“You understand that if you continue to disregard the law, you will be suspended? Janice has sent you a formal warning already, which is why I’ve called you here today. I don't want to go down that route, but the Church cannot be a platform for illegal activity.”
“The Church cannot ignore those in need.” Wendy’s voice was quiet but determined. “We have a higher law, one which isn’t wrong.”
“As citizens of this country, we are under the laws of this country. Perhaps the law is wrong, but then we need to change it.” Ruth shook her head, knowing as she had before organising the meeting that it would change nothing. “We can’t be divided, not now, with the world as it is.”
“We can’t be compromised in our mission. If we can help someone in need, and fail to do so, then we are ignoring Christ.”
“Of course we must help! There is nothing to stop individual work, only corporate. We are fighting this law, as you know, but you can’t hope to ignore it and for there to be no consequences.” Ruth twisted the ring on her finger. She was just doing her job.
Wendy sighed, looking down. “I know that. David knows what to do, he’s bright and hard working and willing to step up. I know there will be consequences, and I’ll take them. Women didn’t get the vote by following the rules. The early Christians didn’t spread the Word by following the rules. We won’t prevent starvation by following the rules, not any more. By all means, keep campaigning. But I’m going to do what I’m called to do. Yes, it’ll cause trouble, but trouble is the only thing that’ll have any impact here. Two priests have been suspended in Canterbury, and three arrested in London. There will be more. The Church has clung to the State for too long, it’s time to stand up for ourselves.”
Ruth fiddled with documents on her desk. “I’m sorry you feel that way, I value you as a priest and a colleague, and really hope this will be over soon.”
“I’m sorry too. I know you mean well, but you’re on the wrong side of this.”
“We each have our methods. I will continue to work with Richard and the other bishops, and we will campaign until a resolution is reached. Unfortunately, however I feel, I can’t ignore it if you disregard this warning, as I suppose you will whatever I say. My prayers are with you in what is to come.”
“And I will pray for you.” The words were gentle, almost sad.
“Thank you.”
She waited until the door had clicked shut before slumping on the desk, burying her head in her hands. A pain ground at the back of her skull, a headache which had fluctuated between dull and excruciating over the past week. She wasn’t sleeping properly. Unfortunately, though, that didn’t seem likely to change.
A gentle tap on the door. She straightened up, tried to smooth her hair into order with her hands. “Come in!”
Tom opened the door and hobbled inside, pushing the door shut behind him. “I saw Wendy leaving. She looked rotten, and I figured you’d be worse…”
She slumped again, unable to pretend when he already seemed to know. With a hand, she kneaded the back of her head, a thoroughly ineffective gesture. He slid a packet of tablets in front of her.
“Paracetamol. I have ibuprofen if you prefer. Assuming you haven’t maxed out for the day already, in which case I can offer codeine…”
She took two and swallowed them, followed by a gulp of water from the glass on her desk. “Thanks. I tend to just put up with it.” Then she glanced sharply at his knee. “I don’t think codeine is something you’re supposed to be offering round.”
“You’re a wreck, I’ll give you whatever it takes.”
“It’s just a headache.”
“Sure.” He perched on the edge of the desk, ignoring the chair.
“How much worse will it get?” She spotted a spare post-it note and folded it in half, then half again, in tinier and tinier rectangles.
“A lot. We’re only two weeks in. This is going to be a stretch, but we will get through it. And when it’s over, I’ll send you on retreat for two weeks – longer, if I can wrangle it.”
She groaned. “It’d be easier if I believed what I was saying. Wendy’s right, though. Persisting in the face of persecution, standing up for injustice… that’s what we're about. Not following the rules and keeping the Church above suspicion.”
“It’s not simple, though,” he told her. “Submission to authority is there too. And unity. I won’t argue that it’s a difficult one.”
“I just don’t know,” she admitted. “On the one hand, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the law of the land. On the other, a band of passionate parish priests and the call to service. Give it a few days and I’m certain I’ll have Wendy’s disciplinary notice on my desk to sign. I’m being forced to take a stand, and I’m not sure it’s the side I want to stand on. And I feel guilty but I keep thinking, if it weren’t for the Selby vacancy, this would be someone else’s problem.”
“There’s not much I can say about Selby except agree, it’s a pain. But as for the rest, wilful disobedience isn’t something to take lightly. Wendy knows it, I know she gave you a hard time but she’ll understand.”
“She understands, certainly. That doesn’t make me feel better. She knows that I’m following the rules, and she knows why that’s important, but she also believes that there’s something more important, and I wonder if she isn’t right. The Gospel isn’t about following rules, not when it comes to something that matters. Sure, don’t cause unnecessary offence, but our Lord healed on the Sabbath and drove money-changers from the temple. And then spoke of the persecution we must face, how we must endure it and not let our faith weaken. But what can I do? It’s equally unthinkable to divide the Church. And at least I sit in the Lords and am part of the group that makes the decisions, I can argue for justice. If I lose that, won’t it be worse? But then I had all of that and couldn’t prevent us from getting here. It’s getting worse, they’ve started enforcing it now.”
He nodded. “Everything you just said is true. I will pray for you as you discern the path, and support you whichever route you take. But whatever you do it’ll be difficult and I know it will be on your own conscience.”
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes.
“I suppose I need to speak to Richard,” said Ruth in the end. “Tell him what I’m thinking. He must have doubts too, which we can work through together.”
Tom nodded. “Unless he doesn’t. He might still be certain.”
