“Lucy. Can we come in?”
The curate shrugged and waved a hand in invitation. There was a full teapot on the coffee table, and four mugs - perhaps Tim had prompted her to get them out, or perhaps she'd thought of it herself. Tim was already settled in an armchair, and he nodded to Ruth in polite greeting. Ruth took the remaining armchair, Janice one end of the sofa, squeezing Lucy’s shoulder and whispering something as she sat down beside her.
“So.” It was one of those impossible meetings. “Janice has told me everything she knows, and all that you told her. And I want to start by thanking you, and by congratulating you, for everything that you did. It's thanks to your quick actions that Samantha is alive now. It should never have come to that, and I need to accept a large part of the responsibility for failing to follow up and realise Samantha’s situation. It was the duty of the diocese to provide her with pastoral support, and we failed to adequately do so. I cannot change the past, but I can - and will - try to do better in future.”
Lucy was looking at the floor, still not a word spoken since they’d arrived.
“I want to find out how you’re feeling, and if possible, to know everything you can tell me about what happened for Samantha after my last meeting with her. I know this will be incredibly hard, but we need to know, if we are to support you both and prevent such a thing from happening again.”
Lucy was still staring at the floor, and Ruth looked at Janice and Tim, and then back to Lucy. The silence hurt.
“Say the first thing that comes into your head. Shout at me, tell me exactly what I did wrong, Lucy, go on. Nothing you say today will ever be used against you, I promise.”
She saw Lucy glance at Tim, and the slight nod which he gave in return, and then there was anger in the tear-filled eyes raised to meet hers, which at least was an improvement on the silence. “Where were you?” A demand, spat out with venom, a surge of tangible emotion. “Where were you?”
Ruth flinched slightly, but took it.
Now that Lucy had started, the words poured out. “What did you say to her? You did it, that’s why she did it. What did you say to her? I did everything I could, tried to get her to talk to someone, told her everything I could think of. But what could I do? No, “I’ve talked to the archbishop herself”. What can I do to fix what you’ve said? She was going to hell, she told me, she wouldn’t go to church, she wouldn’t listen to a word I said, she wouldn't even talk to Tim. Because she had words from you, and that was more powerful than anything I could say. I admired you. I thought you were kind, and loving, you always preached love and care… what did you say to her? What did you say? Before you disappeared and left me to try to pick her up – when I couldn’t, because I’m only a curate, I don’t have the authority to contradict you. You can’t just say things, you can’t just tear someone’s whole life away and then leave them in the dust behind you. You can’t just expect us ordinary priests to pick up the pieces. You can’t just…”
The words choked off into a sob. And then Janice put an arm round the shaking figure, pulling her close, murmuring softly into her ear, Tim half rising from his seat before realising the archdeacon had it under control. And Ruth was watching, as though watching something in the distance.
She had authority. What she said, others could not simply contradict. I thought you were kind, and loving. She tried to be, how could she have failed? Where were you?
What did you say to her?
She waited until Lucy had sat up, and then answered the question. “I told her… that she should not worry about the worthiness of others, but should worry about herself. And I told her the ways in which she had gone against Gospel teaching, of love without judgement, and every way in which she had broken her oaths and ordination vows.” She was full of excuses, so many excuses. She’d wanted to break through, to encourage repentance so Sam could find forgiveness. It was her duty to teach.
And then she hadn’t followed up. Hadn’t thought that her words might actually have cut deep. Hadn’t thought that Sam might take it to heart… who could take such condemnation? She should have finished by talking about forgiveness, should have followed up later to do so. Not sent her out, condemned. Probably convinced she’d been excommunicated, just as she’d tried to excommunicate those two men…
God, forgive me.
