Theodora's Diary

by Penny Culliford

  ‘How they thought that I would dream of participating in such a heathen activity is just beyond reason!’ he exclaimed, his hands trembling and his eyes streaming with outrage.

  Poor Jeremiah. I have the feeling that he had unintentionally succeeded in his aim of ridding the streets of ghouls, spectres and local children.

  Monday 2 November

  Practised walking around with my Bible tucked under my arm and an air of calm assurance, trying to look like an evangelist. Think I ended up looking more like an unsuccessful but deeply religious double-glazing salesman.

  Tuesday 3 November

  Ariadne and I walked into the Scout hut and nearly walked straight out again. It was full of earnest-looking people all smiling too much. Some of the women were wearing long skirts and had lurid headscarves tied under their chins. Some of the men wore baggy grey cardigans with leather elbow patches and zip-up fronts. They all seemed extremely tense and grinned inanely whenever they weren’t actually speaking. Ariadne muttered something about suddenly having an overwhelming urge to powder her nose, and disappeared.

  Before I could turn and run, a woman with a grin like the Cheshire cat at Billingsgate Fish Market came and introduced herself as Peggy, pumping my hand enthusiastically and almost crushing my fingers. This, she explained, was Professor Hardy-Larkin’s first rule of evangelism: ‘A bright, cheerful smile and a firm, confident handshake gives an impression of overflowing joy and assurance.’

  Professor Hardy-Larkin, it transpired, existed only on video. Presumably he was too busy out evangelizing to come to the Scout hut in person. I glanced around desperately for the still-absent Ariadne.

  Peggy then introduced me to her boyfriend, Paul, who repeated the bone-crushing assault on my right hand. He spoke in a strangled ‘John Major’ sort of voice. ‘Greetings, sister.’

  I leaned forward and removed his large, bottle-bottom spectacles. ‘Paul Browning?’ I said, and looked him up and down. Paul had once been the hunkiest youth leader St Norbert’s had ever seen. Everybody had a crush on him, even Ariadne. I used to stay behind after Youth Group to help him collect up the ping-pong balls and scrub the cigarette burns off the church hall lino. We lost touch when he went to university.

  ‘Paul, is that you? What the blazes happened to you … er … I mean, how the blazes are you?’ I stuttered in disbelief. He looked like the one who got turned away from the sci-fi convention for looking too nerdy.

  ‘Come, Sister Theodora,’ he intoned. ‘Come drink of the joy and become as we are.’

  Peggy, sensing that her boyfriend was in the proximity of a woman who didn’t look as if she had just stepped off the set of Little House on the Prairie, homed in and took hold of Paul’s arm. ‘We’re brimming over with the joy of the Lord, aren’t we, Brother Paul?’ she said through gritted teeth.

  ‘Yea verily, Sister Peggy.’

  I suppressed an overwhelming urge to laugh. ‘I don’t doubt that for one minute.’ I searched frantically for something sensible to say. ‘You’re looking…’ I fumbled for the appropriate word, ‘…well.’

  ‘Thank you. And how is your eternal soul, Sister?’

  The question took me aback. Just how do you answer that one? ‘Just fine, last time I looked. Thank you for asking.’

  ‘Alleluia, Brother. Praises be!’ said Peggy rousingly. They leered joyfully at each other. My curiosity got the better of me.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry to ask, but why are you being like this?’

  ‘Like what, Sister?’ Paul looked puzzled.

  ‘Well … strange. You came to St Norbert’s for years, you did a brilliant job with the Youth Group, then you disappeared off to university and we never heard from you again. Now, when I finally do see you, you’ve become—there’s no other word for it—strange.’

  Peggy clung to him even more tightly, like a jealous boa constrictor. ‘The Professor and his teachings have transformed our lives. We have gone from being indistinguishable from “the world” to being those who really stand out as different, a light, a beacon to a dark world. The Bible tells us to be “an holy nation, a peculiar people”.’

  ‘Surely that’s peculiar as in “special or separate”, not peculiar as in “nutty as a fruitcake”.’

  ‘Unlike you, Professor Hardy-Larkin doesn’t believe in twisting Scripture to suit his own purposes,’ Peggy offered icily.

