“…better than that daughter of mine, haven’t seen her around, like I didn’t put the best years of my life into bringing her up. But then what can you expect? Young people these days, all off worrying about themselves, not a thought for their old dad…”
Lucy checked her watch surreptitiously; still twenty minutes before she could make her escape. There were days when she loved pastoral visiting, and days when she wasn't so sure.
“I’m sure she cares, she’s just busy. You said she has children, didn’t you?”
“Her and that Indian boy of hers. That’s what we was worried about, them coming over and taking our girls. Not that them Indians are too bad, usually, they’re good and hardworking. Not like…”
“You wouldn’t say we’re all the same because we’re all British, would you?”
“Ah, you young people. I used to think like you, but you see when you get older…”
Lucy tuned him out for a while. She was going to see Lily after this, a nice meeting to cheer her up after Zachary. At least, it’d be difficult, but more encouraging than Zachary’s moaning.
“…and when you’ve a bladder like mine, I keep saying to the nurses…”
She was preaching on Sunday. What to say? And then there were the Palm Sunday preparations to finish, a big benefice get-together if they could persuade anyone from the other churches to come to St James’. The palms should be arriving today, in the church office, Tim had agreed to her suggestion that she get some people together to have a go at weaving some into fancy designs to decorate the church, his agreement enthusiastic enough to make her regret the suggestion. She’d have to have a go tonight, see what she could come up with, and then hope a few people turned up on Wednesday…
“…anyway, I’m not too into these woman bishops, but I have to say, she’s as good as any man, knows how to speak up, good solid voice. Can’t abide it when they’re shrill, it’s just hard on the ears. Not so sure about the hair, it's not exactly modesty. But she talks well, too, actually seems to know what she's on about. Better than that Richard bloke, it’s a shame, they used to be able to find such good ones. Danger of letting women in, of course, it puts the good men off…”
How was Sam getting on? She’d called Lucy a few days ago, and they'd had a good chat over the phone. It was nice there, apparently, the nuns kind if rather stifling at times. She was frustrated, that they always seemed to be keeping an eye on her – a relief for Lucy, to know that Sam was safe, that other people were doing what she couldn’t. She should call again in a few days, make sure Sam knew she cared. Check in, for her own peace of mind.
“…and now he’s taken himself off to Europe, for a holiday, where they find the time or money for all these holidays I don’t know, it used to be one in summer, maybe a few days at Christmas or Easter or half term. When you’ve got kids you can’t do any of that running off when you feel like it, you’ve got to be there or the school’ll have you for it, like they’ve got rights over your own children. But he’s gone vanished off to another country leaving me here, for all he knows I might not be here when he gets back but does he care?”
Yeah, because you’ve been in the same state for at least six months and yet there’s a high chance you’re going to pop your clogs in the two weeks your son takes a break? “It’s only two weeks, and think of all the extra things you’ll have to talk about when he gets back.”
“Oh, no doubt I’ll be treated to the holiday snaps. Lots of photos of cocktails and foreign food and neon lighting, like that’s what seeing the world is about, you can get all that right here without running off to foreign parts.”
“But no doubt he’ll have experiences that don’t fit in a photo, to tell you about, things you can’t find in this country.”
“Britain’s quite good enough for me, thank you. I suppose you’re into this globetrotting lark too?”
“Never left the country, actually. Except to France, once.”
“France, huh? Well, I’ve always thought…”
Ten minutes. Then on to Lily’s, where there would no doubt be tea and cake to test Lenten resolve, and a string of pretty things to admire. I was looking through an old album and found this one. I thought this might interest you. This one made me think of you. Look at these lovely little creatures, aren’t they sweet? Now what do you think of this?
“…not that you want to be spending time with a crotchety old man with me anyway, right? You youngsters, no understanding of what it’s like to be old. Now, when Martin used to come and see me…”
She let him ramble on for a while, and then interrupted at the next break. “Now, Zachary, I’m afraid I’m going to have to be going. Is there anything I can do for you before I leave?”
