A Fete Worse Than Death: (And Other Small Church Matters)

Chapter One

Dear Pastor Michael

I do hope that you are enjoying your well-deserved Sabbatical. I know that not everyone was on board with the idea of you taking a full six months away from the church, but I must let you know that I had no time for those among us who felt that you were over-reacting to the stresses of your job and merely seeking to shirk your duties for a while. The words junket and jolly may have been mentioned by some of the meaner spirited amongst us, but if ever I was within earshot of such suggestions I was quick to rebut them. Believe me, Michael, I quite understand how continually thinking of others before yourself, dealing with their spiritual and emotional needs while yours have to be pushed down and ignored, attending endless, often quite tiresome meetings, making time for hospital visits and then preparing and preaching a sermon every week, year after year for over fifteen years can all become too much. As a wife and mother I can empathise only too well – except for the sermon writing, of course. Being a pastor and being a wife and mother are not so different. There are the constant demands on your time and attention, and nobody seems to notice how tired or low you get, oh no, you are there to minister to them and they give absolutely no thought to your feelings or needs. You may as well just be an insensate robot. Nobody really understands how much of ourselves we have to give, and what a thankless task it can be. Good for you! – is what I say. Don’t spare us another thought. You make sure you relax and recuperate and take no heed of all that silly criticism. It is lucky that one of us can.

Anyway, I thought that you might appreciate someone keeping you up to date as to what is happening here at Ainsworth Baptist Church during your absence. Oh I expect you will get official bulletins from the associate pastors and the deaconate, but I believe that as a grass roots member of the congregation I am uniquely well placed to provide another perspective that will give you a more rounded view of what is really going on – and I do not labour under the mistaken idea that you might need to be saved from some of the more startling things that are taking place.

In fact it was the unfortunate incident in Ainsworth Park this very weekend that stirred me to write to you. Although it is quite possible that you may already have learned of the incident from the local press, unless you are on your proposed tour of the Holy Land, or perhaps already ensconced in that Highland retreat you talked so longingly about. I regret that I am not privy to your exact itinerary, even though I did offer strong hints about the need to be enlightened so that I may contact you should the need arise – not for my own benefit, you understand, but in case of some crisis within the congregation.

Now I know that I am considered to be a little staid in my ways, and I will admit that I have voted against some – well, most – of the changes that have taken place within ABC over the past few years. Indeed I still mourn the passing of the pews in favour of the padded seats we now have. Comfortable they may be, but there is nothing to keep a person alert and intent on the Weekly Message like a good old-fashioned oak pew, the narrower and more upright the better. Good for both the physical and spiritual posture, I always thought, after all, this is supposed to be the House of God and not the Devil’s sitting room, is it not? Comfort may have its place, but it is not in church. I was even sceptical about the advantage of putting long cushions on the benches a couple of years before the padded chairs were mooted. I had my suspicions right from the start that this would be the thin end of the wedge of decadence, and I remember saying so at the time.

But of course my lone voice went unheeded and despite my protests and warnings first the pew cushions, and then, later, the new chairs, were duly purchased and installed to much delight and approval. Always being graceful in defeat I said no more about the matter, not even resorting to the ever-satisfying I told you so as I began to notice what can only be termed a general slackness coming over the congregation with the advent of the chairs. On more than one occasion recently I have noticed Certain Members of the Church becoming very relaxed during the morning service, particularly during the Message, so relaxed, in fact, did Brother Edwin Spasm become the other week that he expressed his blissful contentment with two unfortunately loud snores which woke up Sisters Mavis and Winnie who were sitting directly in front of him, and put them in a very bad mood for the rest of the morning.

I have to admit that on the one hand I was glad that their unholy repose had been interrupted, but on the other it is never good to rile Mavis and Winnie. Particularly Winnie, who has an antler handled walking stick and is not afraid to use it. There is more than one young lad within our midst who has unwittingly jostled her in his anxiety to get to the biscuits when the tea is being handed round after the service, and has left the fray limping. I have long been of the opinion that walking sticks should be checked at the door upon arrival, much as swords were in days of yore. Quite frankly walking sticks are more trouble than they are worth and can indeed be put on a par with an offensive weapon. Mind you, not only can they be used as weapons, as in Winnie’s case with the ill-fated biscuit seeker, but they are often so carelessly placed that they obtrude into the aisle to the danger of unwitting passers-by, as well as occasionally being used to gain the attention of people a row or two in front of the owner by means of a well placed prod between the shoulder blades. I am sorry, but I do not think that is a very Christian way of marking your wish to talk to someone, and the resultant bruise, I can tell you, can take several days to subside, despite the liberal application of arnica. In case you are now wondering how the walking stick bearer (I will not use the words infirm or frail person since it is my suspicion that most of these people carry their walking sticks for effect or as a crude means of gaining sympathy rather than as a means of support) are to manage once they have been relieved of their canes, well, I think the people on the Welcome Team could then help the ex-walking stick bearer to their seats, and there would be the added bonus that the ex-WSB would then be forced to stay put and not create the unfortunate log jams that occur in the aisles and doorways when they decide to changes seats or chat to friends.

