What do vicars do on a Sunday?

One obvious answer is that they go to church. This is generally considered to be part of the job description.

But what do they do after church?

The typical Anglican communion service lasts between an hour and an hour fifteen minutes. The service generally starts between 9:30 and 11:00. This means that however you work it, the vicar is pretty much done by lunchtime. Yes, some large parishes with big congregations may have an evening service but generally that is not a worry for most priests.

What can a vicar do in the afternoon? Not much, it turns out. Normal vicarly activities are not possible. Home visits? People are generally off doing family things, and the last thing they want is for a bored vicar to turn up on their doorstep. If they don’t have a family then they don’t want a vicar to point it out to them – they are already painfully aware of it. Hospital visits? No, for a rather simple reason. Vicars do not want to risk stepping on the toes of the hospital chaplain. This is a pity, because hospital chaplains seldom have the chance to visit all the people who might appreciate a visit – which means that if their family don’t visit, patients find Sundays a very long day. Liaising with the diocese is not possible, because they want to project the idea that they are fully occupied on a Sunday. Other vicars? Well, if the diocesan office is busy, they’re not going to admit that they’ve got free time. It would look like they’re not trying hard enough.

Most vicars spend their time in quiet reflection. Typically, this will mean closing their eyes whilst reclining in a favourite armchair, although sometimes television involved.

Personally, I try to get the diocesan paperwork out of the way. This has several advantages. First, it means that I can get on with the real work of being a vicar for the remaining six days of the week, and even spend a little time with Mabel in the evenings. Second, it gives the diocesan offices something to do on a Monday morning which might otherwise be a bit slow for them. Finally, it means that the diocese will be aware that while they were pretending to be busy Sunday afternoons, I actually was busy. Not that I wish to guilt-trip them – although that is a bonus – but it is good for people to appreciate that I am working when they are sleeping in an armchair.

On this particular Sunday the Methodist Superintendent Minister for the local circuit, Larry Seagry, had saved me from paperwork. I am reasonably sure this generosity of spirit was unintentional as he had gone missing under suspicious circumstances. Indeed, having met Larry, I would assume that any generosity of spirit would be unintentional.

As a result, DI Dennis Thorpe from the local police station had joined us at the vicarage after the morning service. He was a familiar acquaintance, and semi-regular member of the congregation. He was also busy consuming custard creams like they were going out of fashion. Martin, the curate was also hanging around. Mabel my wife and Abigail my housekeeper were also in attendance, but as they live with me this is quite reasonable.

“Now, David,” said Dennis, “On your recommendation, I sent some of our officers round to check on Mr Seagry. When they couldn’t get a response, again on your recommendation, I got them to enter the property on the basis that you believed he was in danger or otherwise incapacitated.”

“Yes,” I said. It was, after all, true.

“Why did you believe he was in danger?”

“Because this morning’s service was the inauguration of a Local Ecumenical Project between the Methodist Church and the Church of England. Not only was it very important for both Churches, but it is not a disadvantage to a minister’s career.”

“And to your career?”

“It won’t hurt it, but to be frank, I am not senior enough for it to make any difference yet. In five years’ time it might be another matter.”

Dennis nodded. “In other words, you have reason to believe that he would have been there if possible, and if not, that he would have made every effort to contact someone.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, on the basis that there’s no sign of him, he’s left his phone and keys on the table and the car’s in the drive something’s not right.”

“Excuse me,” said Mabel, “I thought you had to wait twenty-four hours or something before looking into someone going missing.”

Dennis demonstrated that shrugging while seated is an ineffective non-verbal communication and said, “It varies. If we’ve got good reason to believe something has happened to someone and we don’t do anything about it there and then… Well, we don’t want that coming back to bite us, do we? And David has proven credible in the past. Now, Martin, isn’t it?”

Martin jumped slightly at mention of his name. “Yes?”

“There was something back at the church – what was it… Ah, yes. The other chap, younger Methodist, what was his name?”

“Jimmy Down,” I supplied, “Larry Seagry’s junior.”

“Thank you. He said that the Deep Church might have had something to do with Seagry’s disappearance. You seemed to know what he was talking about.”

Martin gave a nervous little laugh. “It’s a student joke. From theological college.”

“Really?”

“Silly really. But have you heard of the Deep State conspiracy theory?”

“Group of rich people supposedly controlling government for wealth, power and personal gain, apparently the one’s really running the world? Load of rubbish.”

