The Archdeacon Returns - Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen: Clericus

Clericus is the monthly meeting of all the clergy of the deanery, or at least it is supposed to be. A deanery is a sub-unit of the Diocese, consisting of several parishes within a geographic area, nominally overseen by a rural dean. The rural dean is one of the parish clergy given the additional responsibility of “keeping an eye” on his or her area and of being something of a liaison between the parishes of the deanery and the diocese.  For this additional responsibility, a regional dean has received an extra $55.00 per month since time immemorial.  It hardly seems a generous sum.  It is likely that one would consume more scotch in one month as a result of dealing with the problems confronted in being a rural dean than that sum could procure. Several years ago, a colleague and I considered putting forward a motion to synod to index the rural dean’s stipend to the value of a decent bottle of single-malt scotch as a way of showing our appreciation to the holders of this thankless office.  We thought better of it, though, and instead, from time-to-time, just drop off a bottle to our dean at our own expense.

            We are about to eavesdrop on a meeting of the clericus of Millbank-Overland Deanery.  The deanery, in its present incarnation, is an amalgamation of the two older deaneries of Millbank and Overland, which were combined during the late Bishop’s restructuring.  Several parishes had been closed or amalgamated and thus it was deemed prudent to combine the two significantly reduced deaneries. The rural dean of Overland, who had held that post (and his parish) for nearly twenty years, took the restructuring as an opportunity to retire, and now lives out on the west coast.  Canon Christa Clement, the former love interest of the Archdeacon, had been the rural dean of Millbank. As we know, when her parish was closed, she left the diocese, and the Archdeacon, to take up a chaplaincy at an English university. 

            The late Bishop had canvassed several of the clergy of the newly amalgamated deanery of Millbank-Overland to take on the role of rural dean, but all her prospects turned her down.  Thus, she was forced to turn to the Methuselah of the Diocese, the Rector of St. Alfred’s, Canon T.R. Swiftman, now nearing ninety years of age. He refused to take on the post permanently, for in spite of having been the rector of his parish for nearly sixty years, he said that any appointment at his advanced age must necessarily be deemed “temporary”.  He insisted on being styled “interim” rural dean. And so he had remained these last three years.  Although, unlike the younger clergy, he felt it incumbent upon him to be obedient to his bishop and accept the position – for he was a priest of the old school – I would not say that he was particularly diligent in carrying out the duties of the office.  To be fair, he was an old man.  It’s not that he did not communicate with the clergy and parishes of the deanery; in fact, he sent them a monthly letter (not an email) advising them of diocesan news and various directives.  I imagine you would not be surprised to learn that in this age of instant communication, most of the clergy had any pertinent news long before his letters arrived. Rather, the area in which he was chiefly negligent, was the calling together of the clergy of the deanery for a monthly clericus meeting.  He was something of a misanthrope and he did not like to entertain. He was not fond of gatherings, especially with those whom he regarded as fools. He believed his monthly letter fulfilled the requirements of his office and had dispensed with the monthly meetings for the last three years.  I cannot say that any of the clergy actually missed the meetings, and neither did anyone complain, for they were not prepared to volunteer for the thankless job that the old man had so dutifully accepted. He did not suffer an ounce of guilt over not calling a regular meeting and was therefore quite perturbed when he was forced to call the present meeting.

            This particular month, his hand had been forced by the requirement that all the diocesan clergy participate in a mandatory sexual misconduct policy training workshop.  This was being facilitated by the H.R. officer of the diocese, Mr. Byrd Handy, who was going deanery by deanery giving the workshop and enforcing compliance.  Canon Swiftman was forced to invite his clerical colleagues to his rectory at St. Alfred’s to receive the required training at the hands of this ecclesiastical bureaucrat.

You will be relieved that I shall not recount the proceedings of this important – but for our purposes, irrelevant – portion of the meeting.  Rather, let us drop in on the meeting after Mr. Handy had departed and Mrs. Deakin, the old Canon’s dutiful housekeeper (yes, he had a housekeeper), was offering tea, coffee, and a myriad of baked goodies to his guests. She had done the baking herself, as this was the first time that Canon Swiftman had entertained in years and she was relishing the opportunity.

