by James Lark
Suddenly, the postcard made a lot more sense.
‘It doesn’t surprise me in the least,’ Lindsay Phair declaimed, waving the local Cogspool Evening Gazette, ‘I always knew there was something about him …’
‘Well, I must say I’m a little bit surprised,’ Robert Phair countered.
‘What, even after what he preached last Sunday? You really didn’t realise, even after that?’
‘You weren’t there, darling, you don’t know what he preached on Sunday.’
‘It’s all in here,’ shouted Lindsay, with a mixture of anger and triumph. ‘I can’t believe that he actually preached this filth – “Jesus had a body with a penis like any other man, and like any other man he wasn’t ashamed to use it …” – it’s … it’s … depraved!’ She flung the paper down on the table.
‘Well, that wasn’t exactly what he said,’ Robert responded, uncomfortably. He couldn’t remember hearing anything like that, but he was aware that his mind had been wandering a lot so he might possibly have missed it.
‘I won’t be setting foot in that church ever again.’ This wasn’t exactly a new idea – several times in the past, Lindsay had declared her intention of remaining well away from the general vicinity of St Barnabas. But now she felt vindicated. ‘And to think we took our daughters there!’ she exclaimed in outrage. ‘We trusted him with them!’
‘It’s not as if he’s ever actually been on his own with …’
‘And this article suggests he’s taken people home with him in the past – boys! In our church!’
‘Um …’ Robert chuckled uncertainly. ‘I suppose that our girls weren’t in any danger of that though – being, er, girls …’
‘It’s not just that I’ve been lied to, it’s the whole church that this reflects on, the whole of the Christian church.’
Robert decided not to voice his surprise about the sudden concern his wife was showing for the Christian church. ‘I think that there, er, there have been … er … g … er … homo, homo, er … gay priests in … er … in other churches before, Lindsay,’ he said, trying to calm her down.
‘But to think that it could happen here!’ she retorted. ‘Not just in our village! Our church!’ She sat down, exhausted by her energetic disapproval. ‘I think I’m going to write a letter,’ she decided. ‘Yes, I am. I’m going to write a letter.’
‘Who to?’ Robert mildly enquired. Lindsay considered this.
‘To the Bishop, I suppose.’ Her grasp of Anglican hierarchy was hazy, but she knew there must be a bishop somewhere above their vicar – a bishop had visited their church once, hadn’t he? ‘I want to make it very clear that we don’t approve of the vicar in our church and want him removed immediately.’
‘You said that you weren’t going to go there any more,’ Robert pointed out, but Lindsay ignored him.
‘Gerard!’ barked Mrs Feehan, suddenly and unexpectedly.
Gerard looked up from the other side of the room where he was vacantly pretending to read a book. ‘Yes, Mother?’ he said, alarmed by her tone of voice.
‘Where did you say you were the other night?’
Gerard met his mother’s icy cold stare and felt the sweat prickling on his forehead. ‘I … I told you, Mother. I spent the night with Reverend Biddle.’
‘Go to your room,’ commanded Mrs Feehan in an enraged whisper. As Gerard hurried out of the room with tears pricking the back of his eyes, she folded the Cogspool Evening Gazette and placed it on the coffee table. She was considering her options with thoughtful fury.
On the coffee table next to the Gazette, the old Feehan family Bible lay open at the book of Leviticus – though it was there more as an aide memoire, Mrs Feehan having learned most of the book by rote when she was a girl. Back then, she had won the Sunday-school prize for recitation of scripture by heart; the certificate still sat in a frame towards the back of a dresser in the corner of the living room, behind some cut-glass preserve jars and next to a picture of Gerard, a blond six-year-old with an uncertain smile.
She turned away from the picture, disgusted, and back to the Bible, her lips mouthing the words to herself again. ‘If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death.’
She would have to consider her actions very carefully, but she would not shy away from completing what the Lord required. God’s word made it clear that such difficult deeds would be necessary until he returned in the flesh to punish wrongdoers and reward those who had remained faithful.
Sathan Petty-Saphon knew that the people who attended St Barnabas looked to her for guidance. She felt it was her duty to set an example of what it meant to be a good, upstanding member of the church, so however difficult she sometimes found it, she made an effort to be continually understanding and forgiving, setting a high moral standard but allowing herself to show loving condescension to those who were not so strong. As such, she had to be open-minded. She had maybe been exposed to more varieties of moral degradation than most other people. She was not easily shocked or disgusted.
But at this particular moment, she was both shocked and disgusted.
The tidings carried in the Cogspool Evening Gazette had hit her with such unanticipated force that she had, for several minutes, been completely unable even to pick up her telephone to make sure other key parishioners had heard the news. Even during the conversations which followed when she regained a little of her strength, she had found great difficulty in keeping her own personal opinions out of the telephone calls (which were strictly intended to alert people to an administrative problem which needed urgent attention), when it was important to pass on only the basic sordid facts of the whole outrageous matter.
