God's Country

Part Ninety-One

'In the fear of the Lord is strong confidence: and his children shall have a place of refuge.'

Proverbs 14:26

Susie did not know who the other girls were, although she gathered that they were all from Croydon General, from the little their gaoler nuns said, because they never saw each other without their veils. Each girl slept in a tiny cell and they were never allowed out of them until they were dressed, so all she saw of her fellow novices were their black and white habits. All they did was pray, drink and sleep. Prayers, interspersed with instructional lessons, were played constantly out of speakers, and there was no escape. She could not think for herself anymore. Even at night, when it finally went silent, when her cell door closed, all she could hear were the words of a God she had never believed in exhorting her to serve. She was told that she was legally Sister Caris. Her given name in God's service. She had no hair. She had been put through the disinfectant bath as soon as her brother sealed her fate.

She had been beaten of course. She had tried to resist, to argue, to fight her way out, but she had learned that there was no escape. She had been paddled until she passed out, and when she awoke she was paddled again. She was reminded that she was a nun for life. Her dear brother had signed her life away for a pile of cash and she would repay the country by serving God, to earn His love. She did not argue any more after that. She did not see the point and she feared the paddle.

'He is the rock, his work is perfect: for all his ways are judgement: a God of truth and without iniquity, just and right is he.'

Deuteronomy 32:4

"Is it what you expected?" David Harrington asked, hunched beneath the canopy close to Michael Winstanley. It was not exactly the perfect weather for fishing but they enjoyed the peace. It had been another thing they found they had in common and they had discussed many things over the years on that bend of the River Mead, which happened to belong to the Broomwaters estate. "Not the pace of it, perhaps...but the reaction?"

"I am far too old and cynical to be surprised by anything anymore." Michael Winstanley sighed, watching the raindrops fall on the surface of the water. "But in the end, I do trust human nature. It was not the people who deserted the church, but the church that deserted the people. All we had to do was make ourselves relevant again, so in a way it is what I expected all along...I suppose. Getting people back into church every Sunday morning was always about a little compulsion and a lot of relevance."

"Even the ones we are forcing back?"

"Especially the ones we are forcing back...we have rather effectively reminded them that the church, whatever church that happens to be, runs their children's school...that is the real relevance."

"It's still a trick though...and how many of those people are we actually touching?"

"Honestly...I'm not sure. I think it is easier to touch the ones who are in trouble. Sebastian believes that certainly...the community have responded to him around the school, and the homeless and the needy, like moths around a flame." The Archbishop said thoughtfully. "He says that they believe we are helping and that in turn we are helping them to believe. But it is implausible that we have turned so many people instantly to God...that is obviously untrue. It is not about God at that basic level, it is about the community...about coming together and finding more strength in a group. It just so happens that there is a Pastor there to lead and encourage it, but the strength is in the community. How about you?"

"I don't know if I am honest...I am either knee deep in politicians these days or I am here in quite splendid isolation." Harrington admitted, scratching his chin as he watched his float straining against the line. "I have really enjoyed it...I like working with Charles and it is a new challenge for me...but you are divorced from reality in the Westminster bubble. And here in the village..."