  Paul tried to patch up the situation. ‘It is biblical, Theodora. The Professor knows his theology. He stressed that we were not to be of this world. We should stand apart. Easy Exercise Number Seven.’

  ‘Did he specify which world you were to be part of? Planet Plonker, by any chance?’ I probed.

  Paul fiddled nervously with his cross.

  ‘And this “standing apart”—is that working?’

  ‘Well,’ replied Paul thoughtfully, ‘it seems to be. Whenever we go out on street corners to proclaim the message, I haven’t noticed many people standing very close to us.’

  ‘What a surprise. And the eminent Professor HardyLarkin, what else did he have to say about evangelism? Do tell me. I’m dying to know.’

  They grinned inanely. At last they had found someone to talk at. ‘He said we should bear the outward manifestation of the joy within at all times. That’s the second of the Eight Easy Exercises in Enthusiastic Evangelistic Endeavours.’ Their grins distorted into grotesque grimaces. I recoiled involuntarily and my chair slid backwards on the polished floor.

  ‘I’m fascinated. Do continue,’ I said from my new position, six feet away from them.

  ‘We are called always to be ready to give account of ourselves, explain why we are as we are,’ chipped in Peggy.

  My initial incredulity was giving way to a sort of perverse enjoyment. ‘Sound advice. Go on then,’ I said.

  Peggy looked perplexed. ‘What?’

  ‘Give account of yourselves.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Paul.

  I spoke very slowly and distinctly, like someone talking to a child. ‘Tell me what you’re doing. How do you evangelize? Tell me what you actually say. How do you convert people? Isn’t it a bit difficult if, every time you approach anyone, they run in the opposite direction because they think you’ve escaped from somewhere?’

  ‘Are you mocking us?’ asked Peggy suspiciously.

  ‘No, really I’m not. I just want to know how you manage it.’

  Her face brightened. ‘Ah, Professor Hardy-Larkin’s fifth Easy Exercise. “Make the most of every opportunity. Proclaim the word at all times and in all places to all peoples.” You’re here with us. We can evangelize you!’

  They nodded at each other and grinned like gargoyles.

  ‘But you can’t evangelize me. I’m already a Christian!’

  ‘It is not for us to question, just to proclaim the word,’ quoted Peggy.

  ‘Another of the “Eight Enormous Endeavours”, I suppose,’ I sighed. I could see this was leading nowhere. Evangelism, at least Professor Hardy-Larkin’s brand of evangelism, was clearly not going to be my cup of Darjeeling.

  I was about to say goodbye and make my departure when another of the Professor’s proselytes introduced herself as Gloria and seized me by the upper arms. I sensed she was intending to shake my hand, so I quickly plunged both hands into my pockets to avoid further injury. For a moment I thought she was going to hug me instead, and braced myself. She didn’t. Instead, she propelled me through a door in one corner of the Scout hut, into the vestibule near the toilets, and sat me down in a grey plastic chair. The rest of the hall, she explained, had a longstanding booking with the WI. It all got rather crowded, but the jam came in handy.

  From my position at the end of the third row, I could see Ariadne, pinned between two grinning acolytes in the back row. They had obviously ambushed her on her way back from the toilets. The look she gave me was set on ‘shoot to kill’. Gloria rose to her feet and took the platform. The talk, entitled ‘Evangelism—Grab ’em and Hold on Tight’, began. Apparently, P
rofessor Hardy-Larkin was full of helpful hints for attracting crowds and keeping their attention while you proclaim the gospel. As Gloria explained, ‘Three Techniques for Trendy Theologians in the use of the Thespian and Theatrical to Teach Truths’ showed how the performing arts—mime, music and dance—could be used to get the message across to people.

  At last, I thought, someone’s beginning to make sense. My hopes were dashed, however, when Peggy stood next to Gloria and demonstrated the techniques as Gloria described them. When Gloria spoke eloquently about the effectiveness of mime, Peggy started a truly appalling parody of ‘walking against the wind’ and ‘person inside a glass box’. It was enough to make Marcel Marceau turn in his grave, if he was dead, which he isn’t, but this performance would surely have made him wish he was. As Gloria expounded the virtues of music in evangelism, Peggy produced a battered, tuneless guitar and started strumming and singing ‘Jesus Bids us Shine’ at breakneck speed. The only redeeming factor in the performance was its merciful brevity. During Gloria’s articulate address on the beauty and power of dance as a medium of worship, Peggy performed a kind of Swan Lake affair, pirouetting and gyrating, arms flailing like a windmill in a hurricane.