“Oh, is it that time already?” An exaggerated drama as he fumbled for his clock, looked at it, and then returned it to the table beside him. “Ah, I suppose you’ve a lot to be doing. Life to live, all those things to be seen. All so urgent when you’re young. Well, come back soon, no doubt I’ll still be just as you left me, twiddling my thumbs. Not much to do, nobody cares to spend time with a crotchety old man like me. You can show yourself out?”
She most certainly could, and did, only a hint of guilt at her eagerness to leave. She wanted to help him, but if he didn’t want to be helped? She could hardly blame his children for avoiding visiting, she’d do it herself if she could. But that wasn’t acceptable for her, she was a priest and everyone mattered. And it was literally her job.
The rest of the day seemed fun, always the way after a meeting with Zachary. Even meeting with a family to plan a funeral, and then calling the undertaker; at least in such situations, she could feel useful. And finally, meeting Tim for evening prayer, being asked how her day had been.
“Lots of visiting. Marge, Zachary, Lily, and then William’s family. Marge was having a bad day but perked up, her cat’s wandered off so I promised to keep an eye out. Lily seemed good. Zachary much as normal. The funeral’s all in hand.”
“Good work - though a very busy day! Watch that. How are your sermons going?”
“Um…” well, she’d thought about them… “I’ve written down some ideas, and started the reading.”
“For the Triduum, yes? Not this Sunday?” A twinkle in his eye.
“I’ve a plan for this Sunday already. The reading’s mostly for Maundy Thursday.”
“You’ve found enough material to read?”
“Um… I think so. You’ve got suggestions?”
“Far more than could possibly be practical. Frederick Campbell’s The Servant King is good, of course, and Melissa Warner on Gethsemane, and I assume you’ve read Ruth Harwood’s book on Sacraments in the Church of England?”
“No…”
“Really? I thought they’d have assigned it to you at college, that’s why I didn’t give it to you before your First Mass. There’s some good stuff on the Eucharist – and the other Sacraments, of course, but they’re less relevant to this.”
“I read her book on learning from monasticism, that’s all.”
“I’ll lend it to you. It’s quite long, very rigorous, and extremely good - besides the fact it's always a good idea to know all you can about your bishop's theology. A bit more of a catholic approach than you’ve had at that college of yours. And if you haven’t read that, I bet there’s a lot else you haven’t read either, I’ll have to go through my bookshelves…”
Lucy groaned. “Very considerate, thank you…”
“Any time.”
She glared at him, as he smiled sweetly in return.
“Elsie wants you to ring, her, by the way,” she told him innocently. “I saw her when I was leaving Lily.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
It was a good relationship they had, one built mostly on gentle bullying – which was okay, because it went both ways. At least, he seemed to spend most of his time watching her adventures with mild amusement, contributing guidance when it suited him but mostly leaving her to her own devices. She, in return, took great pleasure in dragging him into conversation with his least favourite parishioners, in slipping overtly evangelical mannerisms into sermons and intercessions, and in making fun of the various trappings required for benediction. He had only once taken revenge by making her do it – an experience requiring a full hour’s practise – with the excuse of “it’s good experience”. In return, she’d ordered a light blue clerical shirt and worn it on Sunday – for practical reasons, of course, since it was so much cooler than a black one in this unseasonably warm weather.
Her next adventure: weaving palms. One begun with an enthusiasm which quickly faded as the palms proved less than simple to manipulate. Just as well they’d only ordered a few plain ones, and would use ready-made crosses… but in an hour, she’d managed to make a decent crown of thorns and half a simply woven leaf, and figured she was getting the hang of it. A nice thing to know how to do, even if she’d never do it again.
“Hi, Sam.” She liked to call every week, just to prove she still cared. And to satisfy the nagging voice in the back of her head that yes, Sam was still alive...
“Lucy! How’s it going?”
She shook herself mentally. “Palm leaves are vicious, as are certain parishioners. Apart from that, great. You?”
“Okay. Applied for a couple of jobs, it’s hard without references though…”
“You can get references, surely? Ruth would give you one…”
“Yeah, a favourable one, though? Anyway, I still have to answer the bit on the forms where it says ‘reason for leaving your last job’.”
“Oh. Yeah. Apply for things that only need a CV? Though disagreements on church teaching are hardly a massive issue for most jobs anyway…”
“Being told to resign is though.”
