Chapter 2: Peter's story

Sunday was Advent Sunday; three-and-a-bit weeks to Christmas. Dulcie was familiar enough with Church of England ways to know the Advent carols like "O come, o come, Emmanuel", though afterwards I had to explain the purple vestments and altar cloth. She was readily accepted by the folk of St. Jude's. As I've said, they're a good bunch; I think that even had any of them known her story she'd still have been accepted. After the service as we all stood, or sat, around drinking tea and coffee, she was with a bunch of the younger members chattering away nineteen to the dozen. Suddenly, they all got up and walked into the main part of the church. Sara caught my eye, I excused myself from the people I was with and followed them as they went right down to the altar rail and knelt.

Dulcie looked and saw me coming; she beckoned, I walked faster.

"They all want to be filled with the Spirit, like me!" she said. "I was going to pray for them, but I think it'd be better if you did."

You may not realise just what a minefield I was walking into here, but I did; I just didn't see what I could do about it.

I walked behind the rail and squatted in front of them.

"Now, guys," I began, looking each one in the eyes as I spoke, "Jessie, Abby, Helen, Jason, Mike. This is pretty serious stuff. It's not just an experience you can boast about and play with. I'm not sure what Dulcie's said, but what happened to her is a bit unusual."

Abby, the oldest at 22, said, "Does that mean we can't have the same thing?"

"It means," I said, "that God will bless you in a way that is right for you, and you have to be sure that you are ready for the commitment. If you're filled with the Spirit, it will change your life and there's no going back. What God gives you will be different from Dulcie, because it's for you, not her, ok?"

I looked at each one in turn until they all had nodded understanding. I then looked at Dulcie.

"Ok, you started this, so you can pray too. We'll start with Jessie and work our way along."

She laid a hand on Jessie's shoulder, as I held one over her head; as Dulcie began to speak in that special language, I just said, "Come, Holy Spirit."

Jessie gasped; her expression one of incredible wonder. We moved to Abby, who looked nervous.

"Are you sure, Abby?"

She nodded, "nervous, but sure."

Again, Dulcie began to pray, and I said, "Come Holy Spirit."

This time, Abby began to weep. I didn't expect that. She looked up at me.

"He loves me! He really loves me and I never knew!"

I was glad to see Sara walking down the church towards us.

Helen (I was definitely feeling as though things were spiralling out of control) when we began to pray for her, began to sing quietly ... in tongues.

Jason looked at me with an expression of determination. We began to pray; his expression became thoughtful, his eyes closed ... and he collapsed limply to the floor. Dulcie caught him and at least stopped his head hitting the ground.

Poor Mike. I could tell he was overwhelmed by watching his friends' encounters with God.

"Can I come and talk to you tomorrow?" He asked, "I'm free in the morning."

"Sure, of course," I said. "Ten o'clock?"

I sat in the front row of seats until all of them had come down, or got up, and hugged each other; I suggested they all come to the Vicarage the following night to talk. My flock were quite used to Sara and me praying for people at the altar, though not usually 'in bulk' so to speak, and had finished their conversations and gone home. The problem is that God is, by definition, out of our control. No one, least of all me, likes to be in a situation they cannot control, and I could see that this one was already moving that way.

We went home for lunch; rather late, 'tis true, and spent an hour or so talking to Dulcie trying to explain our concerns. She could not (I could understand why) see where the problem was. I sent her off with a little book by a minister who'd been in a similar situation where the church had been divided and he'd resigned. When she re-appeared at tea time she had a sober expression...

Evensong on a Sunday was usually a handful of the older members. Tonight, the congregation was expanded by six, which almost doubled it. The singing was improved 200%, several people chipped in during the prayers. The readings were from Isaiah 52 ("Awake, awake O Zion") and Matthew 24, signs of the end of the age. I spoke about Advent, how it's the time when we look back and think about the coming of Jesus at Christmas, and forward, to the coming of Jesus at the end of time; the beginning of deliverance, and the final completion. At the end, nearly everyone left to go to the lounge at the back and talk; except Mike, and Dulcie who was sitting next to him, holding his hand. He looked up as I emerged from the vestry.

"I'm ready," was all he said.

Dulcie met my eyes, and began to pray in tongues, still holding his hand; I held my hand, flat, just above his head and just said, again, "Come, Holy Spirit." I nearly jerked it away when I felt a wave of heat; I'm not sure if it was from my hand or his head. His face lit up with joy and he began to babble in tongues. I was sort of detached; I was fascinated at the way Mike's words blended with Dulcie's in a sort of heavenly counterpoint. After a minute or so, I left them to their communion and went to talk to the rest of my flock.

Sara met my eyes and raised her eyebrow in a query; I smiled, and nodded and was then cornered by Jim and Wendy, my church-wardens, who wanted to talk about getting the gutters cleared out. Talk about contrasts — I can't say "from the sublime to the ridiculous" because in our climate blocked gutters are not ridiculous, but certainly very practical and down to earth.

Almost everyone had left when Dulcie came to the lounge with Mike. He walked up to me with his face wreathed in smiles. Now Mike is a lovely chap, but usually quite reserved. On this occasion he came up to me, flung his arms around me and gave me an enormous hug. I managed to overcome my surprise enough to return the hug.

"I don't think I need to see you in the morning," he said, "but to be sure, I'll be there with the others tomorrow night!" and walked off.

Sara, Dulcie and I left Jim to lock up and crossed the road to the Vicarage. As we entered the house, I said to Dulcie, "Mike's a good fellow."

"He is," she replied, but with a touch of sadness in her voice. "I think we'll be friends."

"Friends?" I asked.

"Just friends," she replied, "it's up to him to tell you any more than that."

What a day! I felt completely exhausted when I flopped into bed. But then Sara pulled me close, her breasts pressing against my chest, and kissed me; well ... perhaps not completely exhausted

Dulcie's story;

Sara and Peter's explanation of what had happened to me was perhaps not exhaustive, but it was enough. I had always looked forward to going to church with Grandad, but that was because I liked Grandad. Here everything had changed the previous day. I was really excited ... to be going to church?

I asked Peter why there was a lot of purple about — purple altar cloth, and later the stuff he dressed up in and he explained (in some detail) about the different times in the year having different colours, red for martyrs or the Holy Spirit, white for saints and festivals, gold for Christmas and Easter and so on. I enjoyed the service, though it was all modern words, not like the old ones from the prayer book. Afterwards I found myself with some younger people who wanted to know about me. They were really warm and friendly and I found I was telling more than I meant to. They got really excited when I told them about being filled with the Holy Spirit and wanted to know how and what to do. It just seemed natural to say, "No problem, why don't we just go into the church and pray?"

When we got to the front of the church I was beginning to wonder if it was a good idea, and if I really ought to be doing what I was doing, when Peter walked down to us. I was so pleased to see him — he'd know what to do.

He spoke really seriously to the others —and, I suppose, to me too — but everyone wanted to go on. I didn't know what to expect; I certainly didn't expect Jason to fall in a heap, or Abby to cry. I was sad Mike chose not to be prayed for. It's kind of hard to be the last person like that.

When we got home, after lunch, Peter tried to tell me how what we'd done that morning could go horribly wrong. I couldn't understand; but he gave me a little book to read by a Vicar who'd had everything go wrong. It worked out for him in the end, but I began to see why Peter was worried.