  I could suppress the laughter no longer. I stuffed my handkerchief into my mouth and pretended I was choking. As Paul patted me on the back, I heard the scraping of a chair. I knew without looking that it was Ariadne’s chair. I knew she wouldn’t let it pass. I knew that her honesty and integrity would force her to speak out. She just had to say something to this strange, fanatical, misguided group of people. I prayed for an earthquake. It didn’t happen.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Ariadne’s steady voice rang out. Heads swivelled and 10 pairs of eyes gazed impassively at her. ‘Look, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s fantastic that you want to tell people about Jesus, but I don’t think you’re likely to have the desired effect. After all, I’m a Christian and you scare me rigid!’ She gave a little laugh, trying to sound light-hearted. The eyes continued to gaze. ‘I think you’re trying too hard to be something you’re not. I’m sure God loves and accepts us as we really are, not how you think some Professor thinks we ought to be. I’ve known Paul here for a long time.’

  Peggy ran over and clung to Paul as if Ariadne was about to prise him from her grasp. Ariadne stared at her, and continued speaking.

  ‘He used to be really nice, you know—normal. He used to run a Youth Group at my church. He cared for the youngsters and they respected him. If he told them about Jesus, they listened because they knew that what he said came from his heart, not the regurgitated ramblings of some half-baked professor.’ There was an audible gasp from the throng. ‘You’ve changed him into a freak. You’re all freaks. You’re probably all nice, normal people underneath, like Paul was. If you forget Professor Hardy-Larkin and start behaving like human beings, you might find that people will start listening to you rather than running screaming down the street to get away from you.’

  Chairs scraped as the Professor’s disciples rose, presumably to eject the heretic from their midst. I didn’t wait to find out. I mouthed ‘Leg it!’ to Ariadne and we were out of the foyer and through the hall faster than greyhounds on steroids. The women of the WI looked perplexed as we flew through the middle of their talk on Armenian quilt interpretation. There was no time to admire the curtains.

  When we felt sufficiently distant from those strange, zealous, misguided people, we stopped running and leaned on a wall to get our breath back, laughing. Ariadne had lost a shoe and my hair hung in my eyes like an Old English Sheepdog’s. An elderly man commented on our breathless state.

  ‘Cor!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re either trying to get to something very good or away from something very bad!’

  He was right, but I’m not quite sure which way round it was.

  Thursday 5 November

  At Prayer Partners tonight, I’d just made the obligatory cup of tea and handed Charity the Bourbons when she asked me to sit down.

  ‘I have a burden for you, Theodora.’

  For a moment I thought she wanted me to help her carry something heavy and was about to offer Kevin’s services. ‘What kind of burden?’

  ‘A spiritual burden.’

  In my experience, telling someone you have a spiritual burden for them is usually a roundabout way of criticizing them and blaming God for it.

  ‘It’s Kevin,’ Charity went on. ‘I’m worried about him.’

  ‘So am I,’ I blurted.

  ‘I mean, we rarely see him in church and as far as I know, he’s never even attended an Alpha course. Last week he admitted that he’d never even heard of Graham Kendrick. Have you ever asked yourself if he’s really the right man for you?’

  ‘Frequently.’

  She shuffled her chair closer. ‘Have you ever thought you might be … unequally yoked?’

  I couldn’t hold my tongue this time. ‘I have no intention of being “yoked” with Kevin or anyone else, unequally or otherwise. I know he’s got his faults, but prying isn’t one of them.’

  Charity retreated to the sofa with a wounded look and we continued to pray for her children and their many petty adversities.

  I’ll have to think of a way of wriggling out of these meetings.

  Friday 6 November

  Still unnerved about events at the Scout hut on Tuesday. I called round to consult Digger Graves. He pushed a can of lager towards me and took a sip from his own can. I’ve yet to see him wear a hat with corks suspended from it, but I’m sure he has one stowed away somewhere in the vicarage.

  ‘What I really want to know is, who’s right?’ I said. ‘Those strange people who seem so keen to tell people about Jesus but go about it in such a peculiar way? Or someone like me who never seems to know the right thing to say and seems to miss more opportunities to talk to people than a workaholic misses lunches?’

