Saints and Sailors

by Pam Rhodes

  “We are,” replied Sister Maureen, who was travelling with them. “Just not quite sure which way to go.”

  “Follow us. It’s round the back of the abbey building, I think.”

  “Don’t forget Father Peter,” warned one of the ladies. “He’s gone to find Teresa. He thinks she’s still in the gift shop.”

  “We’ll wait for him, then,” decided Sister Maureen, clucking like a mother hen at the trials of keeping tabs on the only man travelling with them. “He’ll get lost if we don’t.”

  Val and Peter joined the others from Dunbridge as passengers from The Pilgrim made their way towards the Michael Chapel, chatting and laughing as they walked. The atmosphere changed instantly, though, once they’d squeezed through the door of the ancient building to join the crowd filling the little church. The building was long and thin, lined with dark wooden pews down both sides leading up to a simple altar. A Celtic cross was framed against a Gothic window looking out over the grassland that tumbled down to the shore, then across the sea to the mainland.

  “We’re here! Don’t start yet,” puffed Sister Maureen as she and Father Peter arrived leading a gaggle of apologetic Catholic mothers. Obligingly the crowd squashed together even more to make space for the late-comers.

  “Welcome, everyone,” began Neil. “We are gathered to worship in the Michael Chapel here on Iona, in the place where St Columba and his monks also worshipped way back in the sixth century. Theirs was a tough life. You can imagine how bleak it must have been at times, on this tiny island battered by the elements. The community had to work together in order to survive, and to accomplish their aim of spreading the gospel of Christ. They all had to play their individual part for the common good.

  “And so St Columba’s message has become an inspiration for all the thousands of faithful who have worshipped here since – his belief that what’s important is not just the universal community that exists between Christians, but the individual responsibility that rests on each and every one of us, to surrender our lives to God’s will and purpose. Jesus asked a simple question, not just to the disciples in his time, but to all of us who have the choice to be his disciples now. ‘Will you come and follow me?’ Will you? Could this be the moment in your life when God’s purpose for you becomes clear? Are you willing to put the needs of others before your own? Are you prepared to live out your faith in Christ, not just in church on Sunday, but every second of every day? Will you share all you have, do all you can, be all you should be?

  “One wonderful example of a Christian man whose every thought and action was to live out his faith and encourage others to do the same was John Wesley, who, along with his brother Charles, established the Methodist Church. They started life as Anglican ministers, but they both went through a remarkable conversion experience which inspired them with the knowledge that each of us is able to have our own individual relationship with God. It’s because of that relationship we are all called to make our own commitment to the care of others.

  “Let’s hear Reverend Ros remind us now of the words written by John Wesley as a prayer of covenant between himself and God.”

  Ros then got up to read the words:

  “I am no longer my own, but thine.

  Put me to what thou wilt, rank me with whom thou wilt.

  Put me to doing, put me to suffering.

  Let me be employed for thee or laid aside for thee,

  exalted for thee or brought low for thee.

  Let me be full, let me be empty.

  Let me have all things, let me have nothing.

  I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal.

  And now, O glorious and blessed God,

  Father, Son and Holy Spirit,

  thou art mine, and I am thine.

  So be it.

  And the covenant which I have made on earth,

  let it be ratified in heaven.

  Amen.”

  Ros finished the reading and looked at the small group of people who were standing to her right to one side of the altar. “Our first hymn is number 15 in our Pilgrim Companion. We have assembled a small choir for today, who will sing the first verse for us, so that we can really think about the words written by Frances Ridley Havergal back in the 1870s. She never thought of herself as anyone special – just the daughter of a country clergyman who wished she could do more to encourage others. But she could never have known how much she really did achieve through her hymns, which are still urging us to take a deeper spiritual walk with Christ today.”

  A solo voice, clear and cultured, rang out around the church as people strained to see who was singing.

  “Take my life, and let it be

  Consecrated, Lord, to Thee.

  Take my moments and my days;

  Let them flow in ceaseless praise.”

  “Good gracious!” whispered Iris, so that everyone around her could hear. “It’s that awful Carole woman from St Jude’s. She’s hardly a good example of someone who puts others before herself…”

  “Shh!” hissed Harry, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

  “Actually,” said Val under her breath, “she’s really rather good.”

  At this point, the whole congregation were invited to join in.

  Take my hands, and let them move

  At the impulse of Thy love.

  Take my feet, and let them be

  Swift and beautiful for Thee.

  Take my voice, and let me sing

  Always, only, for my King.

  Take my lips, and let them be

  Filled with messages from Thee.

  Take my silver and my gold;

  Not a mite would I withhold.

  Take my intellect, and use

  Every power as Thou shalt choose.

  Take my will, and make it Thine;

  It shall be no longer mine.

  Take my heart, it is Thine own;

  It shall be Thy royal throne.

