"I Heard the Owl Call My Name" (Margaret Craven, 1967)

I first read “I Heard the Owl Call My Name” in Morocco. I was at the end of a year-long stint doing volunteer and missions-type work in that country, and my teammate James passed it along to me after he had read it.

It was a fitting time to read such a beautiful story, because it reminded me of how much I had learned during my year in that culture, and how much my perspective, my outlook on the world, had changed from a year earlier.

The story is set on B.C.’s rugged northern coast in a small, isolated Indian fishing village, where Mark, a young Anglican vicar has been sent to serve as minister.

Before he sets out, Caleb, his mentor and wise old predecessor tells him, “Don’t be sorry for yourself because you are going to so remote a parish. Be sorry for the Indians. You know nothing and they must teach you.”

And the story, told beautifully in simple, concise sentences and paragraphs that paint a compelling picture of the people and the landscape of the region, describes the process as Mark goes from stranger to family member as the village gradually embraces him – and teaches him.

This occurs in a setting where it rains almost continuously, where rugged mountains line inhospitable shorelines, where fishing and logging are essential means to survival, and in a village that is struggling with its identity in a changing world that threatens to sweep it up in its path or leave only the tattered remnants in its wake.

It’s not surprising that IHTOCMN, though written by an American, has become a classic in Canada and can be found on the shelves of English classrooms across the country. Timeless in its delivery, and with a message that should resonate with all generations and cultures, it refuses to preach but still somehow irresistible calls on the reader to place new importance on values such as family, faith, patience and unconditional love.

Mark, though he is sent to the village implicitly to teach, becomes the student, as his values and priorities are reshaped by the villagers – and somehow, through the process of learning and being molded by the village, he also has a deep and profound impact on those that live there.

The lessons he learns are perhaps described best by the Bishop who comes to visit:

“Always when I leave the village,” the Bishop said slowly, “I try to define what it means to me, why it sends me back to the world refreshed and confident. Always I fail. It is so simple, it is difficult. When I try to put it into words, it comes out one of those unctuous, over-pious platitudes at which Bishops are expected to excel.”
They both laughed.
“But when I reach here, and I see the great scar where the inlet side shows its bones, for a moment I know.”
“What, my lord?”
“That for me it has always been easier here, where only the fundamentals count, to learn what every man must learn in this world.”
“And that, my lord?”
“Enough of the meaning of life to die.”

Those words, and the rest of the story, brought me back to the emotions I was feeling when I was preparing to leave Morocco. They reminded me of the wrong notions I had going in, about all that I could teach the people there. And the way that I had to take a steep, hard fall from that position before I realized I was the student, I was the one sent there to learn, not to teach.

And I was taken back to the sharp, deep new appreciation I had, upon leaving that part of the world for simple things such as family, faith, love, friendship, and loyalty.

And how God taught me so much and planted in me such a new set of values, forged in fire with two good friends.

And as my heart broke for the second time as I re-read the book recently, my heart also weighed heavy with the realization that those values have faded for me, lost some of their brilliance. Simplicity is in short supply here in Toronto, and as a result the beauty of a less complicated lifestyle often gets lost in the confusion and speed and chaos all around.

IHTOCMN reminded me I have to find the simple beauty that still exists here. That I need to put aside the distractions and focus on what is important – as Mark was forced to do in that tiny Indian village in order to survive, and as I was once forced to do in Morocco for the same reason.

You should read this book.

I will lend you my copy.