In fact the more I think about this matter, the better the idea seems, not least because it will make use of some members of the Welcome Team, which now seems to employ an inordinate number of people to meet and greet each Sunday morning. I do understand that it is our Christian duty to be welcoming and to make sure we greet in a friendly manner all who attend our Church, whether they deserve it or not, but sometimes I feel that the line of people waiting to shake hands as we arrive has grown to an unfeasible number, in fact has come to resemble nothing so much as the receival of guests at a wedding or royal occasion. So it would be no bad thing if some of the Committee could have their services otherwise usefully employed.

Umbrellas, I might add, are no better than walking sticks, and not restricted to the elderly or allegedly infirm. They have the extra disadvantage of being a danger to hair and eye in thoughtless hands, and should likewise be heavily restricted as to their placement within the confines of the church. Personally I do not see that they are necessary at all. What, I ask you, is wrong with a good rain hat? It serves the purpose of protection against dampness quite adequately, and can never be said to bring harm or distress to any innocent passer-by. Even a hood, which has much bad press these days what with its favour amongst the petty criminal fraternity, would be a better option than the iniquitous umbrella. As for those among us (and they know who they are) who for some unaccountable reason insist on wearing a rain hat and carrying an umbrella – and even, I am appalled to say, a walking stick too, well, words fail me. I do feel that a sermon on Christian thoughtfulness might not go amiss. After all, if your walking stick/umbrella causes someone’s downfall, as our Saviour might well have added in the gospel of Matthew chapter eighteen …

But I digress. The reason for this missive is, as I said, because of an unfortunate incident that occurred last weekend at Ainsworth Park after an innovative, but ill-advised, attempt on Pastor Darren’s part to reach out to a wider audience and encourage participation in worship with us by members of the local community who do not normally attend church. I suppose this is what we get if we insist on employing twelve-year-olds straight from theological college, still wet behind the ears and with no real experience of life. I am sorry, I know Pastor Darren Jolly is married with a two-year-old child, but he is so fresh-faced, rosy-cheeked and full of enthusiasm that he seems quite boyish to me, and although I know this must have its appeal, particularly to the youth amongst us who, I have to admit, seem to respond to him in an amazing way, I am afraid that to me having a Pastor who looks like he has never even shaved yet has the same effect as being confronted with a policeman who appears to have just left his teddy bear on his bed at home in order to question one about the theft of one’s handbag – from the seat right beside them whilst they were innocently drinking a cup of coffee in a pavement café – which contained both one’s credit cards, one’s driving licence, the only picture of one’s dear cat Tibby who passed away last October, one’s keys along with a gold Parker pen, and which has never been recovered, despite one’s giving a very thorough and detailed description of the hooded, cold hearted, devil-eyed, wretched miscreant who snatched it!

I’m sorry, I came over a bit unnecessary then. How very unchristian of me. Do forgive me, Pastor Michael. I know we should forgive, offer the other cheek, etc, etc, but sometimes it is quite hard. But I will continue to try. Indeed, I feel that I am always trying.

Getting back to Pastor Darren, of course his age (or lack of it) has nothing whatsoever to do with his capabilities as a spiritual guide and mentor, and his youth should not be held against him. However, I do feel that his sad lack of years, and therefore experience, does affect his judgement on certain matters, as with the case in point …

Oh dear, I do apologise, but I find that I must digress yet again and say that I still have great difficulty in referring to Pastor Darren as Pastor Darren. I mean, what sort of a name is that for a Pastor? Darren. It has no dignity. Is it even a proper name? – I have my doubts. Sadly he does not seem to have realised what a handicap an inappropriate appellation can be and has named his own daughter Sherry. I do not recall there being any Darren’s anywhere about when I went to school, and as for the name Sherry, well that was a sort of fortifying beverage, not a suitable name to be inflicted upon a poor unsuspecting baby, especially a baby from a temperate Christian household. Parents were of a more serious turn of mind back in my day. The name Darren seemed to have sprung new-formed from the depths of that tasteless decade, the seventies, and been embraced by the more frivolous members of the populace.