            Mr. Perkins of Hampton’s Corners sat in a chair, conversing with the Rev. Robbie Ready, who was standing over him.  Robbie was not being subtle in his attempts to court Mr. Perkins’ support in the upcoming election. We can imagine that Mr. Perkins was only repeating his time-honoured lines about letting the Spirit move him on election day, all the while gently trying to change the subject

            With the exception of the Archdeacon, who was in his weekly meeting with the Archbishop (and having taken his sexual misconduct policy training early with the diocesan staff), all of the other clergy of the deanery were present.  Aside from Mr. Perkins and Robbie Ready, Maddie was there too.  I won’t introduce the other ten or twelve clerks in holy orders who were milling about, as they do not figure in our story to any great degree. They are merely background players in the scene that was about to play out.  The Rev. Rebecca Hope was about to make her entrance.  This was a moment for the history books, for even before old Methuselah discontinued monthly clericus meetings, no one could ever remember Rebecca Hope attending. She was always at some important meeting or had a funeral of some local dignitary at which she had to officiate.  Clericus meetings were meant to be mandatory, but she had blown them off for years.  She was never reprimanded for some reason, and this perturbed her colleagues, although some ventured to admit that when they did meet, they preferred to meet without her. 

            Today, a week before the episcopal election, she was to be present. Well, she had missed the sexual misconduct policy training having told the Canon that “she would take it another time”, but she would drop by for tea and coffee and say hello to “the gang.” Thus it was, that with great fanfare she made her grand entrance. Mrs. Deakin led her into the Canon’s drawing room where the clericus had assembled.

            “Well, hello Canon!” she oozed, extending her hand to shake his. 

            “Madam,” he replied, giving a slight bow, keeping his hands rigidly at his sides.  He had never really warmed up to the idea of women as clergy and she was certainly not the one who was going to change his mind.  In fact, she disgusted him. That phoney smile, that false pastoral pretense, the affected friendliness.  He would have despised her even if she were a man, but he despised her even more for being a woman in holy orders.

            Rebecca Hope made her way around the drawing room greeting all her colleagues with the same affected cheeriness. There were handshakes, and in some cases unwanted hugs.  Maddie was on the receiving end of one of these.  What makes people think they can enfold near-strangers, or professional colleagues, in such uncomfortable embraces shall always be a mystery to me.  Maddie’s frame hardened as Rebecca swooped in and embraced her. 

            “Where is my friend the Archdeacon?” she asked the young priest.

            “He’s in a meeting with the Archbishop,” Maddie replied coldly.

            “Oh, how nice for him. The Archbishop is suuuch a lovely man.  We are sooo blessed to have him overseeing things these days. I don’t know what we would have done during this sad time, or how we could have made it through without him.”

            Now, we all know that this was a dig at the Archdeacon, who was the one who had been overseeing things and holding things together. Apart from a few confirmations and ordinations, the extent of Archbishop’s pastoral care and oversight during the vacancy of the see was a weekly check-in meeting with Archdeacon Fulman just to ensure that everything was running smoothly. 

            “Yeah,” Maddie said, “he’s great…” and she awkwardly slipped around Rebecca Hope and made it for the table with coffee and baked treats.  But Rebecca Hope followed her, and to the horror of Mrs. Deakin and the old Canon, the episcopal candidate picked up a plate of goodies and started offering them around as an excuse to work the room.

            “Well, hello Mr. Perkins,” she exuded, offering him a square, “will you have one of Mrs. Deakin’s wonderful treats?”

            He politely took one and then realized how much he was preferring the company of Robbie Ready.  She offered Robbie a square, but he waved her off and once again got Mr. Perkins’ ear.  Then, just as she was approaching a group of senior clerics assembled in the corner, the old Canon intercepted her.

            “Madam, please…” He took the plate from her hand, “allow Mrs. Deakin to carry out her responsibilities.” 

As Rebecca Hope flitted off to see whom else she might court, one of the senior priests, whose name I shall withhold, said to Canon Swiftman, “It’s not like she was going to win my vote with a Nanaimo bar.” His companions gave a hearty laugh.

The clergy of the deanery were onto her.  I don’t think there was a single one in that room who intended to vote for her.  Maddie felt a certain gratification as she watched the scene unfold. Although she had not been able to secure the support of either the old Canon or Mr. Perkins, Maddie had gotten definitive gestures of support from the rest of them, and she was sure that Swiftman and Mr. Perkins would come through in the end.  This little display, she thought to herself, would only serve to shore up the Archdeacon’s support, and at this, she smiled.

Next: The Election - Part 1