by Chrys Cymri
We turned left, then left again to process up the central aisle. The hymn, I suddenly realised, was the original Welsh version of ‘Guide me, O Thou Great Redeemer.’ As we came to the front pew, I heard Clyde’s strong tenor voice all but drowning out James’ and Peter’s own efforts.
The Bishop took her place in the chancel, standing between the choir stalls. The Archdeacon stood to her left, and Andras went to the dragon’s right. Morey and I joined the rest of my family at the front pew. Peter passed over a copy of the order of service.
We had agreed that the service would be conducted in a mixture of English and Welsh, with translations provided on the service sheet. So Peter and James bent their heads over their booklets while the Rural Dean used Welsh for the opening prayers. Then the Archdeacon took over, and addressed us in English. ‘Dear brothers and sisters in Christ, you have asked Father Penelope White to serve here as your interim minister. She will pray for you, work with you, teach and learn from you, and offer love and guidance as together you do the work of Christ in this place. The gifts of interim ministry give you a unique opportunity to reflect on where God has been in your past, and where he is calling you to be now and in the future. Your interim minister will also help you, during this time of transition, to consider what gifts and experience you might need from your next rector. As interim minister, Father Penny’s time with you is limited. Even as she begins her ministry with you, she knows, and asks you to understand, that all her pastoral relations must end before your next rector begins. Is that your wish and understanding?’
‘It is our wish and understanding,’ the congregation responded, in a mixture of Welsh and English. ‘Thanks be to God.’
There was a sudden movement at the back of the church. I turned my head. Raven had entered, his saddle still in place on his back. I smiled as the other dragons made room for him. Then I bit my lip as they pulled further away than mere courtesy should have required. Surely Christian dragons wouldn’t be prejudiced against a search dragon?
‘Father Penelope White will not serve you alone,’ Bishop Aeron said. ‘God has also called Elder Trahaearneifion to serve as deacon and curate amongst you.’
Morey’s claws scraped against the pew, and for a moment I wondered if he would, at the last moment, refuse. But once the stool was placed before the Bishop, he dropped down to the floor, walked over, and leapt onto the pale top. He looked very small, under the flickering oil lights and in front of the large dragon, and I swallowed against a sudden lump in my throat.
Bishop Aeron addressed Morey in Welsh. The words were very similar to those which had been spoken, in English, when I’d been ordained a deacon thirteen years ago. ‘God calls his people to follow Christ, and forms us into a royal priesthood, a holy nation, to declare the wonderful deeds of him who has called us out of darkness into his marvellous light. The Church is the Body of Christ, the people of God and the dwelling-place of the Holy Spirit. In baptism the whole Church is summoned to witness to God's love and to work for the coming of his kingdom. To serve this royal priesthood, God has given a variety of ministries. Deacons are ordained so that the people of God may be better equipped to make Christ known. Theirs is a life of visible self-giving. Christ is the pattern of their calling and their commission; as he washed the feet of his disciples, so they must wash the feet of others.’
I blinked, wondering how a gryphon could wash feet. Or hooves. Talons? Perhaps the words followed the Church of England service a bit too closely.
The confession followed, and the Bishop’s absolution. Then I stepped out from my pew to face the Bishop. Morey was still standing on the pew, his tail hanging limply to the floor. ‘Reverend Father in God,’ I said firmly, ‘I present Elder Trahaearneifion to be ordained to the office of deacon in the Church of God. He is to serve in the parish of Saint George’s, Caer-grawnt.’
The dragon looked down at Morey. ‘Do you believe that God has recalled you to this ministry?’
Morey’s voice was steady. ‘I do believe.’
‘Let us pray,’ the Bishop continued, ‘for Father Penny and Elder Trahaearneifion, and for the ministry of the whole people of God.’
After the prayers, Morey and I returned to our pew for the readings. Clyde slipped past Peter to sit next to the gryphon. As we stood to hear the Gospel reading, I glanced down, and saw that the snail shark was pressing his shell against Morey’s stiff side.
