We are in the season of sanctity. First comes All Saints, followed swiftly by All Souls, as we remember those who have lived and died in years gone by – either people we have known, or people extolled by the Church as exemplars of faith. Of course, like so much else, sainthood is bestowed according to the fashion, politics and preferences of church leaders. For example, there are fewer female than male saints. Even so, not everyone makes the cut, nor should they. Part of the premise of my new Lent Book for 2025 is that sometimes the Church forgets those from whom it still has much to learn.

The 18th century vicar and author Laurence Sterne was not a saint, if by that we mean someone faultless in this life. The trouble with Sterne was not so much that he had faults, but that he was very candid about them. In his letters and books there is bawdy and innuendo; passion and compassion. Sterne is all too human and rejoices in a conviction that God had given him the capacity for joy which it would be a sin to deny. In the brief span allotted for his life (he died aged 54) there is an echo of Andrew Marvell’s reminder to His Coy Mistress that at his back he hears “Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near”. For Sterne, life is too brief and precious to be lived as if it were “one cold eternal winter”.

When I renewed my interest in Sterne’s work, there were certain features that gave his writing a remarkably contemporary resonance. Corresponding with the black British abolitionist Ignatius Sancho Sterne pulls himself up short when he finds himself writing about the kin of a black character in his novel on:

“behalf of so many of her brethren and sisters, came to me—but why her
brethren?—or yours, Sancho! any more than mine?”

Laurence Sterne, Letters

Why indeed? Sterne has the capacity and honesty to recognise his inherent – thoughtless – separation of people on the basis of ethnicity. The plea for a recognition of our God-given and common humanity runs throughout Sterne’s work. When it comes to gender differences Sterne is equally pointed in describing the ‘logic’ which denies a women authority over her own body or, come to that, even the right in law to be regarded as a blood-relative of her own children. Wit is the tool which Sterne uses to excavate the absurdities of his day, bringing to light the thin veneer of social etiquette that enabled the continuation of ridiculous conventions. At the same time, living at Shandy Hall in rural North Yorkshire, Sterne is enmeshed in the society and behaviours of his day. He knows this and uses humour to escape the passive acquiescence to which most conformed. Little wonder that friends encouraged him to get his preferment before he embarked on satire. Wit that came close to the mark and exposed conventions for what they were, could cost you a mitre.

Section from “A Flap Upon the Heart”; one of two new drawings by Rob Oldfield commissioned for the book.

A Sterne Lent offers the opportunity to keep company for a while with this witty, mirthful, digressive and somewhat doubtful parson. The book is immersed in an age that can feel very different from our own, yet contains themes that speak at times with remarkable contemporaneity. Above all, Sterne offers a lively voice whose strength is uninhibited by the usual constraints of ambition. His daring portrayal of the world he inhabited has the saintliness of a child-like disposition to tell the truth, even when it comes at a material cost. Sterne’s accurate depiction of human society bubbles out from his quill and left an enduring impact on the development of the novel. I hope that this curious and intriguing book will provide readers with a glimpse into another England, yet also one that touches with humour on human traits that persist within both church and society.