“I did that so, so wrong. I read Samantha completely wrong, I should have known…”
“You asked me to follow up,” Janice interrupted her. “And when I found out that she was with Lucy, I thought it was fine, that she was being well looked after. Though I suggested that it might be best for her to move on, I thought it would be best for her to get a break from the Church, and I was worried about the strain on Lucy. That’s what triggered this, in the end. I thought it would hurt her more for me to keep interfering and ask to meet her again, that she’d prefer to be allowed to start building her new life, I should have checked properly…”
“Don’t take the blame, Janice,” Ruth told her quietly. “It was my words. She’d been cutting herself since our meeting, and she was convinced she was damned, she’d given up hope. That’s not your fault, it’s mine.”
Lucy’s eyes fixed once again on the ground, her cheeks still damp with tears. And all Ruth wanted to do was cry herself, but she had a duty, she had to try to fix her mess first.
“What can I do, for her? For either of you, but especially Samantha? Obviously, I need to meet with her, unless you think that would be harmful…”
“The Sacrament of Reconciliation,” Janice told her. “That’s what your predecessor used to tell them, at disciplinaries. Come back for confession when you’re sorry.”
“I don’t usually but… yeah. You aren't concerned she might see it as reiterating the accusation?”
“Not if you phrase it carefully, as I'm sure you will.”
“I suppose…” her mind was drafting what she would say already. “You’re right, of course. I’ll meet with her and make the suggestion.” She saw Lucy looking up at her. “What is it?”
“You don’t think she’s sorry enough already?”
Tim looked at Ruth, raising a hand slightly, and she nodded permission for him to answer.
“That’s precisely why it’s appropriate, Lucy. It’s for those who need assurance of forgiveness, and to be reminded of God's love for them, a healing ministry.”
Ruth nodded agreement, and Lucy looked between them before going back to picking at her nails.
“She still won’t have a job, or a home.”
“No. And that’s something I can’t change.”
“I suppose not.”
Ruth twisted the ring on her finger. “You’re welcome to accompany Samantha when she comes to meet me, and attend as much of the meeting as she is willing.”
Lucy looked back at the floor and swallowed hard. “When she called me first, I told her I was disgusted and wanted nothing to do with her. I’d have said the same as you, in your position.”
Ruth looked at her. “You’d have been kinder, and relented before sending her away.”
“I don’t blame you for what you said, I’m sure it was all true. And meant well.”
“Thank you, Lucy. I have a lot to seek forgiveness for, myself.”
“God will forgive.”
There was a strange relief in hearing those words, bitterly as they were uttered, the words that Samantha had not heard. Ruth had almost caused someone to kill themselves… had done, only Lucy and hospital staff had kept Sam’s blood off her hands. The idea that perhaps, she might be forgiven...
“Thank you.”
Janice led them in a closing prayer, and then led Ruth out, opened the passenger door for her and then went around to the driver’s seat. “I’ll drop you off at Bishopthorpe? Or would you prefer a circuitous route?”
“Don’t give me sympathy, I have work to do. I feel like I should be coming with you this afternoon, too, to see Samantha.”
“And I would love to leave it to you, but you wouldn’t have the time or privacy, and Sam’s still too fragile for it.”
“I know.”
“I’ll drop you back at Bishopthorpe. Take care, listen to yourself. And don't worry about Lucy, she has Tim looking after her.”
“Thanks. You’re all too kind to me.”
“We’re learning from our mistakes.”
Work to do. No focus to do it. She’d already had to rearrange things to deal with the Samantha crisis, now she needed to make that up, but instead she was falling further behind. She slammed her pen down in frustration. Should call Tom. Or have a chat with her chaplain, but she couldn’t bring herself to bare all to Isla. Anyway, Ruth could cope, she knew the truths of which Tom would remind her. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and accept the consequences.
It was a long weekend, especially hard on Sunday, taking a confirmation service. Laying on hands, preaching of love… I thought you were kind and loving. Where were you? Updates from Janice – Samantha was improving, past the worst, would be ready to leave hospital in a few days. Starting to worry about medical bills, the excess before insurance stepped in and then the increase in premiums. Still wouldn't let Janice bring her communion. There was little the archdeacon could do, but she was still trying, because they could hardly walk away.