The Bishop invited us all to sit. ‘I’m only going to give a short sermon,’ she told us in English. She paused, then added with a wink, ‘Why doesn’t anyone complain about a short sermon?’
The congregation laughed. Bishop Aeron swept her gaze across us all. ‘God works in mysterious ways. That’s what the Bible tells us. And certainly there is little which is more mysterious than our link with our sister world. Earth is so very different than Daear. We are all considered to be little more than myths in that world. And, it has to be said, the humans who have come across to our own lands have not always been good ambassadors.’
The Bishop drew upon the story of Saint George and his death under the lance of human knight. I forced myself to remain calm, but inwardly I cringed, wondering if this were one of those instances when a bishop did more harm than good. ‘However,’ she continued, ‘we have here an example of how God’s grace works even in humans. Father Penny has embraced the people of Lloegyr, showing the love of Christ even to a snail shark.’ Clyde chirped in response. ‘You, the people of Saint George’s, have the God-given opportunity to reach beyond those old stories, those old prejudices, to see that which is of Christ in all of us. As our Gospel reading reminded us, Christ is “the true light, which enlightens everyone.” So I commend Father Penny to you, and you to her, as you seek together to find and to spread the light of Christ in this community. Amen.’
‘Amen,’ said the congregation.
The Bishop announced the next hymn, ‘Calon Lân.’
As we sang, the Archdeacon came to stand beside her bishop. Morey returned to the stool. It was only then, as Peter’s elbow brushed my arm, that I thought to ask him, ‘Is Taryn here?’
Peter shook his head. ‘She can’t be. You know why we’re having these breaks between challenges? It’s not out of the goodness of the matriarchs’ hearts. Right now, it’s Taryn and her grŵp rhyfelwyr who are out hunting something large and prehistoric. She has to prove herself as much as Morey does.’
I said nothing, but a feminist part of me cheered. Another part of me was sorry for Morey, who no doubt would have liked his fiancée to be here on such an important occasion.
Bishop Aeron addressed the congregation in Welsh. Peter held up his booklet to read the English translation. Morey was being reminded of the duties of a deacon, namely proclamation, service, pastoral ministry, and in leading worship. The Bishop then posed a number of questions to Morey, asking him to declare his acceptance of the Bible and the doctrines of the Church of Lloegyr, whether he would be diligent in prayer and in reading Holy Scripture, would he be a faithful servant in the household of God? Morey answered each question in the affirmative, his voice loud and steady.
The Bishop paused a moment, then brought her head closer to Morey. She switched suddenly to English. ‘Will you accept the discipline of this Church and give due respect to those in authority?’
‘By the help of God, I will,’ Morey affirmed, his tail lashing.
The dragon lifted her head and resumed speaking in Welsh. I closed my eyes as the glorious words in praise to God rolled through the church. Bishop Aeron concluded, in English, ‘And now we give you thanks that you have called this your servant, whom we ordain in your name, to share as a deacon in the ministry of the gospel of Christ, who came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.’
I opened my eyes again just in time to see her massive forefoot descend upon Morey’s small head. ‘Therefore, Father, through Christ our Lord we pray, send down the Holy Spirit on your servant Trahaearneifion for the office and work o
f a deacon in your Church.’
That was my cue. I crouched beside the stool, and fastened the cowl around Morey’s neck. Then I stood up, and we both faced the Bishop. The Archdeacon and the Rural Dean had come to stand on either side of her. ‘Father Penelope White, Father Trahaearneifion, will you work with this congregation and this parish, providing servant leadership to further the work of God’s Kingdom in this place?’
‘With the help of God, we will,’ Morey and I responded together.
‘Will you be faithful in leading worship, in pastoral care, and in the ministry of administration?’
‘With the help of God, we will.’
The Archdeacon addressed the congregation. ‘People of God, will you welcome Father Penny and Father Trahaearneifion to serve amongst you? Will you support and uphold them in their ministry now and in the months to come?’
And in a mixture of English and Welsh, the assembled beings answered, ‘With the help of God, we will.’
