The Times Magazine 19It all began when Mary, our much loved
and longstanding church warden, announced
that she was ready to retire. She was a sharp,
take-no-crap kind of person, a woman who
got things done and ultimately the reason
for the seamless running of day-to-day life
at the church.
Replacing Mary would be difficult, but
after a month or so of looking I had found
someone who I thought would be up to the
task. His name was Stephen, a recently retired
gentleman who was new to the area. He was
calm, organised and punctual but, personality-
wise, the total opposite of Mary.
Once she’d relinquished her role, it quickly
became apparent that Mary just couldn’t
let go. She couldn’t resist telling Stephen
how to do things the right way (aka her way).
When Stephen did something a different
way, she would shake her head and say,
“No, we do it like this.” All the time Stephen
managed to stay calm, taking on the feedback
with patience and grace. In hindsight I should
have seen things might boil over, but I wouldn’t
have expected the way that they did.
The few moments before a church service,
as the congregation are taking their seats,
are when I collect my thoughts and say a few
prayers. I close the vestry door and basically
get in the “zone”.
“Father! Father!” The door of the vestry
swung open and through it bounded Mary.
“Father, it’s Stephen. He’s got Reginald to
put the hymn numbers up!”
Reginald is dyslexic and I later discovered
that the numbers on the hymn boards
were scrambled.
To say I was furious with Mary for
breaking in on the precious moments of
peace and calm just before the service would
be an understatement.
I took a deep breath and with enormous
restraint explained to Mary as calmly as
I could that it really “wasn’t the appropriate
moment” for such an earth-shattering
revelation. “There is a time and a place,
Mary, and it is not now. The service is about
to begin,” I said firmly.
I managed to shake the incident from my
mind for the rest of the service. It was only as
we were in the closing bars of the final hymn,
just before the final dismissal, that I noticed
something was awry.
To the right of the pews, just where
we serve coffee, were Stephen and Mary.
Stephen was making sure that someone
had put out enough cups for everybody and
Mary was standing over his shoulder talking
quickly and quietly. Ironically, this was
happening as the congregation sang the
last verse of the hymn Make Me a Channel
of Your Peace.
The hymn finished and I got the first line
of the dismissal out: “Go in peace to love andserve the Lord.” But before the congregation
could reply with the words, “In the name of
Christ, Amen,” Stephen’s voice boomed out for
all to hear: “Piss off, Mary!”
The congregation looked stunned and
about three people weakly uttered the
response, “In the name of Christ, Amen.”
My first reaction was to laugh out loud;
the second was, “Oh dear, this will take
some sorting. Lord, please help me!”
My advice to new vicars? Never
underestimate how trivial the cause of
World War Three could be.- Theft during the sermon
As a vicar standing in the pulpit you quickly
learn the different types of congregation
members. There are those parishioners
who come every Sunday and sit in the pews
listening intently. Those who come to church
for the community side of things just as
much as the Christian faith. Then there are
the frazzled parents who, with their kids
occupied in Sunday school, use the service
as a time for peace and quiet, reflection – and
to write that week’s shopping list.
And then there are the members of the
congregation who steal your car during
the prayers.
It was the beginning of December and a
community outreach programme we’d been
running was proving a great success. We had
managed to involve some residents from the
local homeless hostel. Some of them had even
started coming to the evening service, a much
more informal event.
When I showed up one Sunday evening
to take the service I was feeling upbeat. There
was good attendance and I could see some
new faces, a lady and a young girl I assumed
was her daughter, and two young men whom
I didn’t recognise sat in the second row, just
behind where my chair was.
I began the service enthusiastically,
welcoming our new members. I’d picked
particularly rousing hymns and, spurred
on by my optimism, probably went on for
a bit longer in the prayers than I would
normally do.
The service ended and, feeling happy
and satisfied with how it had gone, I walked
out into the lobby, keen to speak to our new
visitors. Just as I was looking around for
the two young men, I heard a panicked voice
from behind me.
“Vicar!” I turned around to be greeted by
a very alarmed church warden. “It’s your car.
It’s been nicked.”
I have to admit that at this point I thought
this was a total wind-up. My keys were in my
jacket pocket, which had been sitting on my
chair right in front of me throughout the
entire service, in plain sight, except for during...
The penny dropped.
‘WITH THE PRIEST BARELY
CONSCIOUS, I TOOK OVER.
I FELT LIKE ROWAN ATKINSON’