Once they'd arrived, they sat in the car for a minute, until Isla pulled in beside them and Ruth took it as a signal to open her door. “Come on then. Afternoon, Isla.”
“Afternoon, Ruth. Hi Tom."
Ruth turned to see Tom nod silently in response, and led the way to the boot, opening it and taking out her own case before turning to Tom, who was juggling a couple of bags and a familiar-looking case.
“Anything I can carry? I've a free hand.”
He passed her the case with his crozier. “Would you mind?”
“Sure. You’re okay with the rest? Good…”
“I’ll have to figure out a better way of transporting it…”
“If you want to try the suitcase method, I can send you photographic instructions.” Ruth took a couple of steps towards the cathedral door. “Right, lock the car, let’s go get you in a cassock. I know it’s horrible having to do this on the day itself, but yeah, as I said it's the only way of getting everyone together. Besides giving you less time to forget things, and providing a distraction from the all-encompassing feeling of terror. There’ll be a bit of of time between rehearsal and service, at least, you can find a quiet place to recompose yourself. Just… well, relax and let the rehearsal happen.”
He nodded and followed her mutely into the Minster, he and Isla like twin shadows behind her as she pushed open the side door and greeted the nearest verger. The building was already busy, and in about a minute Stephen Winterfield had appeared, hurrying in their direction with hand outstretched.
“Archbishop! And Tom, oh, wonderful to see you. Isla. Do come through, you know the way of course…”
Ruth kept half an eye on Tom as they swept through, acknowledging greetings from various priests and bishops who had already arrived. The presbytery was crowded, because while most of the bishops would vest elsewhere, it was a big service. She found Tom a corner, shooing canons out of the way, setting herself and Isla beside him as a kind of protective wall. He knew most of these people, but that wouldn’t necessarily help.
“Right. Cassocks.”
Tom hung up rochet and chimere slowly, and then shrugged the required garment onto his shoulders. She smiled approval. Go on, Tom, it feels weird but it’s right. And it would hopefully help him to realise what, in a few hours, was going to happen.
It was just two hours later when they were in the same position again. Except that now, Tom had not only to dress in the cassock, but to pull the rochet over his head. She stepped in to help him with the cuffs, and then smoothed it over his shoulders, took his chimere in her hands and held it up for him to put his arms in. Then he put on his preaching scarf and turned around, and she looked him up and down. "Bands".
He dug in his bag and found the required garment, arranging them with a grimace before facing her again.
“You’ll do.”
He pulled a face at her. “You’re not dressed yourself yet.”
“But I’ve had far more practise, and I don’t need to be sitting in the congregation at the start of the service. Now, are you ready?”
“No.”
“Fair enough. Are you ready enough?”
“I’ll have to be.”
“Well done.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I’m really happy, and so proud of you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You’ve brought yourself here, and that’s certainly not nothing. Now, in spite of all that is going on, let God be first. Listen to your soul. I hope that today will be one of the most precious days of your life.”
He was looking down, and she steered him out with a hand on his shoulder, to find Luke waiting outside.
“I’ll take him from here?”
“Thank you, Luke. Get him settled, keep other people away. Fifteen minutes.”
She watched Luke lead Tom away and then returned to the presbytery, to find a fully-vested Isla holding out her amice. Out in the aisle, the thurifer had clearly also begun preparations. Ruth finished vesting, retreated to the crypt for five minutes, then re-emerged to place her mitre on her head and accept her crozier from Isla’s hand. Almost time. Just run an eye along the procession and then wait at the back with head bowed. This would be the last episcopal consecration over which she would preside. Ten years, and this would be the last. Thank you, Lord, that you let it be Tom!
The organ introduced the opening hymn, the congregation rose to their feet, and she checked her crozier to take the first step. Let the service begin.
“Blessed be God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” Her voice echoed around the building, and as it rang with the response, she looked at the edge of the ranks of massed bishops for Tom. Yes, there he was, looking back. She gave a small smile, and then returned her eyes to the service sheet to introduce the service.
A few minutes more, before Tom stood before her, small in the vastness of the building. Small, and afraid, and if only she could comfort him! But instead, it was to the presenting members from the Diocese of Sheffield that she turned, because legalities must be observed. So much formality, so many words. She fixed her eyes on Tom and willed him strength, as she asked a first question of him: “Do you believe that God is calling you to this ministry?”
“I do so believe.” He responded with a firm voice, and she felt the tension lift.
A few minutes and a lot more words, and he was back in his seat and waiting again, as the first reader stepped up the lectern. A psalm followed, and then another reading, Ruth smiling to see Liza stepping up to the eagle. A brave girl, to stand up in front of so many people, but it would be worth it for her and for him. In the congregation, she managed to spot Megan and Mars, Mika presumably hidden behind the massed bodies in front.
She stood for the gospel, accepting her staff from Isla, and then returned it to ascend the pulpit.
