The evening of the big service arrived and a large cross-section of the community packed into the church. The normally unused balcony was full to overflowing and creaked under the weight to the point I became seriously concerned that it might collapse onto the congregation below. A large number of people had to hear the service relayed to outside. The church itself looked well. Dampness in the walls hadn't had time to stain the new paint, and the words of Job, though in gold leaf and not graven, as was his aspiration, 'with an iron pen and lead in the rock for ever,' were emblazoned above the east window. They proclaimed: 'I Know That My Redeemer Liveth.' The flower arrangements of the flower club, if somewhat formal and lacking in imagination added something to the occasion.
Robert Armstrong, along with the local T.D., County Councillors and representatives of organisations in the village sat importantly in reserved seats at the front. In the procession there was an assortment of clergy. Catholic priests in multi-buttoned soutanes with elaborately worked lace ends to their cottas, Church of Ireland clerics in cassock, surplice and black scarf with a variety of academic hoods and the sober-looking Methodist Minister, grey-suited with gown and white preaching bands. The procession was completed by the purple episcopal presence bringing up the rear, in red chimere and carrying a crozier taller than himself.
The form of service, including the words of the hymns, was provided on a service sheet, which enabled the Protestants to sing lustily and the Catholics to follow the words. Most of them weren't used to singing in church. Fr Keane and I read the lessons and the high point was the sermon preached by the bishop. He preached well, having done his research carefully. He outlined the political situation at the time the church was built, and contrasted it with the present to show how the spirit of reconciliation was abroad in the land. He acknowledged the Armstrong family connection and affirmed the whole-community dimension of the occasion. The rousing rendition of the last hymn 'Now thank we all our God,' was a fitting end to the service, which was more an affirmation of developing ecumenism than the celebration of the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the church or the Armstrong family's involvement in its building. The whole congregation poured out into the night and across to the parish hall for the speeches and for supper.
Jennifer was not in the church. She promised me she would not be late and that she would sit with the bishop's wife. She was not in the hall either. It was overcrowded; it contained virtually every parishioner except infants and the infirm, and as many again neighbourly and ecumenical Catholics. Every religious group has its bigots and I could think of one or two parishioners who would feel that to have Catholics in the church was one thing, but to have so many of 'them' in 'our' hall was another.
Eventually the platform party of VIP's was seated and I called on the bishop to speak. As he stood forward there was a bustle towards the back of the hall. He began:
'It gives me great pleasure to ....' and was interrupted by a commotion at the door.
'It gives me great pleasure to be here this evening ...' he started again over the screech of chairs being moved on the wooden floor. Jennifer made her way up the side of the hall behind a helper making a passage for her through the crowd, to the steps at the side of the platform. At first I didn't recognised her. She was wearing her good red coat that hadn't had an outing for years, dark glasses and, unlike her, she wore a head-dress that was more feather than hat, from beneath which her recently cut hair pointed in all directions. As she got closer I saw that she was flushed. When she arrived at the foot of the steps she stopped, and holding the rail she looked up at the bishop, who by now was in full flight and ignoring the distraction. She stood listening and I hoped she would stay there until he had finished. After a minute, with a look that said, 'I'm not standing here any longer listening to this,' she pulled herself up the steps by the rail and onto the stage. She stumbled as she went around the end chair and made her way behind the second row to the vacant seat beside the bishop's wife. She pulled the chair back to get through, scraping it on the floor, pulled it into line and sat down. She turned to the bishop's wife and said in a stage whisper:
'I'm late.' The bishop's wife smiled a faint embarrassed smile.
With a great sense of relief that the interruption was over I turned my attention back to the bishop. He was in the middle of an amusing anecdote that I only half heard, at which everybody laughed heartily, relieving the tension and returning the atmosphere in the hall to normal. He ended by saying all the right things and thanking all the right people, including Robert Armstrong whose idea the whole thing was in the first place, and to whom I had at last conceded credit.
The bishop sat down, and while I waited for the applause to end, before I stood up Jennifer made for the microphone.:
'I'm sorry I was late. Tonight of all nights I was held up.' A free spirit with a quick wit down the hall laughed out loud and smothered it. Jennifer hesitated and lost her train of thought. After an embarrassing silence she recovered and continued:
'The great thing about tonight is that everybody who's anybody is here. By this I mean not only you, bishop, but our local TD and County Councillors. They have all asked me to tell you that when you vote at the next election you are not to take into account that they took the trouble to come here tonight as they wouldn't want to gain unfair advantage over their opponents.' A few people laughed. Jennifer went on:
'Seriously, what's important is that the whole community is here. The days for making distinctions are gone,' and she slurred 'seriously' and 'distinctions' badly. I hoped that she was finished there, as in the circumstances she hadn't disgraced herself completely, but she stopped to draw breath and started again;
'So to parishioners I say; get up off your butts, stand on your feet and keep the show on the road or there won't be anyone left for our Catholic friends to be ecumenical with,' and she staggered 'ecumenical' two or three times. She steadied herself and turned towards her chair. I stood up quickly, but before I could step forward Jennifer swayed back to the microphone again. She took it in her hand and turning unsteadily to look at him directly, she said;
'And bishop, remember; Jesus wants you for a sunbeam.' She swayed back towards her seat again and sat down. For a moment there was silence and then some embarrassed applause around the hall. I stood forward quickly, thanked the bishop and said how particularly glad I was that Fr Keane had taken part in the service and called on him to speak.
Fr Keane was an especially kindly and generous spirited man, of whom Jennifer was particularly fond. He said all the usual things in the circumstances, but he said them in his own kindly way so that you had no doubt they were not just a formality, but that he meant them. He said how much he agreed with the rector's wife about people coming together and that all traditions of the Christian faith had much to learn from each other.
When Fr Keane finished I thanked the vestry and the subcommittee for all their hard work and the ladies of the parish for the supper. I thanked Mr Armstrong for decorating the church and his contribution to the festivities, and called on the bishop to say grace. Then the women of the parish performed the miracle of the feeding of the multitude, but with a little more notice than Jesus had had in his day. During supper Jennifer engaged in animated conversation, largely one-sided, with the bishop's wife, but as time went on the less talkative she became. My only anxiety was that being one of those clergy wives with little time for bishops, she might be less than discreet, not because it might reflect on me, but her judgement about church affairs were her own and she didn't pull her punches. By the time the bishop came to talk to her she had steadied up somewhat, and the two made polite conversation.
Despite my reservations beforehand I had to admit it was a good night. It was a notable occasion; not only that it had been a successful celebration of the hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the church, but also it was the night that Jennifer left nobody in any doubt that she had a problem.