From the writings of Father Marion Barabbas, priest in charge of the village of Ascond in Trondheim. Father Barabbas was an unusual man, who suffered from strong and fervent religious visions, and felt constantly torn between the Lord and the Devil. His writings are of considerable use, both to students of psychiatry and those of divinity. Certain of Fr. Barabbas observations reveal a great deal of his own personal theology, and the struggles he endured with personal guilt.

I sit and the blank page mocks me. Sometimes, the Word comes easily; each syllable queuing up, awaiting the attention of my pen. When I am at my devotions, as I carry out Mass, as I preach, the Word thunders and reechoes in my ears, demanding my full attention when I can least give it.

I worry sometimes. Is the Word a gift from the Lord? Do these words fall from the lips of God to be affixed to my page with the calligraphic scratchings of my pen? Or do they come from a further, darker source? In the dark hours, between the two sleeps, my mind presents its doubts to me. With argument and counter-argument, my head aches. Evidence mounts up on both sides.

If the Word is a gift from God, then I must maintain my strength. I must continue this path, being the pathway between man and his Creator. If the Word is from the Lord, it is my duty to gift it to the world, to carry on despite my fears, despite my own worthlessness.

If the Word as I know it is an illusion, created by the Adversary, then I must not write. I must not be the midwife to the Devil’s labour, bring his damned tools into the light. But how do I tell? I pray. I lose myself in prayer and study of the Holy Scriptures every day. I focus on the unarguable Word of God, and I try to make myself his conduit. How can I tell?

The good tree bears good fruits. The bad tree bad. And by their fruits do we know them. What are the fruits of this Word as given to me. My preaching is acceptable before the eyes of God and of the Bishop. My faith is strong. My belief in the Lord is unwavering.

But my belief is untested. I believe because I see at every turn the works of God. I believe because I have never been without the whisperings of God’s Word in my inner ear. What if, like Job, I believe only because God is so good to me? And what if my test is to withstand the allure of the Adversary drooling his poison in my ear?

Then I am failed, and there is no salvation awaiting me. For I have listened to the voices and written the tracts, and in doing so, I have given the Devil a home. If on the other hand, these words are the instruments of God, then I will indeed enter into Heaven. And I do not know. I cannot be sure. Because I am either damned or saved, belonging to either the Lord or the Adversary, and I know not which. All that exists is faith. Faith that what will take place will take place, and God will act through it to make things right.

Father Barabbas died young, aged 42. His writings achieved a modest popularity within the Diocese of Trondheim, but did not spread much further. While a fervent believer, his writings are filled with the wrestle of good and evil, and it is rare to see a clergyman openly sharing such doubts in his public writings. Some scholars have argued that Fr. Barabbas writings play a much greater part in the Reformation and Enlightenment, certainly within the diocese of Trondheim, than ever previously admitted.