I had to agree with Dennis. The only way that such a group of people would make sense would be if they were to implement long term plans to guide the world’s governments in order to concentrate wealth and power into their hands. Considering that governments of all colours regularly demonstrate the inability to pursue a goal for longer than a week, it is clear that Deep State cannot exist.

“Well,” said Martin, “It’s like that, but for the Church. So, the joke is that if a lecturer went on an unannounced sabbatical, then it must have been the work of the Deep Church. Or if a tutorial were moved for no good reason. Stuff like that.”

This sounded to me more believable than Deep State. Not the moving of tutorials, of course, but the concept of people manipulating the Church over many years to achieve certain goals. After all, unlike government, the Church had remained fairly consistent, if incompetent over a long period.

“Just a joke, then?” asked Dennis.

“In rather poor taste, it would seem,” I added frowning at Martin, who blushed.

Dennis helped himself to another custard cream, and rose to his feet.

“Well, I think that’s as much as I can do here. I think you all know the routine by now.”

“No,” said Martin.

“Then I’m sure you’ll learn very quickly,” said Dennis, collecting his coat.

Shortly after that Martin left, leaving me with Mabel and Abigail.

“Abigail, have you ever heard of this Deep Church? Based on past experiences I am forced to wonder if there is such a thing.”

“Let me check,” she said and left the room.

“Do you think that Larry has gone Home?” Mabel asked.
Being married to a somewhat evangelically orientated wife there is certain terminology I had become familiar with. Mentally, I auto-translated this to “Is he dead?” and replied, “I fear so.”

She nodded, and bowed her head, resting her forearms on the arms of the chair, palms up, fingers curled slightly inwards. A very common position for prayer amongst the evangelicals, and I suppose that if it works for them, then all well and good. I can’t help finding the hand position somewhat reminiscent of dead hedgehogs, however.

While she prayed, I considered the concept of Deep Church. Yes, plausible, but if they didn’t exist, then that meant there was a vacuum. Vacuums are meant to be filled. Was this a useful direction to consider? My thoughts on how Deep Church might be established were interrupted by Abigail’s return.

“No,” she said, “There’s no such group as Deep Church, or its functional equivalent.”

“You were able to Google it that quickly?” asked Mabel.
“No, I just phoned up the government’s Department of Conspiracies.”

“Do you mean that in London there’s a department with a Whitehall office that handles conspiracies?”

“Of course not.”

“Oh, right.”

“They’re based in Leeds.”

“I didn’t know that they’d got around to shifting government departments out of London yet. I know they’re always going on about it in the news, but I didn’t think they’d actually done anything.”

“It happened years ago – it’s just that the politicians missed it because they weren’t paying attention. It’s all part of national resilience. If the country gets invaded, then by distributing government around the country it can still remain functional.”

“Oh, so was that because of the Cold War?”

“Napoleonic War, I believe, although it could have been earlier than that.”

“But no Deep Church,” I said.

“None. They said it’s the kind of thing that they might have done, but they’ve been laying low since all that Flat Earth palaver.”

“Do you mean,” asked Mabel, “That the Department of Conspiracies starts conspiracies?”

“Of course. It enables them to keep track of all kinds of oddballs and nutters. If they don’t start the conspiracies then the oddballs and nutters will manage it by themselves and that causes no end of problems.”

I pre-empted Mabel’s next question by saying, “And so they are quite certain that this Deep Church is just a student joke?”

“Yes. It’s very important to their work that they don’t start a conspiracy that already exists. It could be very dangerous fort them, too. The people they deal with aren’t blessed with good reasoning skills. If the Department of Conspiracies says that a conspiracy doesn’t exist, then it doesn’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have dinner to make.”

With that, Abigail left the room, leaving me to consider the possibilities of Deep Church. Just because it didn’t exist currently, that didn’t mean to say that it could never exist. The question was, how useful would such an organisation be, were someone to create it?

This promising line of enquiry was interrupted by Mabel plonking a handful of leaflets in front of me. They featured swatches of colour, and pictures of happy couples standing on ladders waving paint brushes at each other.

“We need to redecorate,” she said.

Disclaimer: Rev David Wilson is wrong to dismiss the concept of Sunday afternoon armchair mediations so easily. Many of the finest minds of the Church find such ruminations to be most helpful after a hard morning leading worship.