No answer to that. “Well, apply with just a CV. Or get some full-time volunteering, then you can list that as your most recent job.”
“Yeah, it’s not a job though.”
“Doesn’t stop you listing it as one. Especially if it’s full-time instead of a job.”
“I guess.” A pause. “Doesn’t pay, though.”
“Just do your best. It’ll work out.”
“My savings are about to go on health insurance excess. Full-time volunteering is for people with means.”
“I know, but… it’s better than nothing? The government’s changing things, they’re bringing back benefits and stuff…”
“For people who actually deserve them.”
“You’re a person, you deserve to live!”
“I don’t deserve stuff other people have to work for.”
“You don’t deserve to starve in a gutter.”
“Sleeping in gutters is illegal anyway.”
“Sam! Work with me here…”
A short silence on the other end. “Sorry. It’s just a bit frustrating.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Lucy wasn’t sorry that Sam was now being looked after by someone else, but she was sorry that she couldn’t at least be there sometimes. Maybe she could visit on a day off, though not this week as she'd need the break for herself.
“I’ll keep trying.”
“You do that. What are you doing with yourself, when you’re not looking for jobs.”
“Um… living in a convent? Yeah, relaxing really. Helping with chores – they’ve put me on rotas for stuff, cooking and gardening and cleaning and washing up and all that. It’s quite fun.”
“Still getting on with the nuns?”
“Yeah, some of the novices are fun. Even if Sister Angelina’s strict – she’s the novice mistress. And they’re all really nice. And then we have all the prayers every day, and communion – I don’t have to go to things, but I usually do, not much else to do, and it’s useful. And walks on the cliffs, it’s a nice spot. There’s a lot of silence, it’s weird but you get used to it.”
“I’m not interrupting it now, am I?”
“Nah. I mean, it’s silent most of the time, talking is only really for recreation and when necessary. But Greater Silence is only after Compline. And next week, since it’s Holy Week. There’s more people coming, for a special retreat thing, Archbishop Ruth’s going to be here and preach, the nuns are all excited about that. Sister Antonia said I could join the retreat stuff, I probably will, may as well.”
“I bet it’ll be really good, make the most of it.”
“I mean, this whole thing is like a really long retreat.”
“Or like being a nun?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Fancy being a nun, now you’re finding out what it’s like?”
“What?” Sam laughed. “I’m not nun material.”
“Well, I dunno, what is nun material?” At least this had found some levity.
“Dunno. They do as they’re told… all very nice and very good at being quiet and always happy about everything. Even cleaning, and soup for lunch.”
“Do you think that’s because they’re nuns, or because those are the people who get picked to be nuns? If that makes any sense. Like, they’re happy because they’re nuns, or all nuns are naturally happy people?”
“Dunno. It’s a bit weird, anyway. Though fun, when they get to talk or play games or whatever.”
“Nuns play games?”
“Yeah, football and stuff. The younger ones, not Sister Mary or Sister Margaret or Sister Antonia.”
“In habits?”
“It’s a sight to behold. They’re really good, though, I’ve joined in a few times…”
“Being a nun sounds great.”
“Apart from getting up at four in the morning.”
“Less great…”
“Anyway, I should go. Dinner.”
“Sure. Look after yourself, call me if you want a chat.”
“Thanks.”
Lucy put the phone down and shoved food in the oven. Time to it down and make a proper attempt at that Maundy Thursday sermon. So much to talk about, so little time in which to say it… why did she have to do this now, after a day of both Zachary and Sam? Because she’d put it off too long, and she’d regret not starting it now.
Servant ministry. Modern-day servant ministry. It was all very well to carry out ceremonial foot-washings, but how did you really serve people? She scratched her shoulder absent-mindedly. Deaconing, that was servant ministry… doing whatever needed doing. Doing whatever needed doing. Being there for people, in anything, all the things you didn’t want to have to deal with, dealing with them anyway. Serving. Cooking and cleaning and washing up and gardening. And being happy with it.
She smiled. Thanks, Sam. She might not feel ready to preach on the Eucharist, but she could talk about servant ministry. Offering of self. And then, maybe, move on to Gethsemane…