  Take my love, my Lord, I pour

  At Thy feet its treasure store.

  Take myself, and I will be

  Ever, only, all for Thee.

  “Might I suggest,” continued Neil, once the last strains of music had died away, “that before you leave Iona today, you each go and find a place down on the shore and pick up two pebbles. Throw one out into the sea, as a symbol of something in your life which you would like to leave behind here. Take the other with you, as a sign of your new commitment to Christ in your heart. Make this your own covenant with God, your promise to do his will.

  “And if you doubt your strength to devote your life in this way, then know you aren’t alone in your fears. Even the great Martin Luther had his doubts, which he expressed in this heartfelt prayer.”

  It was the Methodist minister, Maurice Brown, who then stepped forward to read.

  “Behold, Lord,

  an empty vessel that needs to be filled.

  My Lord, fill it.

  I am weak in faith; strengthen me.

  I am cold in love; warm me and make me fervent,

  That my love may go out to my neighbour.

  I do not have a strong and firm faith;

  At times I doubt and am unable to trust you altogether.

  O Lord, help me.

  Strengthen my faith and trust in you.”

  There was complete silence, the powerful silence of prayer. And then from a back corner of the church, hidden from all, a man began to sing, his voice mellow and sweet, rich with emotion, strong with commitment and almost unbearably moving.

  “Make me a channel of Your peace.

  Where there is hatred let me bring Your love.

  Where there is injury, Your pardon, Lord,

  And where there’s doubt, true faith in You.

  Oh, Master, grant that I may never seek

  So much to be consoled as to console.

  To be understood, as to understand,

  To be loved, as to love, with all my soul.

  Make me a cha
nnel of Your peace.

  Where there’s despair in life let me bring hope.

  Where there is darkness, only light,

  And where there’s sadness, ever joy.

  Make me a channel of Your peace.

  It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

  In giving of ourselves that we receive,

  And in dying that we’re born to eternal life.”

  There was a stunned hush at the end of the hymn, broken at last by Father Peter, who had come to stand beside Ros and Neil, his Bible open.

  “Let us all be encouraged by what St Paul says in the third chapter of his letter to the Ephesians, verses 16 to 19:

  “I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge – that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.”

  “And may God bless you,” finished Neil. “May you be an isle in the sea, a shelter in the storm and a beacon in the darkness. And may the power of the Spirit pour on you today and all your days evermore. Amen.”

  Quietly, prayerfully, the small choir drew the service to a close by singing John Rutter’s setting of “Deep Peace”, the traditional Celtic blessing, with its words that had become familiar to every worshipper in the chapel.

  “Deep peace of the running wave to you,

  Deep peace of the flowing air to you,

  Deep peace of the quiet earth to you,

  Deep peace of the shining stars to you,

  Deep peace of the Son of Peace to you.”

  Lost in the atmosphere of worship, it took a while for the congregation to gather together their thoughts and their belongings, and make their way out of the Michael Chapel.

  “Who was that?” demanded Betty. “His voice was beautiful.”

  “How come we haven’t come across him before now?” said Sheila. “I haven’t heard a voice like that in the congregation at the services on board. Have you?”

  “That’s because I have only just joined the ship, ladies.”

  The girls spun on their heels to look into a pale, smiling face with chiselled features that were instantly recognizable, in spite of the navy blue knitted hat that was pulled over his head.

  “You’re…?”

  “Rhydian,” he agreed. “Wasn’t that service in this place just the most inspirational experience? I’ll never forget it, ever.” With a nod, he turned to start back towards the abbey.

  “We’ll be there tonight, cheering you on,” Betty yelled after him.

  He looked over his shoulder to give them a big smile and a cheery wave, before striding around the corner of the abbey and out of sight.

  “That was a stroke of genius,” commented Bishop Paul as he followed Brian, Neil, Ros and Clifford out of the chapel.

  “Rhydian singing?” asked Brian. “I didn’t even need to ask him. He asked me. Coming to Iona and being able to worship here obviously meant a lot to him.”

  “Well, yes, but that wasn’t what I meant. Getting Carole to sing a solo – that was the real triumph! What’s more, she sounded very good, which is a great relief all round. Your chat with her obviously worked, Clifford. How on earth did you do it?”

  “I’ve no idea,” grinned Clifford. “I hardly said a word.”

  “Well, I’m certainly looking forward to Rhydian’s performance tonight,” said Sylvia as she joined the group. “Do you plan to go, Cliff?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he mused. “I might…”

  As he turned to walk away, Neil could have sworn he saw Clifford wink.

  It was nearly five o’clock as the weary travellers made their way up the gangplank of The Pilgrim after their unforgettable visit to Iona.

  “Right!” said Sheila. “You come with me, Jill. You’re bang on time for your appointment in the spa.”

  “What about Rob? I ought to let him know what’s happening.”

