Ordained

The Ordination

His knees hurt.

Try as he might he could not raise his thoughts above this pain, this intrusion into what he was promised would be and  which was meant to be the most profound spiritual experience of his life.

His knees hurt.

He tried to move his body, a discrete exercise regime intended to relieve the pressure on his knees. He remembered an old school friend who, on hearing of his plans for ordination had pulled his leg about wearing out the knees of his jeans, but today it felt as though it was his knees, that would not survive. If only he could stand and stretch, but he Bishop was edging closer.

His knees hurt.

He tried raising his feet, one ankle at a time, but that only made the pain that much more unbearable and he knew that fidgeting would just draw the attention of the Bishop’s Chaplain who had been watching him closely since yesterdays row with the Cathedral verger.

As the Bishop came closer he tried to turn the grimace he knew was clearly written on his face, into the semblance of someone in the embrace of a spiritual experience. But it was hard, what was he doing here?

How had all this happened?

The strange turn of events that had brought him from the back to back’s of his home town, the boring routine work in the garage, the early mornings and later nights, the fighting, the drinking, the laddishness that had been his past and was meant to be his future; to this?

The soaring arches of the Cathedral, the clerestory lights high in the vaulting of the ceiling. This was poetry in stone, conceived and constructed by masons who had a story to tell and for whom this was their worship. Even as they built they knew that they would not be welcome amongst the Sunday best worshipping congregation and the ‘Barchester’ clergy that would run the place. He had noticed the sign on the back of the chairs ‘Close Harmony’ how droll, how witty, given the lack of any sign of Christian, not even love, just good manners, existing between the clergy in the Cathedral Close.

But today the Cathedral was full.

And today his knees hurt.

Neil next to him had nearly all his relatives present, his mother had spent hours sewing and crocheting the lace for his cotta, and now the family had turned out as though it was a wedding, which for Neil in a way it was. They were joined by the parishioners from his new parish which was in the inner city, near the Cathedral, all keen to see their new curate ordained.

On his left knelt John, like him destined to serve his curacy in a village some miles from the city.

Johns' family had turned out in force also, clearly overjoyed to see him ordained into the ministry of the Church of England.

Sadly he reflected, for all sorts of really rather poor reasons, he was here on is own without either the support of his family, who were more than preoccupied with the business of getting through each day without having to spend money on a bus journey to the city. Neither was there support from the parish which was not waiting to welcome him because they didn’t in fact know that they were expecting a new curate. So he was on his own, much to the annoyance of the Cathedral authorities, who had reserved seating assuming the usual degree of support and who now had empty seats in full public view.

And now his knees hurt.