Andras drew a dark object from his pocket, and laid it across his broad palms. Bishop Aeron exhaled across it, then told me, ‘Receive this cure of souls, which is both yours and mine, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.’
‘Amen,’ rumbled through the church. And I lowered my head to allow Andras to slip a leather cord around my neck. A Celtic cross as long as my hand rested against my chest. From the light green colour and weight, I decided it must have been carved from jade.
Andras announced the third hymn, ‘God is working his purpose out.’ As we sung, Cadfan brought up a cushion and placed it near Morey’s stall. At the end of the last verse, I lowered myself onto my knees, and Morey crouched down.
Bishop Aeron held up one forefoot, three toes held together in symbolic representation of the Trinity. ‘The God of all faithfulness strengthen you for your ministry and commitment to one another; the God of all grace give you vision, courage and joy; and the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, be upon you and upon all your work done in his name, now and for ever.’
‘Amen.’
I struggled back to my feet, trying not to catch my cassock with my feet. Morey and I turned to face the congregation. The Bishop said in Welsh, ‘People of this parish, I present to you your interim minister and her assistant curate, and I invite you to greet them and their family in the name of Christ. I commend them to your love and to your prayers.’
‘We welcome you!’ the assembled beings responded. ‘May the Lord richly bless you, and may you be a blessing to us.’
Bishop, Archdeacon, and Rural Dean drew to one side. Peter handed me an order of service, and I turned to the back page. ‘Worship is here next Sunday at 10am, Holy Communion using the Book of Common Prayer. This Tuesday will be the PCC meeting, 6pm in the church hall. And now, for our final hymn, “The Church’s One Foundation.”’
And the churchwardens led us out, Morey and me at the front, the others lined up behind. The sun was low in the sky and cast golden light over the trim churchyard and the nearby houses. I took my place by the church door, and accepted the good wishes of the congregation as they filed out. Even Raven’s stiff nod couldn’t dampen my mood. I felt as if I’d finally come home.
Chapter Twenty-One
A rattle at the door made me look up from my toast. ‘Rat,’ Morey declared, abandoning his tea to fly through to the lounge. I followed, though I brought my mug with me. The rat was perched on the small coffee table, water dripping from her outstretched wings. The furniture might not be mine, but I still felt a responsibility to keep it in good shape for the next incumbent. So I ducked back into the kitchen to retrieve a hand towel.
The rat misunderstood my concern. She threw herself onto the blue fabric, rubbing fur and whiskers dry. Only after she had emerged, tousled fur standing erect along her neck and back, did she sit back on her haunches and ask, ‘Pa un ohonoch yw Trahaearneifion?’
‘Him,’ I said, nodding at the gryphon. ‘He’s the one you’re looking for.’
The rat pointed a forepaw at my mug. I handed over my coffee, and she took a deep slurp before turning to Morey. ‘Y chwedl rwy'n dweud yw o weithredoedd mawr ac anhysbys.’
I tuned out. This was going to be another of those complicated message poems. As the rat provided the promised ‘great tale of deeds unknown,’ I returned to the kitchen to pour myself a fresh cup of coffee.
A growl from Morey drew me back. His tail was a purple-grey blur, and I wondered what I’d missed. The rat continued her recitation. I tried and failed to work out what had alarmed Morey. The intricate rhyming scheme was beyond me. So I took a seat and sipped coffee until Morey had thanked the rat. The rat flew out through a small flap in the front door which, until now, I had somehow overlooked.
‘Well?’ I prompted Morey.
‘Our next challenge has been set,’ he said. ‘Tuesday next week.’
‘Good,’ I said happily. ‘That means I can chair the PCC meeting tomorrow night. What else did the rat say?’
Morey looked away. ‘One of Taryn’s grŵp rhyfelwyr is dead.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ I waited a beat, then asked, ‘How did it happen?’
‘The Stegosaurus caught Gormlaith with its tail,’ Morey said glumly. ‘The rest managed to bring it down, so they have successfully met the challenge.’
‘The members of her grŵp rhyfelwyr are drawn from her best friends?’
