The Archdeacon Returns - Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen: The Election - Part II
At that moment, old Canon Swiftman, the diocesan Methuselah, rose to his feet and asked to be recognized by the Chair. The Archbishop gave him leave to speak.
“In any event,” the old man continued, “I would hate to leave behind any unfinished business if the Lord should call me home. Your Grace,” he addressed the Archbishop, “If I am correct, and I believe I am, the canon on episcopal elections allows a nomination to be made at any point during the proceedings.”
The Archbishop covered his microphone and whispered something to the Chancellor. The Chancellor returned the whisper and the Archbishop uncovered his mic and affirmed, “Yes, Canon, the Chancellor has confirmed this.”
“Well then, your Grace, I have here a piece of paper, a nomination, under my own hand, and signed by nine other members of this Synod who have not previously nominated any other candidate for this election.”
As he held out the piece of paper, a suspenseful murmur went through the Cathedral. Rebecca Hope’s face went cold. Young Tony caught Maddie’s wide-eyed look of shock and surprise. The Archdeacon simply closed his eyes and dropped his head. He had some idea of what was coming.
“That old buzzard,” Maddie muttered under her breath, “he’s had this up his sleeve the whole time. Not a political man…humph.”
“Your Grace,” Canon Swiftman continued after the murmuring had died down, “We should like to nominate the Rev. Mr. William Perkins, and respectfully request that his name be added to the ballot.”
Now Mr. Perkins had been sitting in a pew near the entrance of the cathedral. At first, it was unclear to him as to what was taking place. He heard his name mentioned and it was only when the Archbishop, peered down the nave of the Cathedral and picked out Mr. Perkins asked him to stand, that he had an inkling of what might be happening. It was customary for nominators to seek the assent of their candidate before submitting their nomination, but the old man knew Mr. Perkins well. He knew that the country parson would never agree to let his name stand if approached in advance of the election. He knew that Mr. Perkins always voted at synod as the Spirit directed him. Mr. Perkins had made no secret of this. The old priest knew, therefore, that this would be the only way he would ever get Mr. Perkins’ name on the ballot.
“Mr. Perkins,” the Archbishop addressed him.
“Yes, your Grace.”
“Do you accept this nomination?”
Mr. Perkins closed his eyes for a moment for the shortest of prayers, but for what seemed like an eternity to the assembled Synod. He drew in a deep breath, opened his eyes, and responded with a quiet confidence, “Yes, your Grace.”
The Synod erupted in noisy conversation and the Archbishop had to call for order several times. “We will move on with the eighth ballot!”
And so they did. On that ballot, both Rebecca Hope and the Archdeacon began to watch their support slip away. The stalemate had been broken, both clergy and lay electors had begun to move away from their former candidates and shift their support to Mr. Perkins. Mr. Perkins had not yet achieved a majority, but the writing was on the wall to such a degree that the Archdeacon requested that his name be removed from the ninth ballot.
Evening had come as the ninth ballot was cast. It will be remembered that for an election to be declared, and candidate needed to achieve a majority in both orders of laity and clergy, 119 and 81, respectively. Mr. Perkins did achieve that majority, a grand majority, in fact:
The Rev. William Perkins lay: 185 clergy: 125
The Rev. Rebecca Hope lay: 51 clergy: 35
The Synod had chosen Mr. Perkins to be their next bishop. It wasn’t simply that the Archdeacon’s votes had migrated to Mr. Perkins after he had withdrawn, so did much of Rebecca Hope’s support. Canon Swiftman had read the mood well and discerned both the mind of Synod and the will of God. It was time for a pastoral bishop. The Diocese was hurting. It was no longer the firm hand of Bishop Verity that was required, nor would it be the entrepreneurial spirit that Rebecca Hope had offered, neither would it be the administrative skill of our friend the Archdeacon. Rather, it was a gentle spirit, one who would nurse the wounded church back to health. Mr. Perkins, or should I say, Bishop-elect Perkins, was not a perfect man. He was not known for being an exceptional administrator. He was about as far from being entrepreneurial than any priest of the diocese. He was not a man of fresh ideas. But he was a good man and he was a good priest, who loved God, and loved God’s people.
Upon the announcement that an election had been made, Mr. Perkins was led up the chancel steps as the Synod broke out in song:
Praise God from whom all blessings flow!
Praise Him all creatures here below!
Praise him above, ye heavenly Hosts!
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!
Then the Synod erupted in applause while Mr. Perkins bowed his head humbly at his sudden change of fate. The news would fall hard on his friends in Hampton’s Corners. He would now have to leave the little church and the people whom he loved so much, and who loved him back — but that is a story for another day.
All that was left now was for the bishop-elect to bless his people, and he did so using the old-fashioned words:
“May the peace of God which passeth all understanding keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord. And the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit be upon you and remain with you always.”
These words were offered so lovingly, so earnestly, so pastorally, that a feeling of true joy and contentment came over the assembled Synod. Then the Archbishop declared the Synod closed and members began to crowd in on Mr. Perkins to congratulate him.
As the pews began to empty, one could spot Rebecca Hope and her cadre huddled in a corner intensely debriefing the debacle. The Archdeacon and Maddie had remained in their pew for a long while. After some time, Young Tony came over to them. He shook the Archdeacon’s hand. They exchanged no words. None were needed. Young Tony then gave Maddie a hug and went off to congratulate his new bishop.
Maddie placed her hand on the Archdeacon’s arm, “I’m sorry, boss. I tried. I really did.”
“I know, Maddie. Thank you.” The Archdeacon smiled at her. He drew in a breath and exhaled slowly, as if releasing all the tension of the day. As they prepared to leave their pew, he looked up over the heads of the those gathered around the new bishop and through the chancel to the altar. On the altar sat a cross upon which hung a figure of Christ. A feeling of peace came over him as he looked at the figure. He smiled and thought to himself, “I’m free.”
For an Epilogue, click here.
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