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Kevin Wood
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7:00 AM 15th January 2021
fiction

Diary of a Sociopathic Vicar – Part 8

 
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When a vicar leaves a parish, there is always a delay of between a few months and a few years before a new one turns up. There are many official reasons for this delay, none of which are true. The real reason is to make a parish so desperate that they will be grateful for whatever vicar they get landed with.

Although St. James, Sutley, had been blessed with me, I am not sure they really appreciated it. They had shown their gratitude by appointing a doddery old lady who smelt of Parma Violets as Parish Evangelism Officer. Sometimes, I wonder if churches want to survive.

Fortunately, the other candidate for the position – my fiancée, who would have done a decent job – took it well when I broke the news.

“I’m sure that it’s God’s will,” said Mabel.

I’m not entirely comfortable with such mute acceptance, but that’s who she is.

A more immediate concern was the visit from the Diocesan Finance Office. There was a small matter of the church owing the Diocese thousands of pounds, because the last treasurer had been using the money to line his pockets. When confronted with this, he’d committed suicide, which made things easier in some ways, but more difficult in others.

That Tuesday afternoon, the representative from the finance office came to see me. We’d made the appointment a couple of weeks ago, before the church burnt down. He introduced himself as Rev. Graham Walters. Personally, I have difficulty trusting a priest who looks after money instead of people.

“Now, Dave,” he said, after making his rather ample behind comfortable, and slicking down his comb-over, “It seems we have a little problem, doesn’t it?”

Calling me “Dave” rather than “David” irritates me, but I’ve come to accept it. What I disliked was the patronising attitude.

“Now, I realise that this is your first parish, but really, you must get a handle on the finances. I think that you really need to have a Church Stewardship campaign.”

This is typical Diocesan thinking. Not enough money? Have a stewardship campaign to ask people for more cash. Oh, it gets dressed up a bit, asking people to look at how they can give in other ways, such as time, or using their talents, but that’s camouflage. It’s about cash.

There were many comments that I felt like making to this statement, but it’s important not to let personal feelings get in the way of your objective.

“Graham,” I said, “I do not think that a Stewardship Campaign would be appropriate at this time. People give what they believe they can give. Most give honestly, and those who do not will not be convinced by someone knocking on their door. The only thing that approach will do is to alienate the congregation.”

“But surely you see that you need to generate more income, and a Stewardship Campaign is the accepted vehicle to do that.”

“It might bring a temporary increase in funds, but long term it will reduce attendance.” At this stage, I made up some figures to support the argument. They were completely fictitious, but Graham didn’t dispute them. I took this to mean that either he had never checked the figures, or that the real situation was worse.

At this stage, Abigail brought in tea and biscuits. On the tray was a folded note.

“I think you will want to read that note now, vicar,” she said.

I thanked her, and she withdrew. I glanced at the note. “Ask him if he enjoyed his meal at the Red Lion last Thursday,” it said. The Red Lion was a popular gastro-pub a few miles away. I put the note in my pocket.

I waited until Graham was taking a sip of his tea, and then asked the question. He choked in a most rewarding way, and I took great pleasure in slapping him on the back.

“The Red Lion?” he asked, “What? Why do you think I was there?”

“Oh, I took my fiancée for a meal there, and I’m sure I saw you.”

If Graham had been innocent, then he would never have been so vociferous in his denials. I wasn’t sure what he’d been up to – although it’s almost always something extra-marital in these cases – but he’d been up to something. The tone of the meeting immediately changed.

“Well,” he said, “Perhaps a different approach is required in this case. We understand you’ve had a few difficulties recently.”

“Quite. Perhaps you’d like to see the accounts. You see, I have reason to believe that the treasurer was lining his own pockets at the church’s expense.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“Today has been the first opportunity.”

He spent some time looking through the papers, and said, “I think it’s quite clear. We’ll have to approach him.”
“You can’t. He’s dead. Suicide.”

“That makes it easier. We can get it from his estate. Did he have any relatives?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Capital!” said Graham, rubbing his hands together. “So much the better. I would think we’ll be able to recover the full amount.”

Shortly after, Graham left, eager to be picking over Geoff’s bones. I reflected that perhaps I hadn’t needed to burn the church for the insurance after all. Still, no matter. I called Abigail into my study.

“Thank you for that note, Abigail. It proved most useful.”

“I thought it might help.”

“Do you know what Graham Walters was doing in the Red Lion?”

“Meeting one of his friends. I’ve had my eye on him for a while.”

“Really? And why’s that?”

She looked uncomfortable for a moment, then squared her shoulders. “Perhaps I should take you into my confidence,” she said.

“Considering that I already know that you are responsible for the death of your husband, I think that might be best.”

She nodded. “I’ve uncovered a secret organisation that wants to take over first the Diocese, and ultimately, the Church of England.”

Disclaimer: Despite the opinions of Rev. David Wilson, Stewardship Campaigns are an accepted vehicle for improving the giving within a local church.

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