‘Friends and family. One is her younger sister. Same parents, different hatching.’
‘So she’s lost someone important to her,’ I concluded. ‘You should go see her.’
‘How?’
I smiled. ‘I know you’re supposed to visit Aron with home communion. I can go instead.’
‘I meant what I asked,’ Morey said patiently. ‘I don’t know where Taryn is, and even if I did, she could be thousands of miles away. I need a search dragon, and there’s none around here.’ He shook feathers and fur into place. ‘Taryn has a strong heart. She will survive.’
‘As you would, if one of us died?’ I asked softly. ‘Morey, is all this really necessary? Can’t you two just, I don’t know, elope or something?’
The red-brown eyes met mine. ‘This is important, Black. In your culture, a man asks his girlfriend’s father for permission to marry her. This is our equivalent.’
‘In our culture,’ I pointed out, ‘no matter how scary the father might be, at least he’s not a Tyrannosaurus rex.’
‘To be fair, that hadn’t been part of the plan.’
‘To be fair, your clan could have lifted us to safety.’ I picked up the towel and waved it at Morey. ‘If the next challenge risks our lives like that, I warn you, I’ll pull James, Clyde, and me out of this whole grŵp rhyfelwyr thing. I don’t think Peter would be willing to continue, either.’
The gryphon’s ears were pulled back. But he said, in a subdued voice, ‘I understand. And I’m sorry.’
‘Good.’
‘No, not for the last challenge. For reminding you that Alan had no one to ask. Your father was long dead.’
I found myself smiling. ‘Actually, Alan decided to ask James. It was very sweet. James was only six years old, and he took it very seriously. Alan had to wait two days for his answer. I seem to recall that my bride price included a good quantity of Lego.’
Morey chuckled. He flew to my shoulder, and I fluffed his head feathers. ‘I swore that I would permit no harm to come to any of you, Penny. I meant that.’
‘I trust you. I don’t trust your family.’
‘That makes two of us.’
‘Hungry!’
Clyde was sitting at my feet. Morey’s claws dug into my fleece as I bent down to pick up the snail. ‘And how,’ I asked him, ‘did you come down the stairs without us noticing?’
‘Hungry!’
‘Black,’ Morey said, ‘you know this has to happen.’
‘I know.’ I carried them both through the kitchen, and out the side door. Early morning sunshine
gleamed across the brown hutches lining the back fence. Clyde slid to the short grass, freeing my hands to open one door and pull out a rabbit. I felt like a Judas as the warm brown body snuggled trustingly in my arms.
‘Two,’ Morey told me, joining Clyde on the ground.
‘Two?’
‘I need to eat as well.’
So I reached in, and drew out a second victim. Then I turned and went back into the house, not wishing to witness the slaughter. It wasn’t easy, living with two out and out carnivores.
James was charging down the stairs as I returned to the lounge to dry off the coffee table. ‘Hey Sis, I’ve only got ten minutes for breakfast. I really fancy a bacon butty. Got any in?’
Make that three carnivores, I thought. The males in my household might be enough to make me turn vegetarian. ‘There’s something that looks like bacon in the larder. Give it a go. But first you can help with the washing up.’
‘Washing up?’ James looked in dismay at the dishes in the sink. ‘No dishwasher?’
‘What do you think?’
My brother shook his head in mock dismay. ‘You’ve always said that dishwashers are proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.’
I threw a tea towel at him. ‘Then think of this as a test of the faith you don’t have.’
We both left the house at the same time. James raised the hood of his waterproof jacket over his head and hurried down the road. I headed into the main residential area. Even the rain pattering against my umbrella couldn’t dampen my spirits. I was the Rector of Caer-grawnt, and I was making my first pastoral call.
Cadfan’s house was an end terrace. The small front garden was filled with spring flowers, which had suffered somewhat in the downpour. I walked up the cobble path to the dark front door. Only then did it occur to me that all of the houses on this street had small doors. Larger beings couldn't walk through. So where did the dragons and gryphons live?