by Chrys Cymri
Morey growled. ‘Really, Black?’
I grinned up at him. ‘If you can have Aquinas, I can have Doctor Who.’
‘Because there’s so little difference between a sainted philosopher and a Time Lord.’
‘Couldn’t have said it better myself.’
Skylar rolled her eyes and leaned over to give Clyde’s shell a rub. ‘Don’t listen to them. You did a great sermon. I only hope I can match it when it’s my turn next week. What text did you pick out for me?’
Jago cocked his head. ‘Sorry, Uncle Clyde, you’re going to have to spell that out for me.’ The tentacles waved a second time. The small gryphon sought out his father. ‘Galatians 3: 28? Does that make sense, Tad?’
‘“There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.’” Morey dipped his head in a nod. ‘That’ll be an interesting one for you, Skylar. May I suggest, in the Summa Theologica--’
‘Actually, there’s a couple of blogs I follow which talk about inclusion.’ She snapped her notebook shut and rose from her chair. ‘And I’ll put out something on my Twitter feed. Are we sharing a car to the PCC meeting?’
‘We might as well.’ I sent a quick prayer to the saint of ancient cars, whatever her name might be. My Ford had started to make some worrisome noises. ‘Dinner at six, and we’ll leave at seven o’clock.’
‘James is cooking.’ At my look, Skylar added, ‘We’re both working tonight, so it’s only fair. That’s what I told him.’
Morey chuckled as my curate left the room. ‘I do like her.’
Clyde was signaling again. Jago hopped down to his side. ‘He says that he’s finished a series of talks on the Gospel of Luke, and fifteen of the snail sharks want to be baptized.’ Jago glanced between me and Morey. ‘I’ve been reading the Bible out to him. Uncle Clyde has a terrific memory, Tad. Almost as good as yours.’
‘I’m pleased to hear that his efforts are bearing fruit,’ Morey said. ‘I’m certain Penny can arrange for them to be baptized. After we’ve asked them a few questions, of course.’
Clyde opened his jaws to speak aloud for himself. ‘Do baptisms.’
‘Any Christian can baptize in an emergency,’ I told him. ‘But otherwise, it has to be an ordained person, a deacon or a priest.’
‘Do baptisms.’
I looked up at Morey, hoping he would follow my lead. Then I lowered my head to bring my eyes level with the snail’s eyespots. ‘Clyde, you’re not ordained. I know that this is your faith community, but you operate under the oversight of the Diocese of Nenehampton. We’re all answerable to Bishop Nigel and the canons of the Church of England. You can be part of the service, but you can’t do the baptisms.’
‘Those are the rules,’ Morey agreed. ‘You’re limited in what you can do for your people as a lay person.’
Clyde’s colours cycled from yellow, to orange, to the calm of blue and green. It took him two attempts to say the word, ‘Ordination.’
‘Is that what you want, Uncle Clyde?’ Jago asked. ‘I mean, wouldn’t it be awfully difficult for you?’
Inwardly I winced. But then, I couldn’t expect the young gryphon to have the same connection which Morey and I shared. ‘Is that what you’re asking for?’
Silence. All colour had dropped away from the snail, leaving his body a dull grey. The gryphons remained perfectly still, even Morey’s tail hanging limply. Then Clyde lifted his head. ‘Yes.’
‘Wow,’ Jago said. ‘That’s big.’
‘It’s a long process,’ I warned the snail. ‘It took me two years to be put forward for a selection conference, and then I was in theological college for three years after that.’
Jago laughed. ‘Uncle Clyde says snails know how to be patient.’
Morey’s tail pounded against the bookshelf. ‘Just as well.’
‘In the meantime,’ I said quickly, ‘Morey and I need to talk about the baptisms. Do you want to go outside, Clyde?’
‘That means she wants to talk about you while you’re not here,’ Jago told the snail. ‘You’d think she’d just say that, instead of trying to be clever.’
Morey dropped down to the desk to give Jago’s crest an affectionate swat. ‘Go, eyas, before I take you for a long flight.’
I waited until I heard two snaps of the cat flap. Then I took a deep breath. ‘Does he have a calling?’