And it was on the news. Samantha Karner, the Church of Engand’s resident homophobe, now treated too harshly by an institution which preached love and forgiveness. They’d been baying for her to be fired, now Ruth was under attack for pushing for her resignation. The Church of England, punishing people for their personal convictions… Ruth prepared a brief, careful statement with Karen and refused all interviews. This was, according to the official line, a situation which had been made so extreme by publicity, and their focus was on offering care to all concerned, the situation being sensitive and not suitable to be handled in public. More details about what they were doing in a video meeting with Lizzie, who unsurprisingly was concerned.
Ruth wandered through into Isla’s office and leant against a filing cabinet, reaching out to push the office door closed.
“What can I do for you?”
Ruth sighed. “Moral support?”
“But of course. Sit down.”
Ruth took a chair. “You know what’s on my mind, of course.”
“Of course. That poor woman. What can I do?”
“What would you do, in my situation?”
“What would..?” Isla rolled a pen in her fingers. “I’m not really sure. You seem to be doing a good job so far, dealing with the publicity while being sensitive to those affected. I guess… make sure she gets the support she needs?”
“I’m seeing her next week, once she’s had some time to recover, health-wise. I believe Lucy is accompanying her, which will be a great help, and take some of the pressure off me.”
“If I can help in any way, let me know.”
“Thank you. Obviously, it’s something I need to do personally. However much I might like to delegate.” she hesitated. “I’m just not sure what I can offer. Besides empathy and spiritual counsel, hopefully, though even that feels beyond me. I mean, in terms of practical support, we have affiliations with counselling charities which we can get her recommended to.”
Isla twirled the pen again, thinking. “Where’s she going to live? And get food? Without a job?”
“She was staying with Lucy… but yes, we’d already decided that was a bad situation. I expected her to return to parents or something.”
“Not everyone can return to their parents.”
“Very true, of course… when I was suspended last year, Tom whisked me off to Ian's cottage in the middle of nowhere, aware from public gaze, where I could get my head straight.” And he’d given her a lot of time and attention when she was there, to bring her back into a reasonable headspace. Oh the luxury. “I suppose we should try to find something to tide her over, since we’ve put her into this situation… we don’t have the funds, though.”
“And if we did, it’d be fairer to spend them on people who are homeless and unemployed through no fault of their own.”
“Indeed. And she might be happier with some separation from the Church.”
“Or she might not.”
True, of course, the possibility they’d been neglecting. That someone who had offered a life of service as a priest in the Church of England might not want separation. It was rather like rejected BAP candidates – they’d done a lot of work in improving support. But what about dismissed ministers? A different, and in many ways harder, challenge, between driving out and making welcome.
The thought was on Ruth’s mind for a couple of days, before she made a call to the convent at Whitby, the motherhouse of the Order from which their own resident Sisters were sent.
“Good morning, Sister. Archbishop Ruth here. May I speak to Sister Antonia?”
“Um, of course, Reverend Mother. I'll be back in a moment.”
Ruth doodled for a minute before another voice greeted her through the phone. “Archbishop, to what do we owe this honour?”
“Sister Antonia. I hope all’s well?”
“It is, and I hope you are well too.”
“It’s a difficult job at times, definitely helped by the knowledge of you and the other Sisters’ prayers. But I actually have a more practical question for you – currently theoretical, but could be practical. We have a vulnerable woman, a priest who is no longer able to minister in that role, and as a result has no home or livelihood. She’s having difficulty with the transition. Would it be possible for you to offer her a place to stay, where she can take the time to rebuild her relationship with God and general mental stability? She may not want it, or it may not be appropriate to make the offer after all, but I would like to know if it could be an option.”
“You know the convent is half empty. If you think it appropriate to offer it to her, do so and welcome – especially if she is willing to do a share of the work. Hospitality is part of our rule.”
“Thank you. I’ll let you know if the offer is taken up, it’s good at least to have it. Right, I’m afraid I should get on, if there’s nothing I can do for you…”
“Go with God, Archbishop.”
“I look forward to visiting you for my Lent retreat, if not before. Thank you for your help.”
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