Having worked her way through the people she considered key parishioners, as well as her sister (who didn’t live in the parish but took an interest in its activities and should therefore be informed for prayer purposes), a couple of her closest friends (she felt the need to unburden herself, in the strictest confidence, to some people with a greater intellectual understanding of the issue) and Mrs Roderick (who was blind, so would not have been able to read the story in the newspaper – it seemed only fair that everybody should have the opportunity to find out), Sathan sat down to clarify her thoughts and decide what to do next.
Now that it had come out, she wasn’t at all surprised. No wonder she had never felt entirely at ease with Andy Biddle – she had known instinctively that something was awry. And the reason for her unease when she had last visited him was suddenly startlingly obvious. Of course she had been uneasy, he had been attired as an homosexual! She could have kicked herself for not jumping to the logical conclusion sooner.
Not that she had any prejudices against homosexuals. Although it was one of the most repugnant moral sins, she had always shown tolerance and understanding towards such sinners. She was also pleased to engage with the arguments surrounding the issue, for debate was important and useful. However, it was only useful within the context of a clear understanding of the Biblical standpoint, specifically that homosexuality is an abhorrent and vile sin. Sathan Petty-Saphon would happily take on board other opinions, but to question the Bible would be tantamount to questioning God. And any questions people had for Him could wait until everything else had been dealt with and they were up in heaven.
To be any less tolerant of homosexuals, destined though they were for hell, would be to deny reality in a society where homosexuality was all but accepted. But whilst such things had to be tolerated by necessity, it was quite another matter to have an homosexual in charge of the church. Sathan Petty-Saphon knew that unless swift action was taken, it might be too late; other, less proactive churches had ended up with priests who were openly gay, resulting in homosexuals being welcomed into their congregations. Petty-Saphon would do all that she could to ensure that such liberal attitudes did not manifest themselves at St Barnabas.
She was supposed to meet Andy Biddle at the church hall
to put out chairs for the church entertainment. She couldn’t imagine that he would go there now, not after his guilty secret had been released to the public. Certainly, it was questionable whether the church entertainment could go ahead at all – in the light of recent news, there was little place for levity.
But what if Reverend Biddle brazenly carried on as before, arrogantly assuming that everything he was doing was acceptable? That was what gay people were like, after all.
She decided that the best thing to do would be to wander over to the church hall to see if he was there. If he wasn’t, the vicarage was only another five minutes’ walk away. Somebody had to confront Biddle, and the sooner it happened, the better it would be for everybody concerned.
Biddle hurried to the church hall, his mind running over the article in agitated frenzy. Things were slotting into place, but pieces of the puzzle were still missing – he had ascertained the involvement of the man who it seemed wasn’t actually called Mick who he’d spoken to the other day, who had also been there for his sermon. Then there was the night at Different, but who had seen him there? He quickly ruled out any thought that Gerard Feehan might be involved. Then un-ruled it out. Perhaps Gerard wasn’t as naive as he appeared to be?
But Gerard Feehan … surely not?
Then again, in this day and age, who could you trust?
But … but how had anybody managed to turn it into the story splashed all over the front page of the Gazette? Everything about his ‘guilt-ridden, anguished sexual frustration’ – when had he ever given that impression? And the mangled mess of his sermon … Never had a sermon been so misinterpreted since – well, since he’d made an omelette the week before, now that he thought about it, but honestly …
He wasn’t even gay, for crying out loud!
What could he do? Again and again he asked himself the same questions. What action could he possibly take? How would this affect his relationship with his parishioners?
He had decided immediately that Sathan Petty-Saphon was an important person to have on his side, so he would go to the church hall and help her put out chairs as previously agreed. That would give him an opportunity to explain to her what had happened, inexplicable though it was.
He unlocked the church-hall doors. There was no sign of Sathan, but he decided to make a start on the chairs, if only to keep his mind occupied. Now – whereabouts would she want the stage area to be? Whichever formation he chose it was bound to turn out to be wrong. Maybe he should clean the toilets instead …
He realised that he was no longer alone and quickly turned round. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, we obviously need to have an important chat about this very surprising and, I’m sure you’ll agree, upsetting— oh.’ It wasn’t Sathan Petty-Saphon at all, but Biddle recognised the man with a beard and slightly unkempt hair. That was right, it was the man who had been sitting in church for the last few weeks, the one who had wanted to speak to him. Biddle was naturally keen to engage with new members of his congregation, but this was hardly the best time. ‘I’m sorry, I was expecting … um … I mean, obviously it’s good to see you, yes.’ Biddle hoped the man hadn’t read a newspaper recently. ‘I know you wanted to speak to me and I’m very sorry we haven’t had a chance to … er … chat. Until now.’ The stranger nodded. ‘The thing is, now isn’t really … er …’ Biddle was beginning to get the impression that the stranger wasn’t in any hurry to leave, so he would have to be firm. ‘Look,’ he said, holding out his hand, ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone the conversation for a bit longer, something has come up, I’m afraid – but you can tell me who you are at least!’
‘I’m Jesus,’ the stranger told him.