She stared past him. “I know, and that’s what worries me. We’ve had battles in the past – over arms deals, and religious freedoms, and responsible investment, and all kinds. But we’ve always been on the same side, just about. We haven’t been fighting half the Church.” She snapped her head up to look at him. “We’re already divided, aren’t we? Just right now it’s bishops versus priests. I’m not fighting the law, but I’m fighting the Church. I’m fighting the priests I’m supposed to support, I’m telling them to dilute Jesus’ teachings. Go on, please tell me I’m wrong.”
“I’m not telling you right or wrong. I can tell you that you’ve worked in the interests of the Church, as best you can. I can tell you that many disagree.”
“I’m the damn Archbishop of York, it’s my job to be leading us through this, and I’ve no idea which way to go. Not to mention that I’m doing a terrible job of leading, given half my clergy are marching in the opposite direction, ignoring me as I yell after them.”
“It’s not half. It’s Wendy, and maybe Mark, who I’ll admit can between them do a good impression of being half the clergy in Yorkshire. They aren’t, though. A few others are murmuring. We’ve had about six reports so far from other northern diocese – the Wendys of the North. And yes, there will be more. But most are following the lead they’ve been given, with no more than a little grumbling. Now, I’m not sure that makes it easier, because it means you have real responsibility. But it does give you the chance to care for them, in the decisions that you make. You really do have the cure of souls in this province, that’s not something to take lightly.”
She gave a short laugh, her voice cracking. “I should have run as fast as I could in the opposite direction when they asked me to take this job.”
“And yet you didn’t, because this is the job God called you to. God called you to be one of the people leading the Church through this crisis, and God doesn’t make mistakes.”
“No.” She returned her focus to her ring, twisting it on her finger. A ring which reminded her, all day every day, of that very calling.
He smiled. “I know what’ll cheer you up. Those painkillers are about to kick in, and then you’ve got a baptism meeting.” He slid off the desk, almost hiding the stumble.
Ruth frowned briefly, then let herself smile at last. “I haven’t done a baptism in months, especially not a baby.”
Painkillers now doing their job, everything seemed brighter. Stephen Winterfield, Dean of York Minster, welcomed her with a grin barely diminished since the birth of his daughter at the start of October. His wife was with him, the child in question wrapped up well and held in her arms. On the sofa in their sitting room, the godparents-to-be, including two priests, probably friends from theological college. The teapot was already on the table, along with two selection boxes of biscuits and a large tub of chocolates. The contents of one of the shelves implied that this was still a part of the congratulatory gifts received immediately following the birth. Lizzie Winterfield would be baptised at the main Sunday Eucharist in the Cathedral, at which Ruth would preside.
And a couple of days later, there they were. Full episcopal regalia, with mitre and crook. Little Liz – or, as she was baptised, Elizabeth Mary – giggled softly as the water poured through her infant curls, making Ruth suspect that there might have been some practise at bath time. Then the baby was returned to her delighted parents, and Ruth took her favourite place in the whole world: behind the altar in her cathedral church of York Minster.
There was a reception afterwards, organised by Stephen for all present, and she joined them for a while. It could be awkward, staying for receptions, when people developed a tendency to stare or to come up and attempt to sound intelligent. This one was fun, because there were people she knew, with Janice and Stephen and the Cathedral Chapter, not to mention the many other priests who had somehow managed to abandon their various parishes on this Sunday morning. And that was great, until the conversation returned to the same tired topic.
What were the plans to change the regulations? How long was it going to take? What would they do when winter struck, if – as seemed inevitable – this hadn’t been resolved? She took the first opportunity to catch Tom’s eye and slip away, pausing only for final congratulations to the happy parents and the requisite goodbye to baby Liz.
Tom was waiting in the vestry, her gear packed up in its case. They slipped out of the side door, and she led the way towards the car, slowing down abruptly when she realised she was leaving him behind. She grabbed the suitcase handle, ignoring his protests.
“Have you looked into the operation?”
He responded with a noncommittal noise. “She’s a lovely baby, isn’t she?”
“Don’t change the subject. You haven’t.”
Tom groaned and unlocked the car. “I’ve been busy. I’m thinking about it.”
“When are you going to decide? Shall I keep checking up on you?”
He was silent for a moment. “Please can we not have this conversation?”
"So you can carry on ignoring it? I care for you, Tom. This is your health we’re talking about. You know what you’d say if it were the other way around…”
“I know. Please don’t.”
She would have carried on pressing, but something in his tone made her hesitate. “You’ve had an operation before, haven’t you?" She answered more gently. "Don’t let it put you off. We’ll do everything necessary to support you. If you were any of the other clergy in the diocese, or indeed any of the northern bishops, I’d be calling you in for a good chat at Bishopthorpe, or I’d be going out to see you. Of course I’m going to support you now.”
“I suppose so. But that’s what I mean. Give me a minute, let me find the words.”
She almost argued then, but made herself wait.
“You’re my bishop, but I’m your chaplain. My job is to make things easier for you, I don't want to be making you more work, and I don't... want to be talking about this with you? I guess what I need to do is to stop being irresponsible and look into the operation. And if you decide, in your great bishoply wisdom, that I need the sit down chat, do as you threatened, pass it over to Janice. Or rather, tell me, and I’ll go to her myself.”
She looked at the ground for a moment, reflecting on his words. “You’re going to look into it, properly?”
“Yes.” He stared at the floor. “I promise.”
“Thank you. And I do think you should go and see Janice. You don’t have to, it’s your choice, but we all need someone to minister to us and while I understand why you don't want me to do it, I think it would be good for you to talk to her, or at least someone.”
“Okay.” He fiddled with the car console. “I’ll call my insurer this week. And I’ll go and see Janice.”
“Thank you. And I will pray for you, you can't stop me from doing that.”
"Thanks."
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