by Ivan B
“OK Jo, what’s this all about? I don’t really think you came here to let the girls see Macbeth.”
Jo looked down at her tea for a minute or so. The she looked up and made full eye contact with him.
“Peter” she started, “There are some terrible rumours about you going round the town.”
Pause.
“They say that you had to leave your last parish because of trouble in the Sunday School.”
Pause.
“Please tell me it wasn’t little boys?”
If it had been anyone else Peter would have hit the roof, but Jo was winning a place in his heart and for that he held his peace.
After a stony silence Jo pleaded.
“Peter please; I go away with Danielle tomorrow for two weeks!”
He could tell that she was close to tears, and feared the worst.
“What do you believe?” He asked.
She blurted out.
“I think it’s all malicious and untrue”
He was quiet for a moment, he could tell now that it had cost a lot for her to come and broach the subject. He also knew that men had let here down in the past, and he didn’t want to perpetuate this pattern, especially if there was any hope f them building up a trusting relationship.
“I’ll tell you” he said, “but please don’t tell anyone else, let them believe what they want to believe.”
Peter hesitated; wondering where to start, then he began.
“It all started when I saw a burning bush – wait a moment I’ll get it.”
And with that he went round the back of the house, reappearing a few moments later with a large cardboard box and a small gas canister. Out of the box he pulled a metal bush, about 18” in diameter, complete with green metal leaves and thorns. It sat on a little metal box. Peter opened a flap in the box and screwed in the gas canister. He then placed the bush on the ground some way away from them and turned it on. The thorns turned out to be gas jets, which burned with a yellow flame. The whole effect was quite startling; it did indeed look like a burning bush.
“I saw this at an outdoor craft exhibition,” Peter said. “This was on a Saturday, and the following day I was due to give a talk to the Sunday School on Moses. This looked like manna from heaven. You’ve probably realized by now that I struggle with children’s talks. You have to make them relevant to the children, and speak in a language they understand. They say a picture is worth a thousand words and I thought this little gadget would be a great hit. Sunday came and I took my burning bush with me. I was very careful. I took a metal plate to go underneath it, and made sure that the children could not touch it by placing the whole affair on the projector stand. It was a great hit. The kid’s thought it was marvelous. I left it burning throughout the whole of my talk and then it did its party trick and all hell let loose.”
He paused.
“It was manufactured in Germany and the instructions were in German and Japanese with no diagrams. I don’t read either language, but I reckoned that it was simple to operate. I was wrong - oh was I wrong. The on/off switch has two positions; the first position is for the burning bush effect, that’s what I tested in my garden and that’s what I thought I was showing the children; the second position is for the burning bush effect and its party trick. When I turned on the bush for the Sunday School, I accidentally set the switch to position two. Just drink your tea and wait.”
So they sat in the sunshine, looking at the bush and Jo wondered just what was going to happen. Suddenly there was a pop and a ball of flame rose from within the bush, roaring and burning until it reached a height of about four feet where it dispersed.
“There’s a hidden tank space in the base.” Peter explained. “When you put the switch hard over it bleeds gas into this tank and when it reaches full pressure a pop valve operates and releases all the gas at once into the middle of the bush. The result is the fireball. If the Sunday School were impressed with the bush they were amazed at the fireball. The trouble is it set the roof alight. That Sunday School was held in a multi-purpose church cum hall on the far edge of my parish; it was old and had a suspended ceiling. I had placed the bush on a projector stand and the fireball went up and straight into the ceiling void.”
Peter paused for a minute.
“The whole building burnt down. We got everybody out safely and managed to rescue some equipment, but the local fire brigade was dealing with a warehouse fire and it was fifteen minutes before the fire brigade arrived from the next town. By then the building was just one large torch.”
By now Jo was looking at Peter and grinning, she could see the picture in her mind’s eye.
“I bet the papers had a field day,” she said.
“There was worse to come. The Church cum hall was old and needed replacing, but the church could not afford it. I had joked with the Church Council that we ought to employ the Diocesan Arsonist and rebuild using the insurance money. Someone reported this to the police and I was charged with arson. Even worse the insurance company refused to pay out because the burning bush did not comply with European Safety requirements for indoor use.”
“Did it go to court?” asked Jo.
“Only a Magistrate’s Court. The Magistrate said that he could not believe that anyone would be so stupid as to commit arson in the full view of the whole Sunday School and threw the case out. He also said that he could not believe that anyone would be so stupid as to in effect light an open fire in the middle of the church in the first place!”
Jo was smiling from ear to ear and obviously having difficulty in not laughing.
“But your right about the papers, they loved it. We had ‘Holy Smoke’, ‘Great balls of fire’, ‘Look out Vicar your handbags on fire’, and my favourite ‘Vicar’s preaching sets church alight’.
Jo managed to suppress laughing.
“How come you’ve still got the bush?”
Peter chuckled.
