Casting the Net

by Pam Rhodes

  Brenda, the playgroup leader, was sitting in the bay window settee next to Beryl, head of catering and stalwart of the St Stephen’s Ladies’ Guild, whose members contributed so much to fundraising. George Sanderson (affectionately known as “Boy George” because he had bags of energy in spite of being in his eighties) represented the bell-ringers, and choir mistress Sylvia and her husband, organist Brian Lambert, sat side by side on single seats near the door. Their daughter Wendy, leading light of the worship music group, had chosen not to sit beside her parents, but had taken her place next to Neil on a particularly worn two-seater sofa which sagged so dramatically in the middle that she was practically sitting on his lap. Laughing as she sat down, she kissed Neil’s cheek and rested her hand possessively on his knee. Remembering both his mountain-top resolution and his earlier conversation with Margaret, Neil gave what he hoped was a suitably warm smile in return, his stomach churning as he tactfully moved her hand so that he could arrange his notes.

  “Can you fill us in on Back to Church Week, Neil? How are other churches planning to approach it?”

  “Oh,” started Neil, a little flustered as he searched for the sheet he knew he’d brought with him, “it seems that a lot of churches will just be encouraging their regular members to consider inviting along a friend who hasn’t been to church for a while to come and join them for a special service. From the literature we’ve been sent, it seems that it’s aimed at the sort of person who may have gone to church in the past, but for one reason or another has given up.”

  “So how can we encourage them to think about coming back again?” asked Margaret. “Are we just going to invite them along to a service and hope they like it?”

  “Well,” said Neil, rummaging through his notes again, “it’s not only us, of course. All the local churches are coming together on this. The suggestion is that between us we organize a week of Christian mission that throws all the doors open. Church members of all denominations can invite people to come and find out what Christians believe, who we are and what we do.”

  “And how would St Stephen’s fit in?” asked Peter.

  “Well, I think you all know Garry, the pastor at the Church of God evangelical church in Bridge Street? The idea is that we mix the town’s Christians up a bit and share each other’s style of worship.”

  Organist Brian gave a grunt of disapproval, but said nothing.

  “So on that first Sunday, Garry and his congregation will be taking over our ten-fifteen service here at St Stephen’s.”

  That was the last straw for Brian. “Have you heard their music, Neil? Do you know what a din their rock band makes, and how long they drag out each worship song, sometimes for over ten minutes at a time?”

  “Yes, but that’s an approach to worship that a younger generation of Christians seems to enjoy…”

  “From what I can tell, they’ve never heard of an organ! They despise traditional hymns – the ones our congregation loves – and there’s no form to the service, no set words. They just go with the flow!”

  “That’s not strictly true, Brian,” Margaret intervened, slightly alarmed as she watched Brian’s colour rising steadily with the pitch of his voice. “And we’re only talking about one service like this. Later in the week I’ll lead our usual Anglican Eucharist when we join our fellow Christians at the Baptist church in town.”

  Brian huffed his objection. “Well, you can count me out for that!”

  “I have to say,” said Peter thoughtfully, “I think if we got a bit of publicity for all this, it might have a wide appeal.”

  “We could even make a bit of a meal of it when everyone comes here,” suggested Beryl. “How about we serve tea and home-made cakes after the service, and encourage people to stay on for a chat, or to discuss their own issues for as long as they’d like to?”

  “Great idea,” said Margaret. “I can see that working. And Brian, your reservations are noted, because we do have an older congregation here, and we don’t want to scare them to death!”

  “I might have a suggestion there,” ventured Neil. “Something we were talking about when I was on retreat the other week – about how a lot of us have found ourselves serving congregations where the age group is mostly over fifty. One of my friends from theological college said that their bishop had suggested offering services which used the old-fashioned wording that people of that generation might find more familiar – from the Book of Common Prayer. It may be full of ‘thees’ and ‘thous’, but it’s always been thought of as ‘the book of the people’. He said that when they introduced Evensong using that wording, their numbers immediately went up. I just wonder if we might consider doing something similar during Back to Church Week to start with – but, if it works, consider it on a more regular basis?”

  “Thank you, Neil,” commented Brian. “That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard this evening.”

  “I’m not sure,” said Margaret thoughtfully. “We’re trying to make worship more accessible, aren’t we, using language that’s relevant and meaningful today? That sounds a bit of a backward step to me.”

  “Well,” piped up her husband, Frank, “I think Neil might have something there. I must say I’d love a service like that, with the psalms and readings in their old familiar wording. Call me a sweet old-fashioned thing, but I think it could prove very popular.”

  “If all you want is a church full of older people…” pointed out Wendy.

  Neil turned to her as he spoke. “Well, I’m not an old fogey, but I think I’d like a service like that once in a while. Obviously I enjoy the modern version too, but we already provide that, don’t we? This would be something extra, an approach that might ring bells with members of that older age group who’ve drifted away from church. It could just draw them back in.”

  Wendy shrugged her shoulders, plainly not agreeing.