  ‘Well, Theo love,’ he replied, ‘what you have to remember is that there’s more than one way to skin a cat. Some people ram it down your throat until it gets right up your nose and you just can’t stomach it any more. They like to lay it on with a trowel and rub your nose in it. The way I figure it is, if you’re straight with people and don’t pull any punches, if they want you to lay it on the line they’ll ask, and Bob’s your uncle.’

  I think I know what he means.

  I’ll have to have a quiet word with him about using clichés. Some of those images are positively bizarre.

  Saturday 7 November

  Have just sat through the longest firework display in history. Kevin told his mates, Paul, Jez and Kev 2, to bring some fireworks round so we could have a barbecue and let them off in his back garden. There must have been enough rockets, Catherine wheels and Silver Rain Fountains to arm a small European country. Kevin had gathered the children from the neighbourhood and we all stood expectantly in the crisp air as Kevin first described then lit the fireworks one by one. We oohed and aahed as the Traffic Lights fizzled and rockets soared. We ate gritty black sausages and burgers as the Catherine Wheels spun.

  After two hours of fizzing and flashing, the children started to drift away home. Kevin continued methodically lighting the blue touch paper and retiring. No one else was permitted to light them. An hour later, Jez was found asleep in front of the television. I tried to liven things up a bit with some sparklers, but by midnight Kevin was alone in the garden, his presence only detectable by a wavering torch followed by a flash and a crackle. At 1.30 I felt I’d done my duty, and left. Kevin’s armoury was still stocked, however, and the bombardment continued unabated. Paul and Kev 2 bedded down on Kevin’s sofa. The display would have carried on all night, had one of Kevin’s neighbours not come round and threatened to insert a rocket into him before lighting it.

  Sunday 8 November

  Another mysterious notice has appeared in The Church Organ. Rev. Graves’s attempts at ecumenicalism in the village have involved St Norbert’s, the Baptists and the local Christian Fellowship, which meets in the Scout hut,
advertising each other’s midweek services.

  Healing Service

  Please note that the Healing Service that was due to be held on Wednesday at the Scout hut has unfortunately had to be cancelled due to ill health.

  A case of ‘physician, heal thyself ’?

  Monday 9 November

  Still having problems with the new computer system. Although, as Ariadne explains, a computer is only as clever as the person who programmes it, our computer seems to have done some very strange things with people’s pay. We stood in the office comparing pay slips. It had paid the cleaners the accountants’ salaries, and vice versa. It had missed the decimal point out of my pay and paid me £126739 for the month and, much to Declan’s disgust, had deducted his entire year’s tax contribution in one month.

  ‘How can it possibly pay me a minus figure?’ he demanded.

  ‘Well, you seem to have so much fun, perhaps they thought is was time you paid them to work here,’ I suggested.

  He stalked off to have a little word with the pay department.

  Thursday 12 November

  Digger Graves rang just as I was about to leave for work this morning. The church secretary is going to Eastbourne for a week and he was wondering if I could come and lend a hand in the office. At last, a ministry I know is within my capabilities! The main duties will be answering the phone, booking in weddings, baptisms and funerals, and compiling St Norbert’s weekly newsletter, The Church Organ. Digger asked if I thought I could cope. I coughed modestly and explained that, with my wide range of administrative experience, a few days in the church office should be a piece of cake.

  Maybe I’ll have a look round the office tonight after work. It means missing the Prayer Partners meeting, of course. Great, a credible excuse!

  I’ve booked a week’s leave and have just rung Charity to cancel Prayer Partners—‘indefinitely’.

  Friday 13 November

  Good thing I’m not superstitious. Touch wood.

  Sunday 15 November

  Got chatting to Jeremiah Wedgwood over coffee after church, and he described to me an Advent service he’d been to last year at the cathedral. Digger was unable to attend and had appointed Jeremiah to go on his behalf. Apparently it was packed wall to wall with bishops and clergy. Jeremiah, being a mere layman, had been instructed to sit at the back and felt it had been a complete waste of time. He complained that he couldn’t hear the service properly and that people had shown scant respect for the occasion and for the Almighty, whispering and chatting throughout.