“It’s not the original bush. Once the church’s insurance company failed to pay out I tried to claim using my own insurance; they said they would only replace what I had personally lost. They have a total replacement ethos; so they bought me the only thing I had lost in the fire - the burning bush! At least this one had instructions in English.”
By now Jo was laughing uncontrollably. Peter saw the funny side of it too and joined in.
Just as they were gaining control of themselves the bush emitted another fireball and they burst out laughing again.
“Is that why you left?” Jo Asked.
“The church council asked me to leave; they said that I had managed to both destroy the building and the church’s reputation. I couldn’t but agree. My Bishop was sympathetic, but said he was unable to place me in his diocese as I had become notorious. However he talked with other Bishops and this Diocesan Bishop offered me Felburgh. He said it had the great advantage that it had become a straightforward Bishop’s appointment due to its problems, so I would not have to be interviewed by the PCC and would therefore not have to face any awkward questions. I’m just surprised that it’s taken so long for the news to reach here.”
“Are you glad you came”
“Yes, but it’s been even better since I’ve got to know you.” Peter replied quietly
Just then the girls appeared and the bush, on cue, let off another fireball.
After Jo and the girls left Peter decided to go to the hospital before watching the recorded Grand Prix. When he arrived Kimberley was sitting up in bed, fully conscious and holding Sarah in her arms.
“How are you?” He asked.
“Sore - if I keep my head still I am OK, but if I move it the walls move too!”
Damian took Sarah from Kimberley’s arms and said to Peter.
“I’ll just take Sarah back to Bronwyn, she’s downstairs with Taffy in the coffee bar.”
“Who’s minding the Pub?” asked Peter.
Damian grinned.
“Jeremy and Tracy; talk about letting the prisoners run the j
ail.”
Damian departed and Kimberley settled back very slowly into the pillows. Peter thought that she was going to go to sleep, but she looked at him.
“Father, do you believe in angels?”
“Why do you ask?”
“The first night in hospital that I really remember I woke up to find this person next to me praying and holding my hand. He was very kind and told me that God cared about me and had surrounded me with his special friends. I must have fallen asleep and when I woke up he was gone.”
“What did he look like?”
“I don’t remember much, but he was bald and had very bushy eyebrows that met in the middle. I think his eyes were brown.”
Peter almost laughed.
“He may be an angel Kimberley, but that is a perfect description of my Archdeacon, Jasper.”
“What’s an Archdeacon?”
“Think of him as halfway between a priest and a bishop.”
Kimberley smiled and then drifted off to sleep. Peter crept out of the room in search of the coffee shop. On the way there he pondered on Jasper’s visit to Kimberley; just what had he been doing there? As far as Peter knew they had met once, briefly, on his driveway. In any case how did he know she was ill? Damian, Bronwyn and Taffy were all in the coffee shop when Peter arrived. Damian appeared about to leave, but Peter laid a hand on his arm.
“It’s OK, she’s asleep.”
So Damian sat down again.
“How is she really?”
Damian gave a sigh of relief.
“She is really on the mend . Mr. Patel has been back and given her a clean bill of health and said that in his opinion she will make a full recovery. But he gave me a little lecture.”
Bronwyn continued for him.
“She is not, under any circumstances, to live alone until the wound in her skull has fully healed; that’s somewhere between three and six months. She is not to be pushed to try and remember what happened. Her memory stops two days before the accident and Mr. Patel is adamant that no-one makes an issue of this; the memory may, or may not, come back and in the grand scale of things it doesn’t matter. Finally, rest is the great healer and she must not attempt to look after Sarah alone, it would be too tiring for her and could set back her full recovery by months.”
Everyone considered this and eventually Damian gave Peter a pleading look.
“Peter, can I still marry Kimberley on the common license?”
Peter did a quick calculation.
“Yes. They are valid for three months, so you could get married using it up to the first week in July, but is Kimberley in any state to get married?”
Damian nodded.
“We’re both dead sure.”
Peter changed the subject.
“Where is Kimberley going to live on leaving here? The studio flat is too small for two adults and above the pub is too noisy.”
“No problem,” said Taffy, “She’s going home. This has shaken her parents up somewhat and they are both eager to have her and Sarah back home. Bronwyn’s going to lend a hand during the days when her mother works in the charity shop.”
Damian suddenly said to Peter.
“Has she really seen an angel, or is she hallucinating?”
“Neither,” said Peter, “Her angel turns out to be Jasper, a colleague of mine; they’ve met before, but she won’t remember that.”
“By the way,” said Damian, “thanks for staying with me on that night.”
“All part of the service,” Peter replied, “I just hope that we never have to repeat the experience.”