  “I must admit I’m not certain either, Wendy,” said Margaret, “but perhaps we should take a show of hands on it, just to see what the general mood is. Hands up if you think an Evensong service using the wording of the Book of Common Prayer might be worth trying during that first week in September, when we’re hoping to encourage people to come back to church?”

  Brian, Boy George, Beryl, Cyn, Peter, Frank and Neil all raised their hands, which meant that Sylvia, Val, Wendy, Brenda and Margaret were against the idea. Seven for, five against.

  “Well,” concluded Margaret, looking intently at Neil, “you’ve got yourself a job. This is your idea, so run with it. Try it out for that one service in September, and we’ll see whether there’s enough interest and support to think about offering Evensong using the Book of Common Prayer more regularly. And you’ll keep in touch with the other local church leaders, won’t you, to co-ordinate who’s doing what during Back to Church Week?”

  Neil nodded, wondering what on earth he’d started here. He’d certainly have his work cut out.

  After that, the meeting went as expected: rotas were agreed, responsibilities shared out and plans made for the fête, prayer groups and pastoral visits. The only time voices were raised was in the discussion about car parking during wedding ceremonies. Wedding guests had drawn complaints from neighbours when they parked on the grass verges in the streets nearest the church. That transgression, combined with the irritation of confetti left all over the churchyard, took up more conversation than any other subject, but within the hour they’d finished their business, had a piece of Frank’s walnut coffee cake and a cup of tea, and were all heading home.

  As Neil was about to leave, Wendy slipped her arms around him and whispered in his ear that the night was young, and would he like her to come up to his house for a nightcap? Looking down at the loving expression on her pretty face, Neil’s heart lurched as he thought again about the conversation he’d had with Margaret earlier.

  “Of course, that would be nice,” he replied. “Besides, I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Well, that sounds promising,” giggled Wendy. “Hold on w
hile I get my bag, and I’m ready to leave when you are!”

  * * *

  They walked the short distance from the church to Neil’s house with Wendy’s hand firmly clasping his. Lights were on behind the drawn curtains at number 80 as they passed, but Neil steeled himself not to look, not to think of Claire or that kiss – challenging, spiky, independent, sensitive, funny, vulnerable Claire. They were no longer in touch. That was right and OK. At this stage in his life he needed to focus on his ministry. Christ had been alone. There could be no better example than that.

  “Did I tell you,” whispered Wendy, turning to snuggle into him the moment they were through the front door of his house, “how much I missed you when you were away? Really missed you…”

  “Yes, it was quite a long time, wasn’t it? First the retreat and then my holiday in Derbyshire after the ordination.”

  “Far too long,” murmured Wendy in his ear. “How about I show you just how much I missed you and how glad I am that you’re back now?”

  “Shall we have a cup of tea?” said Neil, pulling away from her. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  “Later.” Wendy’s eyes sparkled up at him. “We may be thirsty later.”

  “Look, Wendy, I’ve got a lot to tell you…”

  “And I’ve got a lot to tell you too, like the fact that I’m feeling very warm all of a sudden, so think I should take off my coat – and perhaps my blouse…? Don’t you think I’m looking hot?”

  Neil looked down at her face in the darkened hallway. Her eyes seared into his as she stretched up to kiss him, lightly at first, then deepening so that in spite of his reservations he could feel his body responding. It took several seconds and a great deal of willpower to pull himself back and set her at arm’s length.

  “We really shouldn’t be doing this,” he said at last.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, you haven’t minded much before!”

  “Yes, but we’ve never actually – you know…” mumbled Neil.

  “Gone all the way, do you mean? No, we haven’t – but don’t tell me you didn’t want to! You can’t deny that. I know you want this as much as I do.”

  “As a man, yes, of course – but as a priest…”

  Wendy looked at him in disbelief.

  “What are you saying? Because you’re now a fully fledged priest, you no longer have a man’s needs? That you don’t fancy me any more? Because from what I’ve just felt from standing next to you, nothing’s changed there! Do you think that because there’s some ancient scripture that says men and women aren’t allowed to behave naturally unless they’re married, we should behave as if we don’t want each other? They didn’t have contraception back in biblical days, you know. They had to make rules like that. You may not have noticed, but we’re living in the twenty-first century. Of course we shouldn’t be irresponsible and bring children into the world until we’re married, but I can’t think of one single reason why we shouldn’t enjoy each other as God intended!”

  “Well, that is the one single reason. God didn’t intend it. The gospel tells us that. It’s one of the most basic commandments.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Neil …”

  “That’s right! For God’s sake I don’t want to do this any more unless…”

  “Unless? Unless what?”

  Neil squirmed in the face of her angry question.

  “Unless what, Neil? Unless we’re married? Is that what you mean?”

  “I believe that sex should be saved for marriage, yes.”

  “So unless we’re married, I should keep my hands off you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And are we going to get married, Neil?”

  Neil fell silent.

  “Are we, Neil? Is that in your master plan?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know what? Whether marriage is off your radar altogether? Or maybe what you’re trying to say in your typically ham-fisted way is that whatever happens you have no intention of marrying me!”

  “Wendy, I really don’t know.” Seeing the depth of her hurt, Neil’s voice croaked with frustration at how badly this conversation was going. “I think the world of you, you know I do.”