‘Can you imagine how difficult this is going to be?’ Morey complained. ‘Bishop Aeron and the senior staff wouldn’t even agree to confirm him. And now he wants to be ordained?’
‘But does he have a calling?’
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Yes, it is.’ I tried to take a sip of tea, but it had long gone cold. ‘Morey, the Church of England wouldn’t ordain women as priests until 1994. And we only got our first female bishop a couple of years ago. I’m used to the arguments as to why a woman can’t represent Christ at the altar. I’m certain the same ones will be used for a snail shark. And they’re wrong.’
‘They’re not the same ones,’ Morey countered. ‘Surely no one said that women didn’t have souls?’
‘Look at the sacrifice Clyde made to bring about peace,’ I said softly. ‘I haven’t forgotten what it sounded like, when his wings were ripped away from his body. He has the most beautiful soul of anyone I’ve ever met.’
‘I don’t disagree with you.’ Morey whistled a sigh. ‘I’m just telling you what people in my Church will say. And it’s in Lloegyr that Clyde would have to be ordained. He can’t minister to people who can’t even see him.’
‘And who would scream and run a mile if he smiled at them.’
‘Yes, there’s also that.’
‘So let’s not just list all of the problems,’ I said. ‘We need to think what we can actually do about this.’
‘Over a fresh cup of tea?’
‘Great idea.’
I walked through to the kitchen and dumped the remains of my mug into the sink. Morey landed on the counter. ‘Were all of the senior staff against Clyde’s confirmation?’
‘No, they weren’t.’ I dumped three tea bags into the pot and poured in water from the steaming kettle. ‘The Archdeacon of Ocheham said she was in favour. She quoted someone from the Bible. Gamaliel?’
‘Acts 5, I should think. “If this plan or this undertaking is of human origin, it will fail; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them—in that case you may even be found fighting against God!”’
‘That’s the one.’ I tipped brown liquid into two mugs, added in milk for me and sugar for Morey, and brought them over to the table. ‘I’ll speak to her, when I get the chance.’
Morey slurped loudly from his cup. Beads of liquid clung to his beak as he lifted his head again. ‘This will be interesting.’
‘I’m saving you a ringside seat.’ I waggled a finger at him. ‘You support Clyde in this, don’t you?’
‘Certainly.’ He chuckled. ‘And I look forward to the arguments. I might even draw in some Aquinas.’
Perhaps asking Morey for help wasn’t that great an idea after all.
Chapter Three
After a short debate, Skylar agreed to take the back seat so Morey could sit in the front. I kept out of the argument, as I was far too busy praying that my car would start. When the Ford did, I gave the dashboard a pat and reversed out of the drive.
‘I know you have Parochial Church Councils in Lloegyr,’ I said to Skylar as I drove us towards the village of Beckeridge. ‘You probably won’t find tonight’s meeting all that different, even though everyone at the table will be human.’
‘Everyone else,’ Morey amended.
‘And they won’t be able to see Morey, so they’ll find it strange if you react to anything he says.’
Skylar leaned forward. ‘Why would you say anything, Morey?’
‘PCC meetings are more interesting with a running commentary,’ the gryphon replied.
&
nbsp; ‘You don’t have to come to these,’ I reminded him.
‘Remember the appointment letter. “The Associate will attend parish duties in order to better understand the dual role of the appointee.” Just doing my duty, Black.’
Skylar clapped her hands. ‘That’s really good of you. Shows great support to Penny. Do all Associates do it, Morey, do you know? Because I think it’s a really good idea. You must gain a lot of insight into what Penny’s day to day life is like as a parish priest.’
‘And she’s off,’ Morey said good naturedly as Skylar paused for breath.
I parked near the church. Skylar slid out of the car and handed me my soft-sided briefcase. Morey landed on my shoulder as we walked down the gravel path to the north door. Late evening sunshine glinted on the yellow stone of the ancient church and touched the small flowers that had escaped the blades of the lawnmowers.