Peter left the hospital and on his way home popped in to see Henry and Caroline. Mother, twins and Father were all doing well, although father was looking a little tired. Once home Peter finally got to watch his grand prix, but it was a close run thing. With three re-starts and two periods behind the safety car it had only just fitted onto the allotted recording period. But it was an excellent grand prix enhanced by a sudden downpour ten laps before the end. However, the recording gave Peter his second experience of the day of discovering the oddest people in the weirdest of places. First there was Jasper in Kimberley’s hospital room, and now there on the screen was Marjorie standing in the pit lane talking to one of the jet-setting females who was currently some driver’s girl-friend. The shot was brief, and in the background, but on playing the recording a couple of times Peter was in no doubt, it was Marjorie.
Cum Monday morning Peter was to his surprise feeling more content than ever, especially as Charmian had fitted in so well so quickly. Peter had asked Charmian to report in every Monday morning even though they would probably meet at other times during the week. This Monday Charmian settled down into his old leather armchair while Peter finished entering names into his diary for visiting. The list seemed to keep growing Sunday by Sunday. Charmian suddenly held out her hand.
“Why don’t you give some of the list to me?”
Peter smiled in his best fatherly manner.
“You’re not supposed to be an extra pair of hands, you’re supposed to be here for training.”
“Does that mean I have to sit by and watch you work morning noon and night? Peter I am quite capable of pastoral visiting, besides which if I don’t practice now how will I know what to do when I leave here?”
Peter was somewhat taken aback.
“This week has been an exception because of Kimberley’s accident.”
“And how often are their exceptions?”
Peter began to feel that somehow the boot was on the other foot; he was supposed to be monitoring Charmian’s work, not vice versa. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Charmian got in first.
“Peter, we’ve got to work as a team if I am to benefit from your greater experience. I will not benefit if you crumble under the workload.”
Peter decided to change tack.
“I asked you to think about what you wanted to do. Any ideas?”
Charmian smiled a sort of wicked smile.
“For a start I would like to take over half of your pastoral visiting - I hardly did any in my previous parish and I do need the experience. I would like to organize the afternoon baptism for the Mothers and Toddlers, and try and build bridges with the local primary school.”
Peter thought about this.
“Yes and no. Yes I’ll pass on some visiting, but beware you will probably soon be generating your own. Yes you can take the afternoon baptism off of my hands, but I want to be involved and I want to baptize Justin. No, you can’t start building bridges with the school just yet. You are to be ordained priest next month and I do want you to have time to prepare for that. Next September you can start building your bridges.”
Peter sensed there was something else and he asked gently.
“And?”
Charmian looked a bit embarrassed.
“Please don’t take offence, but once I am priested I would like to take over the 8 o’ clock communions. If I am honest I would also like to re-introduce a sung evensong one Sunday a month.”
“Is that all?” asked Peter somewhat bewildered.
“I might be pushing my luck, but I would also like to try a monthly evening service aimed at young people.”
Peter looked at her eager enthusiasm and did not want to dampen her spirits, but he also felt he had to inject a slice of reality.
“My problem, Charmian, is that what you start I might have to continue when you finally leave. I agree that the 8 o’ clock is not one of my better offerings, and that there is a need for young people’s work, but sung evensong?”
“It’s my spirituality Peter, and I dare say there are some others in the town who feel the same; are we to deny them their spiritual heritage?”
Peter sat back in his chair; so far this morning he had lost every argument.
“What do you want to do with the 8 o’ clock?”
“Nothing special, it’s a straight Prayer Book Service. I would like to introduce a short homily, and I would like to wear a chasub
le.” She went on quickly before Peter could interject, “I’ve tried them on, and they fit me perfectly.”
Peter smiled.
“There’s a balance here between what the church expects of a communion service and how a priest is comfortable leading it. I have been thinking about this since you arrived and told me that in reality you are high church. I want it discussed at the church council meeting, but I believe that you must be allowed to conduct Eucharist in your own style as long as it does not offend the church. Seeing that the chasubles are the church’s I can’t see why they should object to you wearing them when you preside at communion and that goes for both morning services. But if you want to introduce anything else we must discuss it first. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“And before we start any evening services, I want to see your arrangements, particularly for the youth services.”
Charmian nodded.
“Would you be happy to see the youth service as an ecumenical one? All the youngsters go to the same school and it seems silly to make them split up and go to youth services in different churches.”
Peter started to open his mouth and Charmian got in fast.
“And of course the experience of ecumenical working will enhance my curacy here.”
Peter laughed.
“OK, OK, but keep me informed.”
They then set about dividing the pastoral list into two and Peter handed over the names and addresses of all the baptism candidates and their various Godparents. When Charmian had gone Peter said to a recumbent Aquinas, “I have a feeling that I am going to have to prepare more for our Monday meetings or that young lady is going to run rings around me.”
During the rest of the week everything seemed to settle down. Mark saw Peter on Tuesday and told him that he had sold the yacht, not for £100,000, but for £150,000. Peter had tried to insist that Mark keep the extra money, but Mark had laughed.