging from the established doctrine at the time, or because the female protagonist achieves happiness without the help of a man or, some would argue, God. However, I fervently believe that a work like Jane Eyre came only because of Bronte's deep faith in God and is truly a part of her holy call in life. 

You may not know that Charlotte did all of her writing literally adjacent to churches. Jane’s father, Rev. Patrick Bronte, was a Church of England priest. The family lived in the rectory on the church grounds for all of the Bronte sisters' lives. In Jane’s personal journals, she wrote about how they constanly welcomed new priests or seminarians into their home for tea. Through these encounters, she met her husband, Rev. Arthur Bell Nicholls, and they were married for the last 9 months of Charlotte’s life. So, Charlotte’s entire life was also literally adjacent to churches. Her infamous writing was done in either her father's, Rev. Patrick’s, rectory or her husband’s, Rev. Arthur's. So, if we look at Jane Eyre in the light of the stained glass, we might reveal the genuinely Christian nature of the novel. 

Last Sunday, in My First Lent Class, we looked at a portion of Chapter 30 of Jane Eyre. In this section of the novel, Jane is staying with her cousins, the Rivers (Diana, Mary, and John). Jane comments on St. John in particular, about how difficult it is to become friends with her cousin, who also happens to be the local priest. She says: “Zealous in his ministerial labours, blameless in his life and habits, he yet did not appear to enjoy that mental serenity, that inward content, which should be the reward of every sincere Christian and practical philanthropist.” Though her words are pointed and direct, they do not come from a place of anger. Instead, after hearing one of St. John’s sermons, which she describes as eloquent and well-delivered, Jane says, “When he had done, instead of feeling better, calmer, more enlightened by his discourse, I experienced an inexpressible sadness.” It was not necessarily a theological disagreement of the content but a deep love for her cousin and fellow friend in Christ. Jane says, “I was sure St. John Rivers—pure-lived, conscientious, zealous as he was—had not yet found that peace of God which passeth all understanding.” In this particular sermon, Jane speaks of the tone of “strange bitterness” or “absence of consolatory gentleness.” Yes, there was some matter of theological debate about of the “stern” and “frequent allusions” to “Calvinistic doctrines—election, predestination, reprobation,” but that is not the nature of Jane’s comment. What Jane hopes for St. John is to have this “peace that passes all understanding,” directly quoting Philippians 4:7. As Lisa Garrison rightly brought up in class on sunday, it is almost like Jane Eyre was a mystic. This fictional character knew what it meant to have the gift of contemplation, to see the strength of quiet confidence, and not to try and understand the mystery of God’s presence. But, in the simplest of ways, Jane knows and desperately wants St. John to have the serenity that comes from this holy inward content. 

 At the Wednesday healing Eucharist, we often start with the collect for Quiet Confidence:

O God of peace, who hast taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved, in quietness and confidence shall be our strength: By the might of your Spirit lift us, we pray to your presence, where we may be still and know that you are God; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (BCP 832). 

Whether it was the fictional character of Jane Eyre or her author, Charlotte Bronte both wanted those they love, whether their dear cousin or reader respectively, to know the presence of God in their lives. Not the kind of God that destroys the Tower Babel or plaques Egypt, but the God that lifts us in spirit and in rest saves us. 

I am not one to critique the nature of someone's depth of theological belief, but I do like to remind those of the divine spark that lives in each and every one of us. For Charlotte Bronte, I firmly believe her divine spark manifested in her writing. Through only a tiny section of an infamous book, we get a glimpse of the kind of Christian theology Charlotte lived out in her day-to-day life. It is not necessarily about the big proclamations or dictating doctrine, but that of the simple “peace that passes all understanding” that maybe in the moments where we may be still and know that God dwells within us. (Maybe even in works of fiction written almost 200 years ago.)