Perhaps I should approach Pastor Darren – in love, of course – and suggest he change his name to something more suitable, something with a little more gravitas. Phineas, perhaps, or Thaddeus. Now they are names that command respect. And Algernon. Such a strong and manly name. I must admit that I have always been a bit disappointed that the three stalwarts of the early church should be named Peter, Paul and John. So very common; but there you are, it is not our place to question such things, is it? But we can do something about how the church appears today. I don’t know if perhaps I could prevail upon you, Michael, to have a word with Darren on this point? For some reason he does not seem to respond well to my suggestions. Please don’t misunderstand me, Pastor, I do not mean that he is in any way rude, in fact quite the opposite. Darren is unfailingly kind and polite to me – when I can manage to find him. Oddly he always seems to be just on his way out of a door when I need to speak to him, and I must say that I often detect what can only described as a sort of hunted look in his eye when I do manage to corner him to talk about some helpful point I have come up with regarding the improvement of the smooth-running of the church, and although he nods and smiles very sweetly, I have never yet seen any of my proposals implemented.

For instance, recently I spent some considerable time, and not a little expense, cross-stitching the fortifying verse from Ecclesiastes: All is vanity and striving after wind decorated with sweet little red-faced cherubs sitting on clouds at each corner of the canvas. I was particularly proud of my handiwork which was worked in varying shades of magenta on a drab background and made use of several very intricate and obscure stitches that had been passed on to me by my own dearly departed grandmother. I rather thought it might adorn a wall of the Quiet Room as a suitable passage for prayerful reflection by those who were feeling low of spirit. However, Brother Edwin Spasm happened to be passing as I was showing it to Pastor Darren and commented that it might be better placed in the men’s toilets, adding that the rubicund infants, as he so ignorantly referred to my cherubs, looked as though they could do with a good dose of Imodium. I must admit that I did not understand how that, quite frankly rude, comment should make Pastor Darren explode with an unseemly display of coughing, which I suspected at the time may have been covering laughter, but it did. And my embroidered legend has not so far been seen anywhere in the church.

And then there was my suggestion of a sermon on second Kings chapter two. Admittedly the inspiration for this subject did hit me after a regrettable incident involving the adverse, not to say impudent, comments of a Certain Vulgar Child regarding a hairstyle that I was tentatively trying out. Of course I will not lower myself to name her lest I lay myself open to the accusation of gossip, but if I say she has the misfortune to be cursed with a head of unruly curls that can only be described as orange, and a pair of spectacles that look as though they belong to a nineteen fifties singer, you may know who I mean. The expression pot calling the kettle black springs to mind when I think of the incident, but I am far too polite to indulge in such a riposte. I will admit that I was a little wary, and therefore highly sensitive to criticism, of the new hairstyle myself, so to hear it referred to as (and I quote) blow me, look at that – a haystack with bows on caused me not a little chagrin. The comment was overheard by several other youngsters who, instead of rebuking the Certain Vulgar Child as befitted children fresh from Sunday School, instead engaged in a bout of most unseemly laughter and added several equally insolent comments thinly disguised as jokes. When I confronted the parents of these children on the subject it was the general consensus amongst them that I was overreacting to a bit of friendly joshing, as one mother put it, and that I should try to lighten up. I feel strongly that the modern church is far too tolerant towards children these days, unfortunately following in the insipid and indulgent footsteps of the state school system and parents. Just look at our worship programme: we have songs with actions in the service and a good deal of levity which is obviously intended to make young people feel at home.

I refer back to my comments about the passing of the pews: I am quite convinced that it is harder to inject such, dare I say, frivolous behaviour into a service where the congregation – all the congregation, children included – are safely ensconced in good old fashioned pews.

But no matter how the inspiration came about, I still feel that the story of Elisha and his bears and the way he dealt with the impudent youths of his day would be a salutary lesson to our own children and discourage them from making personal comments about other people’s hair, or lack of it. Pastor Darren, however, was not convinced.

Another loving suggestion of mine cavalierly rejected.

There was also that idea of mine to have Verse a Day toilet paper put into the lavatories. I will admit that when I first found out that such a thing existed I was as outraged and disgusted as some members of the church meeting were. But then I thought about it and it occurred to me that the Lord speaks to all of us in unexpected ways, and since we spend so much of our time in, well, intestinal contemplation, why should we not put that time to good use and exercise our spiritual muscles as well as our abdominal? I have employed the tissue in my own home and have found it most informative. It is not often that I