On the back cover, author Ron Hansen erupts, “a true page-turner that superbly explains Hopkins’s conversion to Catholicism, his poetic genius, and his intellectual daring, while correcting earlier misconceptions that Hopkins was a failure as a Jesuit.” Having read this description I was primed for a book that not only explained these things but did them “superbly.” Further, I was expecting a narrative that would keep me up to the wee hours. Not only that, I didn’t think that the work would have to reach too high a standard since I knew next to nothing about Hopkins’s life, and I was greatly interested.

Sadly, the book does none of what Hansen claims. It’s not that the book doesn’t explain these things well; it simply doesn’t explain them. Yes, Mariani’s biography shows us a young Hopkins struggling with his decision to abandon the Church of England for the Church of Rome. It shows Hopkins seeking counsel and fearing the repercussions within his family. But that showing does not explain. I read the chapter three times. We are not made privy to the issues driving Hopkins away from Anglicanism to Rome. We are not told what specific aspects of the church made Hopkins believe that Rome was the “true” church deserving of his lifelong devotion and sacrifice. There are references to the Oxford Movement, and Hopkins’s connection to Henry Newman is well-documented, but for all the talk around the conversion, there is nothing here to help one understand what exactly it was that convinced Hopkins to make such a radical, sacrificial decision.

Likewise, the biography presents numerous quotes and explications of Hopkins’s poetry, showing how the poems echoed the concerns and feelings of the poet. The book charts the friendship between Hopkins and Robert Bridges and their individual development as poets. Yet, the book does not “superbly explain…his poetic genius.” The book narrates the troubles that kept Hopkins’s poems from being published, both the barriers that Hopkins erected against pride and the difficulty editors had in understanding what he was about. The book also sketches out the artistic differences Hopkins had with his friends, especially Bridges. It is here that the biographer is faced with a conundrum. If Mariani were to truly explain superbly the arguments between the two, the narrative force of the biography would most likely come to a shrieking standstill. However, by not digging in too deep, the reader is left with a sneaking suspicion that the tension between the two was caused mainly by Bridges “not getting it.” The same could be said for the lack of elucidation of Hopkins’s intellectual prowess.

However, I’m sure I would have felt none of this negativity had I not read the back cover.

Had I simply ignored the back cover foo-fer-all, I would have been left to enjoy what this biography actually is: an insightful meditation on a committed Christian struggling with the path God has asked him to walk. After years of following all the rules in his Jesuit order—and performing poorly on one examination—Hopkins found himself basically performing interim pulpit-fill duty in various remote locations in England until he was asked to be part of the faculty of a new university being established in Dublin. While the post of professor at a Jesuit university sounds prestigious today, Hopkins’s tasks were anything but glamorous. His main duty seemed to be the creation, administration, and grading of interminable Latin exams taken by prospective students. Hopkins wrote his mother in July, 1888, “It is a great, very great drudgery…a burden which crushes me and does little to help any good end” (394). As someone who has taught a great deal of Freshman Composition, I can easily imagine the scene. One of the world’s most spectacular poets strives for hours to indicate carefully the errors in grammar and style of hundreds of students who haven’t a clue as to what they are doing. After interminable hours of analyzing dreadful writing, the poet’s brains have mushified into gloppy wallpaper paste, unable to render even the least poetic of images, let alone work that deserves to be published. All the while, the poet knows he has been given a gift that is wasting away, yet he trusts that not only God but also His servants know what is best for eternity, and he bows humbly to their will. Hopkins asserts that he is “only too willing to do God’s work and help on the knowledge of the Incarnation,” and he is certain that Christ came for the his own “salvation and that of the world,” but he also feels that the God’s work is carried out by “a great system and machinery which even drags me on with the collar round my neck” (411). In his darker moments, he acknowledges that he is “unwilling enough for the piece of work assigned me, the only work I am given to do, though I could do others if they were given” (411). Yet, even with these doubts and misgivings, he carries on without complaining to his superiors.

Which is not to say that his struggle is not expressed. In one of his final sonnets, Hopkins cries out to God, “Wert thou my enemy…How wouldst thou worse”. Mariani writes

This is the incredible, mystifying paradox at the heart of it all: that one should keep on, in spite of it all. That, when one gives oneself over to Christ, Christ provides the victory as well, and in such a way that we know—if we know anything—that it is God’s working in and through us. Still, like Christ, however much Hopkins understands all this, he is finding it “an intolerable grief to submit to it.” Yes, he “left the example,” and that “is very strengthening,” but, he has to admit, “it is not consoling.” (367)

And it is in these words, in his struggle, that Hopkins speaks to me. Numerous sermons remind us of Christ’s command to take up your cross and follow him. Bless the pastors who try to warn us that the path of discipleship is not an easy one, that the gate is narrow. Yet, in most of these sermons, the focus is on the spectacular struggle, the noticeable persecution, the dolorous passion. How often are congregations encouraged to gut out the grinding perseverance of pouring all of your energy into the drudgery of everyday service to the kingdom? How many times have you heard the brilliant research scientist commanded to give up discovering the next medical miracle in order to minister by tending the church grounds? How often do we raise as an example the gifted musician who plays the same familiar hymns week after week after week to a tiny congregation in a small rural town?

So while Mariani’s book does not do the things touted on the back cover, it does superbly illuminate a devoted Christian struggling to be content with the work set for him to do.

Be patient, beloved, until the coming of the Lord. The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receive the early and the late rains. You also must be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near. Beloved, do not grumble against one another, so thatyou may not be judged. See, the Judge is standing at the doors! As an example of suffering and patience, beloved, take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord. James 5:7-10

Then, someone pointed me to the Gospel of Luke. Apparently Jesus had had the audacity to heal someone on the Sabbath, and the Pharisees were upset. Jesus eyed them calmly and proclaimed, “Which one of you will have a son or an ox fall into a well, and will not immediately pull him out on a Sabbath day?” My first response was to wonder why no one ever talked about the son falling into the well. Then, I understood the general good news message here that God is not some mindless judge more interested in enforcing the letter of the law than in showing compassion to His people.

What brought this to mind today was that this morning I found myself in the position of having a friend with his ox in the ditch. Helping the friend was going to mean missing morning worship. I might not always know what it means to keep the Sabbath holy, but I’m guessing that going to church is at the top of the list. My friend owns a vineyard. (Very biblical!) It was time to harvest the grapes, and he had arranged for some people to help. However, bad weather and an impending deadline meant that my friend was in a very real bind.

So, this morning, I headed out to Dead Drop Vineyards in Republic, OH to harvest grapes. I count it a sign of blessing that throughout the morning I was reminded of various vineyard related parables and images from the Bible. I thought of “He is the vine, and I am the branches.” I thought of the vineyard workers who worked a full day and those who only worked a brief time and got paid the same. (You know who you are!) I thought of the Proverbs woman considering a vineyard and buying it. When the rain was coming down, I thought about the parable of the vineyard workers who killed the son of the vineyard owner. And I thought about the parable of the seeds, and the references to those who plant and what they do to plants that do not produce fruit. All in all, it was a very fruitful morning.

For those of you who haven’t seen a vineyard or a grape harvest, I’m including some pictures from the event.

There’s a land that is fairer than day,
And by faith we can see it afar;
For the Father waits over the way
To prepare us a dwelling place there.

Refrain:
In the sweet by and by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore;
In the sweet by and by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore.

We shall sing on that beautiful shore
The melodious songs of the blessed;
And our spirits shall sorrow no more,
Not a sigh for the blessing of rest.

To our bountiful Father above,
We will offer our tribute of praise
For the glorious gift of His love
And the blessings that hallow our days.