  “I love you, Neil, really love you. I’ve told you that consistently from the moment we got together. I’ve not made a secret of my feelings for you.”

  “I realize that, and I appreciate you so much, Wendy, I really do.”

  “But you’ve never said those important words, have you?” He saw with alarm that her eyes had filled with tears. “You’ve never actually told me you love me too.”

  Neil gave a heavy sigh. “I wonder if I really know what love is.”

  “Love is what I’m offering you: total commitment and loyalty, help and support in everything you do and care about, a home, a family, a future. That’s love, and that’s what I know I’m offering you now – my very fondest love for the rest of our lives.”

  Neil swallowed hard.

  “Oh, Wendy, it’s not that I don’t know what a wonderful gift that is – and what a special and unique woman you are! It’s just that you seem to be much further along in your vision of what you want in your life than I am. I admire your certainty. I wish I could share it – but I just don’t know what I want, what I need, what I should be striving to have and do. I’ve just been ordained as a priest, and that’s my priority. It has to be, and that’s what I want with every fibre of my being.”

  “And you think that I would hold you back from that? Haven’t we always shared our Christian faith, Neil? Isn’t that what brought us together in the first place? How could I possibly hold you back? Surely to have someone like me by your side, someone who understands the challenges of church life and mission, could only help you and your ministry?”

  “I believe that could be true, yes.”

  “So? So let’s give it a try! Let’s make a proper commitment to each other, and step out on this journey together! I love you, Neil. I think in your heart of hearts, however tongue-tied you are, you probably love me too!”

  “But I’m just not sure enough. That’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t want to make a mistake that will hurt or disrespect you. You deserve my certainty. I owe you that.”

  She took a step back from him then, her mind plainly racing as she glared at him.

  “So, let’s just make sure I’ve got this right.”

  Neil was uncomfortably aware of the coldness of her direct, challenging stare.

  “Until you’re certain of your feelings, you want us to split up. Believe me, Neil, if that’s your suggestion, I’ll take it seriously. There will be absolutely nothing between us. I’ll avoid you at all costs, because it would be too painful for me to do anything else. So what’s it to be? Do we find a way to work through this and face the future together – or is this the end? Your choice! You can be on your own from this very moment!”

  Neil’s heart ached with sadness for her, for them both. “Wendy, let’s not have ultimatums. Please try to understand. I care for you so deeply. I don’t want to lose your friendship…”

  “Which is it, Neil? Together or apart? There’s nothing in-between!”

  He looked at her helplessly, words failing him.

  Seconds later, she’d scooped up her coat and left the house, slamming the door behind her.

  CHAPTER 3

  The Sunday of Ellen’s baptism dawned bright, with rays of golden sunshine glinting across the stately walls of St Stephen’s. Neil couldn’t resist stopping for a moment as he made his way up the path in time for eight o’clock Morning Prayer. For a moment, he felt his dad’s presence beside him as so often in the past, when father and son had indulged their shared fascination for the discoveries to be made in old churchyards.

  “Storybooks of life, that’s what churchyards are.” His father’s words echoed in Neil’s mind. “These were real people, dads and mums and sons and daughters as real as you or me. You can learn so much about them from looking at the dates and work
ing out how they related to one another. And even though we never knew them, we can mark their existence, respect who they were and recognize how much we owe them.”

  Warmed by the memory, Neil turned to gaze at the enclosed family plot under a dark red beech tree in the corner of the churchyard. The graves were lovingly cared for, with small pots of fresh flowers and shrubs in full bloom. Neil read again the names of generations of the Clarkson family who had been laid to rest there. And now there was a new addition to that close, big-hearted clan – little Ellen who would be baptized this morning in the same font that had been used to baptize so many Clarksons before her.

  The early morning ritual of prayer and readings in the Daily Office had always made this a favourite time for Neil. Often it would just be him and Margaret worshipping in an intimate circle of shared praise. Sometimes they were joined by other church members, one of whom in the past had regularly been Harry. Neil had a special place in his own prayers for the gentle old man who had become such a firm friend in the year they’d known each other. Until he was fully recovered, Harry’s visits to church would have to wait – but Neil knew that wherever Harry was at eight each morning, he would be praying along with them, sharing their worship in spirit.

  That morning Neil was joined in the side chapel by both Peter Fellowes and Val, along with two elderly sisters who preferred to make their Sunday visit to church at a time when there were no noisy families, no modern hymns and often no one else at all except the clergy. It had been agreed that Margaret would come along later that morning in time to take the nine o’clock service, which normally drew in a congregation of about thirty to share a shorter, spoken Eucharist with no music. The big family service started at ten-fifteen, when there were often few spare seats. That would be even more true today, when the Clarkson family and friends gathered to celebrate Ellen’s baptism.

  Knowing there might be a tussle for seats, many congregation members arrived in good time for the family service, and by ten o’clock there was a burble of good-natured chatter as hellos were said, hymn books distributed and Pew Notices (compiled by Neil, the job he struggled with each week) slipped into the service book along with the specially printed sheet needed for the baptismal ceremony.