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Algot Frövik, Sexton: The passion of Christ, his suffering... Wouldn't you say the focus on his suffering is all wrong?
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: What do you mean?
Algot Frövik, Sexton: This emphasis on physical pain. It couldn't have been all that bad. It may sound presumptuous of me - but in my humble way, I've suffered as much physical pain as Jesus. And his torments were rather brief. Lasting some four hours, I gather? I feel that he was tormented far worse on an other level. Maybe I've got it all wrong. But just think of Gethsemane, Vicar. Christ's disciples fell asleep. They hadn't understood the meaning of the last supper, or anything. And when the servants of the law appeared, they ran away. And Peter denied him. Christ had known his disciples for three years. They'd lived together day in and day out - but they never grasped what he meant. They abandoned him, to the last man. And he was left alone. That must have been painful. Realizing that no one understands. To be abandoned when you need someone to rely on - that must be excruciatingly painful. But the worse was yet to come. When Jesus was nailed to the cross - and hung there in torment - he cried out - "God, my God!" "Why hast thou forsaken me?" He cried out as loud as he could. He thought that his heavenly father had abandoned him. He believed everything he'd ever preached was a lie. The moments before he died, Christ was seized by doubt. Surely that must have been his greatest hardship? God's silence.
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: Yes...
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Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: God, why have you created me so eternally dissatisfied? So frightened, so bitter? Why must I realize how wretched I am? Why must I suffer so hellishly for my insignificance? If there is a purpose to my suffering, then tell me, so I can bear my pain without complaint. I'm strong. You made me so very strong in both body and soul, but you never give me a task worthy of my strength. Give my life meaning, and I'll be your obedient slave.
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Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: I had this fleeting hope... That everything wouldn't turn out to be illusions, dreams and lies.
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[last lines]
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of Hosts. The whole earth if full of His glory.
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Karin Persson: It started last spring. Jonas read about China in the papers. The article said the Chinese people were brought up on hate and that it's only a matter of time before China has atom bombs. They have nothing to lose. That's what they wrote. It doesn't worry me all that much. Maybe I'm just short on imagination. But Jonas can't stop thinking about it and so we discuss it constantly, though I can't help him much. Not with three kids and one on the way.
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: Right. Everyone feels this dread to some extent. We must trust God.
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Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: We live our simple daily lives and atrocities shatter the security of the world. It's so overwhelming and God seems so very remote.
Karin Persson: That's right.
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: I feel so helpless. I don't know what to say.
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Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: I understand your anguish, but life must go on.
Jonas Persson: Why do we have to go on living?
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Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: [looking up at the church's crucifix] What a ridiculous image.
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Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: Poor Tomas. What is it, Tomas?
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: It wouldn't matter to you.
Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: Tell me anyway.
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: God's silence.
Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: God's silence?
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: God's silence.
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Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: God has never spoken because God doesn't exist. It's as simple as that.
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Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: You have a lot to learn.
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: Says the schoolmarm.
Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: You must learn to love.
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: And you can teach me that?
Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: I can't. That's not in my power.
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Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: Life is messy enough without taking the supernatural into account.
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Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: I realized that I love you. I prayed for a task to apply my strength to and I received one. That task is you. This is what the thoughts of a schoolmarm might run to when the phone refuses to ring, when it's dark and lonely.
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Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: What I lack entirely is the capacity to show you my love. I haven't a clue how to do that.
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Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: I love you. And I live for you. Take me and use me. Beneath all my false pride and independent airs, I have only one wish: to be allowed to live for someone else. It's so terribly difficult.
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Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: I was a seaman's pastor in Lisbon, during the Spanish Civil War. I refused to accept reality. My God and I resided in an organized world where everything made sense. You see, I'm no good as a clergyman. I put my faith in an improbable and private image of a fatherly god. One who loved mankind, of course, but me most of all. Do you see, Jonas, what a monstrous mistake I made?
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Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: An ignorant, spoiled and anxious wretch makes a rotten clergyman.
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Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: Picture my prayers to an echo-god, who gave benign answers and reassuring blessings. Every time I confronted God with the realities I witnessed, he turned into something ugly and revolting. A spider God, a monster. So, I sought to shield Him from life, clutching my image of Him to myself in the dark.
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Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: If there is no God, would it really make any difference? Life would become understandable. And this death would be a snuffing out of life. The dissolution of body and soul. Cruelty, loneliness and fear - all these things would be straightforward and transparent. Suffering is incomprehensible, so it needs no explanation.
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Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: There is no creator. No sustainer of life. No design.
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Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: I feel humiliated by the gossip. No one used to pay much attention to the pastor. He was simply a fixture, though no one knew exactly what he was good for. Then the rumors began about you and me. All that tittle-tattle.
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Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: Don't get hysterical.
Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: That's what you always say whenever you see me crying. I suppose I am a tad hysterical.
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Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: I don't want you. Did you hear that?
Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: Yes. Of course, I did.
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: I'm tired of your loving care. Your fussing. Your good advice. Your candlesticks and table runners. I'm fed up with your shortsightedness. Your clumsy hands. Your anxiousness. Your timid displays of affection. You force me to occupy myself with your physical condition. Your poor digestion. Your rashes. Your periods. Your frostbitten cheeks. Once and for all I have to escape this junkyard of idiotic trivialities. I'm sick and tired of it all, of everything to do with you.
Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: Why didn't you tell me this before?
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: Because of my upbringing. I was taught to regard women as beings of a higher order. Admirable creatures, unassailable martyrs.
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Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: I don't love you, because I love my wife. When she died, so did I. I don't care less what happens to me. Am I making myself clear? I loved her and she was everything you could never be, but insist on trying to be. The way you mimic her behavior is such an ugly parody.
Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: I didn't even know her.
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: I'd better be going - before I spout even worse bits of senseless drivel.
Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: Could it get any worse?
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Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: Stare all you like. I can take it.
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: I can barely see you without my glasses. You're all fuzzy and your face is just a white blob. You're not really real.
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Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: You won't survive, Tomas dear. Nothing can save you. You'll hate yourself to death.
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Algot Frövik, Sexton: Those candles were tricky to light. Probably a factory defect. And I guess my broken-down body's slowing down my actions. The reason hardly matters. I leave the temple in semi-darkness until just before the bells start. I believe electric lights disturb your spirit of reverence.
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Algot Frövik, Sexton: Once when I complained about my pains keeping me up at nights, you suggested that I read...
Tomas Ericsson, Pastor: I remember.
Algot Frövik, Sexton: To distract myself. I began with the gospels. And real sleeping potions they were too, if I may say so, at least now and then.
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Märta Lundberg, Schoolteacher: If only we could feel safe and dare show each other tenderness. If only we had some truth to believe in. If only we could believe.
Winter Light Quotes
Extended Reading
