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Kevin Wood
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@KevinStphnWood
6:00 AM 9th July 2021
fiction

Diary of a Sociopathic Vicar – Part 33

 
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There are certain expectations a vicar has of people during a church service. They are expected to arrive shortly before the service, greet those they meet with a smile and update them regarding any ailments. They should then collect a hymn book, service book and notice sheet before proceeding to their seats in an orderly fashion.

During the service, they should stand, sit, and kneel as directed by the vicar. Indeed, a properly trained congregation will have a Pavlovian response to phrases such as, “Let us pray”, dropping promptly to the floor when required. A thoughtful vicar can give a congregation a complete aerobic workout, should they choose.

The congregation may only leave their seats during the service for specific reasons, such as performing a Bible reading, or receiving Holy Communion. At the end of the service, they should leave their seats, return hymn and service books – while retaining the notice sheet - and collect a cup of stewed-yet-dilute tea. If they have been especially good, they may receive a biscuit.

It is not expected that they should leave their seat at the start of the last hymn and turn off the CD player being used to provide music.

I will happily admit that the CD player we were using was not the last word in HiFi. Still, the organist had thoughtlessly broken both her wrists, and we had to make do. It was probably the worst possible sound system to play a grand tune like “Judas Maccabeus”. Pedants will note that the tune commonly associated with the hymn “Thine be the Glory” is actually called “See the Conquering Hero”, and “Judas Maccabeus” is the name of the Handel oratorio it comes from. If you had asked me, I would have said that I was the only person in the congregation who knew this.

Until today.

After turning off the CD player, Al walked over to the upright piano in the school hall and pulled off the dustcover. The congregation watched in silence, not sure what to do. Al opened the lid, and, rather than sit on the stool, crouched slightly so his hands were level with the keys. He started to play.

I did not know it was possible to play an old upright piano like that. I have heard renditions on cathedral organs which were poorer than Al’s offering. Granted, there were a few wrong notes, as if he were out of practice, but he recovered wonderfully. The congregation all but exhausted themselves singing, then after the last verse, he let it fade away and started playing “Oh, Lovely Peace” – yes, I know there’s a few songs that should come before it in the oratorio, but it worked. He nodded to me and I led the last prayer and gave the dismissal as he played in the background. As I processed out, he went back to “See the Conquering Hero” for an encore.

I stood at the door for a couple of minutes to say goodbye to those who lacked the time to receive their reward of tea and a biscuit. I had stopped the practice of handing out coffee on the grounds that the stuff we provided was more of a punishment.

As I was getting my tea and biscuit I looked around for Al, because I wanted a word with him. He’d already left, presumably through the side door, so I approached his friends, Porker and Psycho.

“Take my advice,” said Porker. “Don’t say a word. That way, there’s a good chance he’ll play again next week.”

“Yeah,” added Psycho. “And that will be as good for him as it will for you.”

“And now we’d better go and look after our bro.”

“Why?” I asked, “What do you think he’ll be doing?”

“About ninety down the bypass,” said Psycho, and Porker high-fived him.

As they left, Mordred Williams approached. He’s a Lay Reader, recently moved into the parish, significantly less intelligent than he thinks, likes to be called “Mordred of the family Williams”, probably has difficulty completing dot-to-dots.

“Where did you get that organist?” he asked. “He’s one of the best I’ve heard.”

“He is rather good, isn’t he?” I responded, before changing the subject. I didn’t want to have to explain that I hadn’t known about Al’s talent, although in retrospect there were numerous clues. “I’m glad I’ve bumped into you. I was thinking about your role as a Reader.”

“Oh yes, I’d hoped we might discuss that.”

“Good, good. Well, as I’m sure you know, we need to get you relicensed by the Bishop. That means the church council has to approve you, which means that they have to have time to get to know you.”

“Ah, but the Bishop is only there to govern us, not to rule us. Men like you and I; we don’t need to worry about that.”

As always, poor grammar is an indicator of inferior intellectual processes. Likewise, the implied misogyny.
“I fear that your argument will not help you,” I replied. “The Bishop is quite particular.”

“Yes, but only if we tell,” Mordred said, with what he presumably thought was a winning smile.

“Do it my way, or don’t do it at all,” I said. “But if you don’t do it my way, I will ensure you do not preach in this Diocese again.”

You could argue that this was not very subtle, but I could not afford to be perceived as a rule breaker. Such matters would be guaranteed to come out just as I was preparing to be translated to Archbishop of Canterbury. Besides, Mordred was just being childish.

Seeing my point had gone home, I continued, “Now, what I suggest is that we get you in front of people. A Bible reading, or the intercessory prayers. Get you known a little.”

Eventually, Mordred agreed to take the intercessory prayers the next week. This is generally considered a fairly safe option to give someone you’re not sure about. These are the prayers “for the Church and for the World”, in theory drawing God’s attention to current affairs in case he hasn’t been paying attention. People often sleep through them, hence making them a good, low-risk opportunity to introduce Mordred to the church. Given a free hand, I would not introduce him to the church at all, but it was necessary to create the appearance of welcoming him.

The day proceeded along well-worn lines, and then it was Monday. Monday’s always bring a certain amount of correspondence. As many in the Diocese refuse to do something by e-mail when they can do it by snail mail (and then tend to put it in the post last thing on a Friday) it means Monday’s post can be quite large.

Once I had finished this, I checked the time and decided there was enough time to go to the gym before lunch. I knew that Phil the trainer would have a shift now, and I wanted to check how he was doing as he’d had some recent problems. As a vicar, it’s not just about being there to apply the emotional first aid; you have to do the follow-up too. It’s not always easy, because any vicar who takes their position seriously is overworked – but you still need to do it. I saw Phil and managed to combine my workout with some vicaring. Phil is the generous type and was singing my praises to the other leisure centre staff. Bottoms on seats might be a crucial metric for a vicar, but community reach is another. Gradually, I was increasing my presence in Sutley.

After lunch I had some more routine vicaring planned, but barely had I put my plate in the sink when the phone rang.

“Saint James Vicarage – David Wilson speaking.”

“Ah, David, so glad I caught you. It’s Martin Dawson.”

One of the members of the Sons of Jesus Lemurian, recipient of the documents I had faked to undermine their secret society, and not terribly bright. If he were, he wouldn’t be a member of a society of heretics intent on taking over the Church of England. Coincidentally, he was also involved in the planning process for the new church that was to replace the one I had burnt to the ground.

“Good afternoon, Martin. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got some documents for you to sign for your new church. From the Consistory Court. Get these signed and we’ll be moving very quickly.”

“That’s excellent news!”

“Yes, yes, just one thing. I need you to do me a little favour first.”

I doubted that the little favour was part of the standard process of approving the building of a new church.

Disclaimer: Rev. David Wilson’s opinion that a vicar who takes their position seriously is overworked is clearly erroneous. There are 24 hours in a day, and it is expected that vicars make use of all of them.
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