Diary Of A Sociopathic Vicar – Part 4

If a government were to rebrand taxes as the “Share”, implying that everyone should pay their “Share”, there would be outrage. Yet the Diocese expects parishes to pay their “Share” each year and get very upset if they don’t.

There are many ways that a vicar is judged by the higher-ups, but the most important measure is the Share. Thus it was not a good sign when the Diocesan Finance Office phoned to find out why St James hadn’t handed over the cash for two years.

Fortunately, I have sufficient self-confidence that attempts to pressurise me are ineffective. Being a sociopath is very win-win.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said to them. “As you know, I’ve only been in the parish a couple of months, and I’m not up to speed with everything yet.”

“Surely the finances are a key area of your responsibility?”

“I agree entirely, but the treasurer has been unwell, and unable to fulfil his usual duties. I was liaising with the church warden on the matter, but he’s just been murdered which has slowed things up.”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s a very difficult time for the parish. However, we still need to keep things moving.”

“Perhaps we could meet up in a couple of weeks, once the grief has subsided a little?”

We agreed a date, and I hung up. Only for the phone to ring again immediately.

“Saint James Vicarage – David Wilson speaking.”

“Ah, David, it’s Bob here. Bob Howey.” Robert Howey. Unimaginative, incompetent, dispenser of unwanted advice and vicar of Norley.

A brief description of the local geography might be appropriate here. My patch is Sutley, a place name which means the South clearing in the forest. Norley means the North clearing in the forest. Students of English geography will be unsurprised to learn that Norley is three miles West of Sutley. Likewise, students of the Church of England will be unsurprised to learn that the parish of Norley is five miles East of Sutley.

“Hello, Robert,” I said, attempting to keep my voice neutral.

“I heard about your trouble with the church warden.”
“I think that a gruesome murder counts as a little more than trouble.”

“Yes, yes, well, I saw you on the news last night.”

“Oh, indeed?” I asked.

“Yes, well, I couldn’t help thinking you were overdoing it a little.”

“In what way?”

“Far too much emphasis on God. If you want to appeal to people you need to play down the religious aspect of it all.”

“Forgive me, but I rather thought we were a religion.”
“Yes, yes, but no need to ram it down people’s throats, is there?”

And here you can see my main objection to Robert Howey. He is what I would describe as a homeopathic vicar. In homeopathic medicine, ever smaller quantities of an active ingredient are used to treat a condition, apparently with greater effectiveness. The homeopathic vicar considers that reducing the active ingredient of God to non-existence is the key to success.

He wasted a further five minutes of my time before I was able to get rid of him, and get my lunch.

Over lunch, I reflected on the Share. Perhaps I should have been more insistent about the accounts, yet a new vicar who is more interested in money than people doesn’t create a good impression.

Still, I needed to do something, so I arranged a meeting of the standing committee, the senior members of the church council. There’s supposed to be five people, but St. James only had four, including myself. And with Arnold the church warden dead, that left three. Geoff the treasurer (retired accountant, low intelligence, completely useless, could be replaced by a talented mollusc), and Sue the secretary (grandmother, moderate intelligence, moderate competence, acceptable). I made the required calls and insisted that Geoff brought all the accounts with him.

That night at seven, the meeting began. And immediately stopped when Geoff confessed that he hadn’t brought the accounts with him. I sent him home to get them. An hour later, Sue and I were still waiting, so I phoned him.

“Yes, yes, I’m still getting them together. There’s quite a bit of information to collate.”

“I’m not asking you to analyse them now, I just need you to bring them round. Just put it all in a bag and bring it over.”

Sue and I continued our conversation, with me enquiring after her grandchildren, their education, and generally getting a full biography. Eventually, about quarter to nine, Geoff returned with a Sainsbury’s carrier bag full of paper. He started spreading the contents around my study, but I stopped him.

“Geoff,” I said, “Can you tell me the last time we made any payment of our Share?”

“Er, I’m not sure.”

“Have we made any payments in the last two years?”

“Um, I don’t know.”

I sighed and glanced at Sue. She was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Look, Geoff, perhaps this is my fault for not speaking with you sooner, but this can’t go on. I know you’ve had a lot to do during the interregnum, but this…” I waved at the disorganised pile of paper. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask for your resignation.”

There followed the expected toing and froing, but eventually he left.

I hung my head and shook it slowly, for Sue’s benefit.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “But I didn’t see any other way to handle it.”

“I understand. It can’t be easy coming into a parish like this.”

And that is where talking to people and making them feel special has its value. They support you even when you do a hatchet job.

The next day, I started going through the accounts. Immediately I saw they were incomplete. Church finances are pretty simple. Money comes in from the Sunday collection, wedding fees, and so on. Money goes out for items like electricity, insurance, and the Share. It’s a job anyone except Geoff can do.

I began looked more closely.

The money noted down for collections seemed on the low side, for starters. I receive the collection each week, and you get a pretty good idea how much is on the plate. Then there was the bill for repair to the oil tank for the boiler. Apparently, it had been repaired a few months back, and there was an invoice marked “Paid”. This was strange, because only the previous week, I had noticed it leaking. A closer look at the invoice revealed it had been printed off on an ink-jet printer. A fake. Geoff was on the take, and faking invoices to cover it.

There was nothing left to pay the Diocesan Share.
There was no way we’d get the money back from Geoff.
But the insurance was up-to-date.

So, I decided to burn down the church.

Disclaimer: The opinions of Rev. David Wilson regarding the Parish 'Share' are in error. The Parish Share is carefully designed to reflect an equitable arrangement considering the needs and abilities of each parish.