The comforting smell of a well-loved village church met me as I opened the heavy oak door. The pews shone with new polish, flowers rested in windows and on either side of the altar, and all cobwebs had been removed. The section of the church near the south door had been cleared of pews many years before. The churchwarden was moving wooden chairs into place around a long table.
Skylar hurried away from me. ‘Holly, I’m coming, let me help you.’
The bats roosting near the altar shifted uncomfortably but remained in place. I made a mental note to have a word with their magister. He had made it clear that the colony expected Skylar to marry James, but not whether the vampires had a deadline in mind.
The chairs slowly filled. Eight humans, one vampire, and a gryphon stilled as I lit the candle resting in the centre of the table. ‘Dear Lord,’ I prayed, ‘be with us as we discuss the ministry and mission of this, your church. Help us always to keep the example of Jesus before us, who came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many. Amen.’
‘Amen,’ echoed multiple voices.
And the meeting unfolded. Minutes of the previous meeting were approved, various people thanked for their hard work whilst I’d been away on sabbatical, and social events discussed and added to the calendar.
Then the moment I’d been dreading. ‘We’ve had the full report about the tests for deathwatch beetle,’ Holly said, her grey hair nearly the same shade as her sweater. ‘And it’s not good. About half of the pews are infected.’
‘So the answer is simple,’ I pointed out. ‘Remove the pews. And replace them with chairs.’
Rachel looked up from her knitting. ‘The pews are part of the history of this church.’
‘Only recent history,’ Rosie said mildly. My associate priest pointed at the bell ringing chamber. ‘The oldest part of this church is over seven hundred years old. The pews are a Victorian addition.’
‘But aren’t pews what people expect to see?’ Robert, the treasurer, asked. ‘We need to think of the villagers. The church belongs to them as well.’
‘We could do so much more without pews,’ I said. ‘If we had chairs, we could hold events in here. Offer café church, for example.’
George shook his head. ‘We mustn’t take bookings away from the village hall. They need the income.’
‘As if we don’t,’ Robert muttered.
‘Church versus village,’ Morey said from his seat by my right elbow. ‘My money’s on the village.’
‘Messy Church,’ I continued. ‘We could do a lot more children’s work if the space were opened up.’
Holly sniffed. ‘You haven’t brought families in thus far, Vicar. I don’t see how removing part of the historic fabric of this church is supposed to help.’
‘Because bringing in families is down to the vicar,’ Morey said. ‘Singlehandedly. Without help from anyone else. Because Penny is a super hero. The Flying Vicar. Power Penny. Whisky Woman!’
Skylar started to giggle. Holly glared at her. ‘You find this amusing, Reverend Grey?’
‘Sorry, no, not really.’ Skylar shook her head, blonde hair sliding across her shoulders. ‘But look at what taking pews away has done already. We have this space here, and that’s great. Maybe opening up more space would also be good?’
‘It was incredibly painful, the process involved in removing just a few pews,’ Tim said. He was a small man, who rarely spoke, and his lined face flushed as people looked at him. ‘We lost several people. Good people.’
‘If people only come to church to worship the pews,’ Morey intoned, ‘they will stop coming when the pews are gone.’
Skylar coughed loudly and pulled out her water bottle. I spoke over the sound of her noisy gulps. ‘We could also gain people. Pews are so impractical for people with toddlers. Opening up the space opens up new possibilities.’
‘Let’s see the families coming first,’ Holly said. ‘Then we can decide what we do about pews. In the meantime, I think we need to talk about an appeal to replace the damaged ones.’
Morey cocked his head. ‘Like a mighty tortoise moves the Church of England.’
And Skylar nearly spat out her mouthful of water.
The rest of the meeting passed more smoothly. My agreement that we’d start fund raising put the PCC members in a good mood. The treasurer even agreed to obtain a quote for new hymn books. ‘Because if we have new pews,’ I said sweetly, ‘we can arrange for better book shelves. We might be able to fit in something more modern.’
‘But the shelves weren’t built to hold people’s books,’ Rachel pointed out. ‘They were meant for people to lean on while they pray.’
