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Kevin Wood
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@KevinStphnWood
7:00 AM 15th October 2021
fiction

Diary Of A Sociopathic Vicar – Part 47

 
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The most difficult and important skill for any vicar to master is how to manipulate a church council. There are a lot of subtleties involved in the machinations of church councils, and to be frank, most are mind-numbingly dull. In theory, a vicar in their own parish has a lot of power, but this power is limited by the council. Thus, a vicar must balance between creating the appearance of listening and actually doing. Listen to the council too much and your time will be wasted on tendering for local electricians to replace the light bulb in the vestry after it blew last March. Ignore them, and they will start writing strongly worded letters – not emails – to the bishop. Church council meetings must be taken seriously, even if the church council is not.

And so it came to pass that the council traipsed into the Vicarage at more or less the appointed time that Tuesday evening. Abigail, my housekeeper, had provided some fairy cakes to go with the tea and coffee, and everyone was looking forward to an evening of meaningless pontification. There were fourteen in attendance - too many for a church the size of Saint James. Still, at least now more people came to the services than the council meetings. That, I felt, was a victory.

“Good evening,” I said, opening the meeting. “Before we start, I’d like to welcome Mordred to the council.”

There were some cautious greetings. Everyone remembered the atrocious intercessions he’d led a week previously, but, as a Reader he was an ex-officio council member.

I continued, “Mordred, if you would like to lead us in our opening prayers?”

This caught him by surprise, but he was a good boy, and kept them brief and formulaic. No doubt he was concerned that I might break his nose again.

“First on the agenda – a family from the parish where I served my curacy is moving to Sutley. One of them, Mike, has kindly offered to help in the position of Church Treasurer.”

There were the expected mutters of surprise that anyone would want to take on the most thankless of positions on the church council.

“Mr Chairman,” said Algy Winters, “May I enquire if he has the relevant experience?”

This is typical of Algy Winters. Early seventies, pompous beyond his years, never comes to church, only to council meetings. He had no relevance beyond asking time wasting questions which he always addressed to “Mr Chairman”. I’m not sure what he’ll do if my eventual successor is female.

“I’m very happy to answer that, Algy,” I replied – not the answer he was wanting. “He’s taking on the role of Chief Accountant at Minkley Engineering.”

There were murmurs of approval. Minkley is a significant local employer with a good reputation. The council approved Mike’s appointment in under twenty minutes – break-neck speed.

“And now, you will recall that there was a suggestion that the dome of the new church be painted, in the manner of the Duomo in Florence. I am pleased to say that I have some preliminary designs from the artist.”

I spread out the pictures on the table. They had been done by Porker, one of the local Hells Angels when he wasn’t working as my personal forger. He knew what he was doing – even though they were roughs, they were beautiful, and very much in the Renaissance style. He had been rather taken by the Florentine demons doing unpleasant things with red-hot pokers – a prominent feature in the Duomo. I had been concerned about this, but he had omitted them from the roughs.

There were many “Oohs” and “Ahs” as there very well should have been. Porker knows the value of eye-candy. That vote passed as soon as I could get people to focus again.

Now for the tricky bit.

“And I am very pleased to inform you that we have had a member of the congregation step forward for Lay Readership. I’m sure you all know Psycho. I think he would be an excellent choice for the council to approve.”

There was silence for about five seconds, then Sue, the secretary asked, “Can you tell me his surname, for the minutes, please?”

“Path.”

“Psycho Path. Thank you.”

“Mr Chairman,” said Algy Winters, “If I understand correctly, you are proposing that this... Psycho be admitted as a Reader.”

“Yes,” I said.

“But this is… Psycho we’re talking about.”

“Yes.”

“He’s a Hells Angel!”

“Yes.”

“He’s probably got a string of convictions behind him!”

“Absolutely,” I said, as I was getting bored with continually saying “Yes”.

“He even calls himself Psycho – doesn’t that tell you anything?”

“It is his legal name, so it is reasonable to use it when addressing him.”

“And you really think that this man is suitable to take on the esteemed role of Lay Reader?”

At this point, Mordred – who I had carefully briefed earlier - spoke up. “As I recall, many of the disciples weren’t exactly model citizens. In particular, Matthew was an outcast, the lowest of the low. In fact, there are some quite fascinating descriptions of his activities in the Hyperborean Transcripts.”

I nodded to him, and added, “Mordred is quite correct. Indeed, Sunday’s Gospel reading was from the Gospel of St. Matthew. Tell me, Algy, have you met Psycho?”

“Mr Chairman – are you suggesting that I should associate with people like him?”

“I believe we should treat all people as human beings, regardless of who they are. Has anyone here ever had a problem with Psycho?”

Murmurs came from around the table.
“No.”

“No.”

“Always been very polite to me.”

“Cheeky, but nice.”

“We couldn’t run Souper Saturday without him,” added June Whiting, our Parish Evangelism Officer. She was apparently chosen due to her low intelligence and limited imagination – and yet had somehow come up with the idea of our highly successful soup kitchen.

“So, it comes to this,” I said. “If Psycho is a reformed character, then it would be incredibly unjust to deny him this opportunity to pursue his calling. Alternatively, if he is the mindless thug that Algy appears to be suggesting, it is well to remember that he knows where you live.”

There was a brief silence.

“Mr Chairman - I propose that he be accepted by this council,” said Algy.

“Seconded,” said Mordred.

The vote was carried unanimously.

After the meeting had broken up, I thanked Mordred for his intervention on Psycho’s behalf.

“You don’t give me much choice,” he said. “Do it your way, or I’m out.”

“Indeed,” I replied. “But I am only providing you with the guidance that you should have been given many years ago. Unlike others, I am not prepared to simply let you become someone else’s problem.”

Mordred grunted.

“One other thing,” I said.

“Yes?”

“The Hyperborean Transcripts.”

“What about them?”

“They were written by a lesser-known associate of Lord Byron in 1812 while he was experimenting with Laudanum. They are not to be relied upon.”

The may or may not have been true, but they were undoubtedly of similar legitimacy as the “Gospel of Jesus of Lemuria”. I could not allow Mordred to be misled and I felt my analysis sounded plausible.

Indeed, plausible enough that Mordred replied, “Really? Good grief!”

“But I appreciate that the reference was well intentioned. Good night.”

“Night.”

The next day was standard vicaring, mostly, but I did have one important phone call to make.

The phone was answered on the second ring, suggesting that the person I was calling was waiting for me.

“The item is ready,” I said.

Disclaimer: It would appear that Rev. David Wilson has a certain disdain for Lord Byron and the Romantic Movement. This fails to acknowledge the valuable cultural contribution that was made, and which more than excuses some of the behaviours which might otherwise be condemned.

A map of Sutley may be found here:
https://kevinwoodauthor.com/SutleyMap.htm

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