  “Don’t worry about him,” said Marion. “I’ll knock on your door and let him know to meet you at seven outside the main restaurant, all ready for a formal night in his very best bib and tucker.”

  And with that, Jill was dragged unceremoniously away in the direction of the spa.

  Coming up behind them, Neil was just about to climb the stairs to their cabin when he became aware of a figure approaching him. It was Brad.

  “Neil, can you spare a moment for a quick chat?”

  “I bags first in the shower, then,” announced Claire. “As it’s a formal night, I intend to sparkle with the best of them. And getting ready is going to take me time, lots of time…” With a quick peck on Neil’s cheek, she headed up the stairs.

  The two men found a quiet corner in one of the small bars, where a waiter quickly organized a coffee for them both.

  “How are you?” asked Neil.

  Brad shrugged. “I don’t know. My thoughts fluctuate so wildly. I make a decision one minute, then feel completely different the next. But it seems I’m not the only one in turmoil…”

  “Oh?”

  “I had an email from Joanne this morning. She wants to come and see me.”

  “Come up from Dorchester, do you mean? When?”

  “She’s talking about getting the ferry from Portsmouth over to the Channel Islands.”

  “So she’ll meet you on Tuesday in Guernsey?”

  “She says she’ll get there the evening before, and can see me any time I’m free that day.”

  “And what’s your reaction to that?”

  Brad gave a deep sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know. I love Joanne. There’s no one else I’d rather see. But so much has happened, so much has been said – words we can’t forget or take back.”

  “Well, she certainly cares enough to make the journey to see you.”

  “But what will she want to say? I think she may have come to the same conclusion as me – that enough’s enough.”

  “Or she may be hurting and confused, just as you are, and wanting to talk things over with the man she loves.”

  “Used to love. Before I killed our son.”

  “But you two shared happy years before this awful tragedy happened. Don’t lose sight of that.”

  “She’d be better off without me.”

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out if she agrees with you. Meet her.”

  Brad ran his hand through his hair, distracted and thoughtful. “I don’t know how to reply to her email. The very last thing she needs is me. That’s what I want to say.”

  “But you don’t quite have the courage to write that?”

  Brad fell silent.

  “Perhaps because you know that’s not what she wants – and, in your heart of hearts, not what you want either.”

  “I’m no good for her.”

  “Why don’t you let her be the judge of what she needs? And perhaps it’s better to say very little in your reply, then you can give yourself time to think through exactly what you want to say to her when you meet.”

  “I should agree to meet her, then?”

  “It’s what she wants. She’s proving that by making the journey. At least be kind enough to meet her. She deserves that.”

  “And a great deal more.”

  “You’re in my prayers, Brad, both you and Joanne. I pray that you find comfort for your terrible loss, and strength to move on from the despair I see in you now.”

  Brad’s eyes looked suspiciously shiny as he suddenly leaned forward to drain his coffee cup and pick up his diary. “I’ll go and write that email, then. Keep it short, you think?”

  “Short and sweet.”

  And Neil watched as Brad visibly pulled himself together before giving him an abrupt nod and walking away.

  One by one, couple by couple, they met up in the bar
beside the grand entrance to the main restaurant. They all agreed that every single one of them looked splendid, the men handsome and distinguished in their dinner suits, and the women in sparkling cocktail dresses and evening gowns.

  “A group photo!” suggested Barbara. For once, she did not have her own camera in hand, but she had spotted that the ship’s professional photographer had set up ready to take photographs just outside the restaurant.

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” agreed John, as he began herding the assembled members of Neil’s two congregations from Dunbridge and Burntacre into some semblance of order in front of the elegant backdrop.

  “Has anyone seen my wife?” asked a disgruntled voice. “She’s gone missing again. Never where she should be…”

  Marion, resplendent in a deep green velvet jacket and flowing evening trousers, stepped up to answer Rob. “Jill will be here in just a minute.”

  “That woman’s late for everything. What’s the point of telling me to be here at seven if she can’t be bothered to make it on time?”

  “By my watch, it’s still only five minutes to. In fact, that looks like her now…”

  Betty and Sheila were walking together towards them, grinning from ear to ear. Finally, as they reached the assembled group, they stepped apart to reveal someone walking behind them. A gasp went round as people realized that the woman in the shimmering gown before them was Jill, transformed and glorious. Golden highlights glowed in her new chin-length bob, a silky dress clung to her trim frame, and glistening earrings matched the sparkling necklace which perfectly suited the plunging neckline of her robe. But the crowning glory was her face, subtly made up to accentuate her eyes and bring out the softness and colour of her skin.

  “Jill! You look absolutely beautiful!” exclaimed Claire, and that sentiment was echoed and endorsed by everyone in the group, who gathered round to comment on her new hairstyle and her lovely dress.

  “Really gorgeous,” agreed Neil. “You must be very proud of your wife, Rob.”