The Archdeacon - Chapter Two

Chapter Two

 Meet the Archdeacon

I should say a word about the appearance of our hero, his mode of living, and his relations.  The Reverend Canon Thomas Fulman as he had formerly been known until his collation as archdeacon, was still a good-looking man in his early fifties.  He had always taken the trouble to care for himself and took an active interest in his physical fitness.  In his youth he had been a great lover to team sports, and after he embarked on ministry, this juvenile love gave way to more mature, individualistic sporting pursuits.  He enjoyed golfing, tennis, racquet ball – in fact any sport that would allow him a sociable but competitive engagement.  He was also known for his early morning work-outs at the gym, which he believed, gave him the physical endurance required for the strenuous mental work of ministry.  Thus, it should be of no surprise to the reader that this reverend gentleman stood quite apart from any of his contemporaries in his tall, healthy physique, which was quite uncommon amongst the worn-down clerics of similar middle-aged vintage who wore the butter tarts around their waists and the cakes they had been served over the years on their faces. To round out his appearance, I should add that he had a clearly defined face. His jaw was not what might be called square, but neither was it weak.  His nose was slightly long and large, but not awkwardly so.  It seemed to fit him perfectly.  Much to the chagrin of many of his male contemporaries who had lately taken to shaving their heads or keeping very short hair as a consequence of the loss of their follicular foliation, our hero still had a full head of hair of a bright reddish hue, something he inherited from some Scottish dna buried deep within his ancestral line.  His hairline had receded slightly, but not noticeably.  In all, it might be said that for his age he still was something of an Adonis, and while some looked upon him with envy at the physical attributes bestowed upon him by his creator, his attractiveness was more to his advantage than his detriment when he walked amongst others.  He was well-liked, well-respected, and admired by most at first sight. He was an honest, but diplomatic man, and a fast maker of friends.

In the early part of his life, he had been happily married but tragedy befell him when his wife was diagnosed at the young age of thirty-seven with an inoperable cancer.  They had no children nor had either of them any siblings.  The care of his wife fell entirely on his shoulders and he did so with love and devotion.  The parish in which he served in those days, St. Ethelburga’s, was a very difficult, and to be honest, very dysfunctional church, which required a great and concerted effort on his part to manage.  But I have to say that the parish rallied with admirable character around their rector and his wife during their time of crisis and offered true Christianly support and courage.  When his wife passed away, they supported him with love and affection, and the character of that difficult community seemed to soften. Fr. Fulman spent a few more years in that place and at an opportune and appropriate time, took his leave of them to begin his present incumbency of St. Stephen’s, in which we now find him. 

He never remarried, although he has again found love. For the last five years he been in a relationship with a woman who is also a colleague in ministry. The Rev. Canon Christa Clement is his lover. She is the rector of a somewhat large, but decaying suburban parish, north of the city. She is a very competent and compassionate priest, and was recently named the rural dean of small deanery known as Millbank, in which there are about half-a-dozen churches of various types and sizes. Fr. Fulman had known Christa for many years. They had been in seminary together, but their relationship then could not have been characterized as intimate or even a close friendship. They had interacted on various committees and at various events. At one of those meetings they got to talking in the parking lot after the tedious event had drawn to a close, and discovered a mutual love of opera and theatre. In truth, it was not actually a discovery, for they had seen each other at several plays and operas over that past several years. They would often find themselves in attendance of the same production and might pass pleasantries in the lobby with a nod or a smile. Not much was ever made of it for Christa was always with her husband, who equally loved the theatre (although not so much the opera). But Christa’s marriage had fallen apart a year or so before this particular parking lot meeting. Its failure had the same symptoms of many clerical marriage failures – long hours of ministry, never settling in a home, exhaustion, irritability, spousal jealousy and anger at having to compete with the church. One day, her husband, who was a teacher, told her he had had enough and left. He no longer wanted the church in his life with all it drew, took, and stole from them, and since she would not choose him over it, he would leave her to it. She was devastated.

The meeting in the parking lot was the first time Thomas and Christa had spoken about their love for theatre and opera, and the idea came upon them that perhaps they should buy their tickets together for the next season, and so that was arranged. I think they were both lonely, and I know they both craved the understanding of someone who knew what a life of ministry was like, and who would not hold over the other their priestly vocation as a competing suitor.  It goes without saying that they fell in love.   Yet, the idea of marriage, though floated once or twice, seemed quite impractical to them. Their parishes and work took up so much time.  They both lived in their parishes, she in a rectory, and he in a condo a few blocks away from St. Stephen’s, which had been procured for him by the churchwardens in substitute for the rectory they had just sold. What they had seemed to work. They went to the theatre, or opera, or symphony a couple of times a month. They would dine together when possible, often on Sunday evenings, or when their work brought them in close proximity, or when one or the other found time to sneak away from their respective parochial responsibilities.  About twice a month they would make love. It is surprising that this notion should seem so shocking in our modern age of sexual liberty.  In my own ministry, I have very rarely married a couple who has not lived together before their nuptials. And yet, even for two middle-aged clerics who had both been previously married, the thought still evokes a sense of scandal, does it not? And I must confess, I am amongst those with some misgivings. The days of clerics counseling abstinence to young unmarried couples seems to be long over, nor does it even occur to most clerics to refuse communion to those “living in sin”, or insisting that a couple might get married before we baptize their child. However, the idea of two unmarried clerics engaging in sexual relations, even in a monogamous partnership, still rankles the puritan sensibilities of many, myself included. But this moral conundrum seemed not to concern our happy couple.  They were discreet. He never stayed the night in her suburban rectory. She tended to visit his condo for overnight stays, and on the whole, if she was noticed by other residents, they seemed unconcerned.  From time-to-time they might go away some place for a few days, and invariably, wherever they went they would run into someone they knew as a matter of coincidence. Most people, if they felt any awkwardness upon such meetings, or held any condemnatory opinions, kept such thoughts to themselves.  They were open about their romantic relationship and the church authorities never seemed to object; they even seemed to wink at what they knew must have been happening in several clerical bedrooms in the diocese. It was not as if some power dynamic was being exploited. They were colleagues of equal standing (at least until his collation), they were clearly in love, and most people thought it quite a beautiful and tender thing that they had found happiness together.  Perhaps it would have been better for them to marry, but it was never suggested to them as a requirement of their love.

I think they should have married.  It seems impossible to me that those with a sacred ministry who stand up on a Sunday and preach, who are ministers of a sacred moral law, should so cavalierly live in a way contrary to Our Lord’s commandment.  When I expressed this not long ago amongst a few clerical friends I was told that I was prude and that I should let the happy couple enjoy the blessings of finding a second love without the judgement and chastisement of others.  I own that perhaps I am a prude, but I shall henceforth keep my counsel on the matter.

One charming little feature of their relationship (and even I will condescend to admit this is charming), is that they always called each other by their titles, in public.  In former days it would have been, “Hello, Canon,” to which the response would come, “Oh, good afternoon, Canon”.  What is more, even when alone they would playfully use their titles with each other in a flirtatious manner. Immediately after Canon Fulman’s promotion was announced, she went up and greeted him with a wry “congratulations Aaaarchdeacon”, drawing the word out in a faux English accent.  

This should suffice to our friends Archdeacon Fulman and Canon Clement to the reader. When synod we have just witnessed had concluded, and the feting in the hotel lounge was completed. Thomas and Christa ordered up a bottle of wine and decided to do a little celebrating of his promotion of their own. There we shall leave them for the time being.