Biddle was about to laugh good-naturedly, but something about the stranger’s eyes halted him; looking again at the man in front of him, Biddle was shocked to feel a distant sense of recognition, and he saw that the man was indeed Jesus.
PART TWO
For as in the days that were before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that Noah entered into the ark, and knew not until the flood came, and took them all away; so shall also the coming of the Son of man be. Then shall two be in the field; the one shall be taken, and the other left. Two women shall be grinding at the mill; the one shall be taken, and the other left.
Matthew 24: 38…31
Chapter 16
When Sathan Petty-Saphon saw that the lights were on in the church hall, she was momentarily so indignant that she almost let out an enraged little ‘Oh!’; it could only mean that Biddle was inside setting out the chairs, carrying on as if nothing had happened. Was he seriously still planning to get up in front of everyone on Saturday and entertain them with a song?
She didn’t like to upset people, but it was with a certain grim satisfaction that she pictured Biddle’s face on learning that it just wasn’t going to be that easy.
As she strode purposefully towards the hall, however, the light inside the building flicked off. She stopped, reassessing her position. If Biddle was about to leave the building, it might not be the best place to confront him. She wanted to be on strong ground, after all, and Biddle would easily be able to excuse himself from a situation where he was already on the move.
No, she needed to get him where he couldn’t escape – far better to confront him on his own patch. It made sense to wait until he got back to the vicarage.
The driveway up to the church hall was flanked by large bushes; Petty-Saphon edged behind one of these as the church-hall door swung open. To her surprise, two people emerged. One of these was, as she had expected, Reverend Biddle. The other person was hidden in the darkness. She held her breath, trying to hear what they were saying, but she could only hear the low murmuring of their voices as Biddle locked up the building, his keys jangling furiously.
The other man looked very familiar. And it was a man, Petty-Saphon noted – how interesting that Biddle should bring a man with him to help put out chairs immediately after it had been revealed to the general public that he was gay. Without jumping to conclusions, she knew that there was a strong likelihood that this was the vicar’s boyfriend. Was the vicar so presumptuous as to openly put out chairs with another man? Had they expected to be welcomed at the church hall as a happy couple?
Again, Petty-Saphon took some satisfaction in the knowledge that this had not happened, and nor would it. Not ever.
Biddle finished locking the church-hall doors and the two figures moved down the driveway towards Petty-Saphon’s hiding place. Biddle passed her first, talking away apparently quite cheerfully, although Petty-Saphon imagined that she noticed something slightly strained and nervous in his demeanour. Exactly as he would be if he were taking his boyfriend out in public for the first time.
As the second figure passed her, she caught her breath. She knew that face – it was the scruffy, Jewish-looking man who had been sitting in church for the last month or so. It all started to make sense. No wonder he had been skulking in and sitting at the back. No wonder she had sensed there was something unseemly about him. She had an infallible intuition about these things; she had known, instinctively, that something was wrong, because this was the man who was sleeping with the vicar.
Furtively, she followed them at a distance. She felt a momentary stab of guilt at what was essentially spying, but reassured herself that it was for the good of the parish. And it was important to remember that she was not spying on decent, honest Christians, but on homosexuals, which made all the difference.
In the dim evening light she could easily remain out of sight without losing the people she was following. But although she was at her stealthiest, she had an uneasy feeling that the stranger with the vicar was aware of her presence. He didn’t actually look back, but she felt as though she was being watched.
She remembered his sneaky black eyes. Jewish people were cunning like that, she thought. They could make you feel like they knew about you, even when they didn’t.
She
continued with more confidence, remembering that she knew about him. At least, she was fairly certain that she knew.
Any doubts she might have entertained disappeared when the couple turned into the path up to the vicarage. Before then, she had half-expected them to part company, to leave her disappointed and uncertain of her facts. But, from behind one of the gate posts at the foot of the drive, she watched Reverend Biddle get his keys out and let them both in.
The scandal was complete. Feeling a triumphant despair at the state of humanity, Petty-Saphon was already imagining the things she would be able to tell people in the morning.
She couldn’t confront Biddle now, of course. Not with his boyfriend in the house. For a start, he’d have the strength of numbers on his side. And perhaps they were already tearing each others’ clothes off in a frenzied post-chair-arranging passion, making love to each other on the pastel-green carpet in the living room.
She shuddered at the thought, but let it linger in her mind while it fuelled her righteous anger.
The Reverend Andy Biddle was feeling nervous. Although he had valiantly tried to keep the cheery, spontaneous chat going, he felt quite certain that Jesus knew it was all a pretence to cover up his nervousness. The Messiah had remained largely silent during the walk home, which made Biddle even more nervous.
From the moment Biddle had first realised who Jesus was, his mind had been running over the previous week’s sermon. To think that Jesus had been there, in the church, all the time! Listening to all those things! Biddle wished he’d chosen his words more wisely, especially since he was no longer entirely sure what he had said and what Pender Gannit had merely reported that he’d said. He told himself repeatedly that he hadn’t once used the word ‘penis’, whatever the Cogspool Evening Gazette claimed. Had he?