The Bishop - Chapter Eight: Percy Poorechap

Chapter Eight: Percy Poorechap

Having heard much about him, it is now time for us to meet the Rev. Percy Poorechap in the flesh.  In his former days, back in the 1970s and 80s, he was a belligerent young activist, a stick-it-to-the-man kind of guy. As a priest he had an uneasy kind of relationship with the church.  He had been arrested at more protests than anyone could remember. He was fond of chaining himself to signposts or lamp-posts in protest of one sort of injustice or another.  He was regularly thrown out of the legislature with members of the homeless community when they would show up to protest the most recent attacks on affordable housing, panhandling, or "tent cities".  During the 1990s, before gay marriage was legalized, he officiated at one of the first Anglican gay marriages, getting around the requirement to obtain a licence by using the traditional "publication of the banns."  To some, he was a hero. To his ecclesiastical masters, he was a perennial problem that needed constant managing. 

Yet, as time wore on, he softened and eventually slipped into something of a caricature of his old activist self.  He had once been a ground-breaking prophet, but was now experienced as something of an eccentric oddity by the younger, more well-turned-out emerging generation of clergy.  And as the church became more progressive in social policy, Percy's brand of fire-brand activism seemed more and more out of date and out of place.  When he stood up during "members' hour" at Synod, to make his usual rant about some injustice or another, people would either grown, or slip away. The ordination of women, gay rights issues, advocacy for the homeless, indigenous issues - all issues dear to Percy's heart, had become mainstream in recent years and front and centre policy issues for the Anglican Church. Percy no longer found himself on the prophetic forefront, and his activist methods seemed out-of-date.  Percy had become redundant..  Percy, the old hippie radical, the 70s burnout, seemed more an oddity than a prophet these days.

Percy still attended the occasional rally, and was feted by the other old radicals as they recalled the glory days of old, but for the most part, he had slipped into semi-retirement with respect to his activism.  Now, as an older priest, he quite happily undertook a half-time ministry at inner city parish of St. Brigid's, where he was found amongst the poor and the marginalized, for whom he had fought all his life and who he loved dearly. Where he once fought great political battles, now he relished in small moral triumphs, like the baptism of the dog of a homeless schizophrenic man. Could there be anything more indicative of a welcoming and inclusive church?

"Thanks for understanding about the dog, Bishop", Percy said, as he offered the Bishop the chair behind the desk in his ramshackle parish office.  The Bishop waved him away and found a little chair in the corner on which to sit.  He gestured Percy to sit in his own seat. 

"Just don't do anything like that again," the Bishop said, "not everyone is as understanding as I am..."

"You should have seen him, Bishop," Percy interrupted, "what a beautiful German Shepherd...and those eyes! Oh, those eyes! After I had baptized Stan, he looked over at the dog, and said to me, what's to prevent Buddy from being baptized, too? Well, what could I say, Bishop? What could I do?"

Plenty, thought the Bishop, starting with not baptizing the dog.

"Bishop...it was like the story of the Ethiopian Eunuch!"

Not quite, thought the Bishop...not anything like the Ethiopian Eunuch.  

"How could I say no?" Percy added.

Robbie Ready wouldn't have given a second thought to saying no and telling the man to bugger off, the Bishop mused to himself once again.  "Look, Percy...we've been over this and you know as well as I do that there are more than enough reasons not to baptize a dog, and I know you just wanted to be inclusive, but theologically..."

Percy's theology grew out of his pastoral practice, and not from any sort of previously formed systematic thought.  It was neither coherent, nor consistent, except in that it was always generous. Mary would have told him that perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing.  

"Bishop, I'm sorry I put you in a bad spot with the stuffed shirts downtown..."

"...and the city newspaper..." added the Bishop.

"Yes, well maybe the world will begin to see how welcoming we are..."

"Listen, Percy," the Bishop said, rising to his feet and starting to dress for the Sunday liturgy, "We have to go into church in a few minutes, but I need to let you know that in a week or so you and the church wardens will be getting a visit from Mr. Argent, the diocesan treasurer, and some members of the accounts receivables committee, about the financial situation of the parish. They're going to see if they can help..."

"I know. I got the email from Canon Sharpe. We are delinquent." Percy paused for a moment, "Do you know how many names I have been called over the years, Bishop? Delinquent has never been one of them...that's a first...and it really stings."

"It's an accounts receivable term, Percy," said the Bishop, parroting Mr. Argent, "...and not a very good one, I might add."  He placed his hand on Percy's shoulder.  Percy had just tied his cincture around his alb.  "We are working on that, and I don't want you to take it personally."

But Percy did take it personally. He could handle being thrown in prison for protesting on behalf of the downtrodden, he could take being ridiculed for being a burnt-out hippie, he could take being considered eccentric and odd, he could even withstand being taken to task for baptizing a dog, but to accuse him and his little parish of delinquency, was more than he could take.

"You know, Bishop, I could have retired five years ago. I took this parish because I love these people. None of your hotshot young clergy are interested in them.  I love them and they are the people Christ commanded us to love and serve.  I took this parish on a tiny stipend because they needed a priest. The roof is leaking, the walls are crumbling, there's mental illness wherever you look, there's poverty wherever you turn. Who would want to minister here? Not many apparently, yet I open my mail and receive this insulting piece of paper from the Diocese." He pointed to the "delinquency letter" on his desk. "Bishop, we are poor...not delinquent."

Percy was right. They were anything but delinquent.

"I know, Percy. I know." The Bishop glanced at his watch, "I think it's time to go to Church."

..."The Bishop" will return next week.