“May I speak in the name of God, who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”
She waited for the echoes to fade.
“Three questions. Do you love me, do you love me, do you love me? Today, Tom has affirmed his faith, and he is about the answer a series of questions put to him. And while the questions are long, they are in essence all one question, the one asked of Saint Peter when he himself was appointed bishop of Christ’s new Church: do you love me? Tom, like every bishop at their ordination, has answered this question before. He answered it when he was ordained deacon, and he answered it again when he was ordained priest. But now, Jesus is putting it to him again. Tom, do you love me?”
She spoke largely to Tom, but also to the entire assembled congregation. To the gathered bishops, a reminder of their distinct calling. To other clergy, the same. To the many laity, a reminder that ministry was not reserved to those in holy orders, and a reminder to all of the dangers of answering a call, and of the need to uphold and pray for one another. Parts new, parts reused from previous ordination sermons. She spoke of John the Baptist, whose feast day it was, always pointing to another, and then of St Thomas, Tom’s namesake, his declaration of faith and the zeal which had led him as far as India. And then returned, to speak of the Church as Christ’s flock, of the joint role of being both sheep and shepherd, and then of the final command as Jesus commissioned Peter to build the Church – “follow me”.
She descended from the pulpit for the creed, and then turned back to face the congregation, and Tom rose from his seat to stand before her. At last. She said a silent prayer for him, and then focussed on the words on the page, although she knew them by heart. “Bishops are called…”
“By the help of God, I will.” For the final time, he spoke the words, his voice quiet but steady. She saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed, but went on. Well done, Tom, well done. That’s the last thing you have to say. Now just listen, and pray, and be moved by the depth of this wonderful, wonderful liturgy.
“…Pray earnestly for the gift of the Holy Spirit.”
He knelt, almost stumbling as he did so, and she did the same, silence growing thick around them. A silence eventually broken by the lone voice of one of the Cathedral lay clerks, intoning the first line of the Veni Creator, a hymn she knew by heart.
As the last echoes of the litany died away she rose, turned, and stepped forward, directly in front of Tom, where she could see the rise and fall of his chest, the flicker of the lashes of his closed eyes. From the front rows, bishops began to file silently to surround them, as she raised her hands and voice again. “We praise and glorify you, Almighty Father…” The other bishops were still, waiting on each side, and the prayer seemed to hang in the silence, as she placed her hands on Tom’s head and the other bishops joined her in a circle all around. “Therefore, Father, through Christ our Lord we pray: send down the Holy Spirit on your servant Thomas for the office and work of a bishop in your Church.”
Tom’s head, beneath her hands… and she looked down at those hands, her hands, and marvelled as she always did. This thing, that they were doing… by her hands, her voice. No number of years made this less strange, that God might do this wonderful thing, through her. Why her, why not anyone else? In what way was she worthy of it? No, she wasn’t worthy of it, and yet it was true, these were her hands.
Her hands which, a moment later, anointed his head, and then she held them out to him to draw him to his feet with a massive smile on her face, guiding him up to stand beside her. The entire Minster rang out with the welcome, and then with applause, and she turned to Tom and hugged him. “That’s it. You’re a bishop.”
“Help…” There was a smile, though, which he couldn't quite squash.
Then there was time to process, through the familiar comfort of the Eucharist, as she raised her hands and spoke the same words she had prayed thousands of times before. Representing so many, for these ten years, before God – what privilege that was! She felt the wrench in her heart. Could she perhaps change her mind, stay the extra five years that the Church allowed? Surely she could find the energy, somewhere? She’d said seventy, ten years ago, but she hadn’t known then… but oh, too late, the decision taken and announced, plans made. Don’t be greedy, Ruth. Don’t cling to what is only lent, just be grateful it was lent at all.
Out onto the steps. Photos in front of the great door, first herself and Tom, and then with all the other bishops present, and finally joined by his family, Mika flinging her arms around Tom’s waist with the enthusiasm saved up over a week apart. Megan hung back, until Ruth reached out to draw her in between them, and Tom turned to greet her. Ruth nodded to Liza. “Well read.”
“Thanks.”
“Really. It’s a big space, you were beautifully clear.” She looked down. “And Mika! Hello! What did you think of that, then?”
“So that’s how people turn into bishops?”
“That’s the ordination service for bishops, yes. What do you think?”
“I wouldn’t like it. Being surrounded by all those people.”
Tom looked round. “It’s quite a moment. Very overwhelming, only partly from claustrophobia…” He raised his eyebrows at Ruth. “Only slightly feeling like I’ve got the prints of your hands indelibly marked on the top of my head, under my hair… you’ll have to check later, Mika.”
“I’d describe my touch as deliberate, not excessive.”
He pulled a face. “Okay. Maybe not physically, but…” he looked at the ring on his right hand. “We should get on with this photo.”
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