‘And that’s a point I want to raise,’ Holly said. ‘Vicar, when you announce the intercessions or the Lord’s Prayer, you always say, “Please sit or kneel.” Wouldn’t it be better if you said, “Please kneel or sit”? We’re coming into the presence of the Almighty. We should be falling to our knees.’
‘Many of our congregation,’ I pointed out, ‘might have problems getting up again. Most people are over sixty.’
Holly sniffed. ‘All that work you do in the school. You should be reminding those families of their Christian duty. If they’re sending their children to a church school, then they should be in church on a Sunday.’
‘Give me chairs instead of pews,’ I said, forcing my voice to remain calm, ‘and hymn books with songs which aren’t over fifty years old, and we’d have a better chance.’
‘l’m going into the school for a few assemblies,’ Skylar said. ‘I can talk to the kids and find out what they’d want to see in church. A bit of customer research, that sort of thing. I was thinking of setting up a Facebook page and a Twitter feed for St Wulfram’s. I could invite parents to join that and maybe set up a questionnaire. Wouldn’t it be great to find out what they’d want instead of just assuming?’
‘Precisely,’ Holly said. ‘All this talk of pews and books. The curate is right. There’s no point making changes for the sake of it. I think we can postpone the discussion about new hymn books until she’s done her research. Thank you, Skylar, you’ve saved us from further pointless discussion.’
Morey glanced over at a blushing Skylar. ‘Oops.’
I could feel the calm expression I glued to my face for PCC meetings becoming unstuck around my mouth and eyes. Only the thought of a large glass of wine kept me from descending into a deep frown. ‘Any other business?’
We managed to conclude and to share the Grace. I left Skylar to assist Holly and Roger with the table and chairs as I stepped to one side for a quick word about rotas with Rosie.
Only when the three of us were in the car did I turn to look at Skylar and Morey. ‘Not again,’ I said firmly, transferring my glare from vampire to gryphon. ‘I’m not having you two at a PCC meeting again, not if you’re going to misbehave like that.’
Skylar looked away and fiddled with her seat belt. ‘Morey started it.’
‘Oh, sure, blame the Associate,’ Morey snapped. ‘Black manages to ignore what I say. Why is it my fault that Skylar can’t keep quiet?’
‘
I hold both of you equally responsible.’ I started the car. ‘And I’m not having it again. Understand?’
‘I'm sorry about the hymn books,’ Skylar said in a low voice as I started driving us home. ‘I was just trying to be helpful.’
‘PCCs are tricky beasts,’ Morey told her. ‘Not easy to handle. I’ve seen Penny make mistakes too.’
I sighed. ‘Thank you, Morey.’
‘Easier to herd a rabble of snail sharks than to control a PCC,’ the gryphon continued. ‘At least, when they’re all human, there’s no danger of them eating each other over a disagreement.’
The bottle of wine was split between four, so my head was very clear the next morning. After breakfast and Morning Prayer, I poured myself a third cup of coffee and headed into the study.
The doorbell rang. I froze a moment, panicked. Surely I had no meetings until the afternoon? Did I have enough bread and cheese in the fridge for someone asking for food? Did I have the time for debate if it were the Jehovah’s Witnesses yet again?
I left the mug on my desk and tugged my shirt into place as I headed for the door. A quick look through the spyhole made me long for any of the previous guesses to have been correct. Standing on my doorstep was my bishop.
A frantic visual sweep around the hallway showed nothing untoward in my immediate vicinity. Putting on my best smile, I opened the door. ‘Bishop Nigel. What a nice surprise. Please come in.’
‘I do hope I’m not interrupting anything?’ At the shake of my head, he crossed the threshold. He wore a simple black jumper over his purple shirt, the white tab of his dog collar fighting to be seen over the top. ‘Do I smell fresh coffee?’
‘You do.’ As I led the way to the kitchen, I tried to remember when I’d last mopped the floor. Keeping the tiles clear of Clyde’s slime was a never-ending battle. ‘White, no sugar?’
‘Yes, please.’ The chair creaked as he took a seat. Bishop Nigel had been on a diet as long as I’d known him, but the paunch straining against his clothing seemed to be growing rather than diminishing. ‘But no biscuits.’
