Whose Job Is It Anyway?
Children's Story
Mabel hummed a familiar hymn tune as she made her way to church. She always enjoyed her Sunday morning walk. It was one of the few times she felt safe to walk alone through the inner city, for she knew nobody would be up at 7.45 in the morning. Today was a particularly beautiful morning, with blue sky, warm sunshine, and the song of a few intrepid blackbirds who still inhabited the city.
But as she turned the corner by the parade of shops, Mabel almost stumbled over a drunk sprawled in a shop doorway. He looked awful, and the stench was vile. Fortunately he was asleep, so Mabel was able to step round him and continue on her way.
But her walk was spoilt. It seemed so unfair that the ugliness of the city should intrude even into the peace of Sunday morning. And Mabel couldn't get the drunk out of her mind. She wondered guiltily whether she ought to have done something, although she had no idea what. Fortunately, she knew both the vicar and the churchwarden walked the same route, and walked it together. So as long as she was ahead of them, she thought it would be all right. It was their job, not hers.
The vicar and the churchwarden were five minutes late arriving, a good sign. So Mabel relaxed into the familiar atmosphere of church. She gently inhaled the soothing aroma of musty books and recently lit candles. She allowed herself to submerge in the dignified drone of the ancient words, and waited with a mild excitement for the Comfortable Words. Today, 'Come unto me all that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you,' held a special meaning for Mabel. She drank them in with deep gratitude, and felt her anxiety gradually float away from her. God really was in his heaven, and all was right with the world once again.
Mabel walked home on the opposite side of the street, just in case, but couldn't resist a quick peek out of the corner of her eye. To her relief, the drunk had disappeared. The doorway was swept and clean, there was no trace of any problem. Clearly, those in authority in the church had done their job properly. Mabel felt a moment of satisfied pride in the Church of England.
The more she thought about it, the more impressed and proud Mabel felt. Although she was congenitally one of those who scuttled out of the door at the end of the service so as to avoid exchanging more than two words with the vicar, on this occasion something told her she simply must ring and thank him for his efforts. After all, he'd done it on behalf of the whole parish.
Accordingly, she screwed up her courage during the day, and rang on Monday evening. The vicar sounded confused. "What man? Drunk, you say? When? I don't remember - " There was a long pause, then, "Oh! Oh dear!"
"What's the matter, Vicar?" asked Mabel. She had never been able to bring herself to call him 'John', as so many of the parishioners now did. It sounded far too familiar.
"Mabel," began the vicar, "have you seen today's paper? No? I thought not. It's on page three. Apparently, Sir David Barber - you know? The guy who's done all that work to highlight the dangers single women face in the city - he was viciously mugged on Saturday night. Someone found him at about 8.20 on Sunday morning, and called the ambulance. He died in hospital a couple of hours later."
Now Mabel was confused. "What do you mean, 'someone found him at 8.20 on Sunday morning'? You found him, you and Chris Weston, the churchwarden. You must have done. You were late to church."
"No, Mabel. In fact until you rang, I hadn't even made the connection. We were late because - because - well - I got up late. I was out on Saturday night and - oh, well, it doesn't matter. But I was feeling rather tired, and we were rushing, you see. But now you mention it, I do vaguely recollect seeing some chap. I remember thinking he was sleeping it off, drugs or drink or something. We hardly noticed him. Oh dear."
Mabel was outraged. "But it's your job! You should have noticed. You ought to have done something. Oh, that poor man. Perhaps he'd be here now if only you'd noticed. If we can't rely on the Vicar, who can we rely on? I really am appalled, Vicar. I must seriously think about changing churches now. I don't think St Luke's vicar would have passed by on the other side. Have you never read the story of the Good Samaritan? I really don't think I can continue at a church where the vicar doesn't put his Christianity into action. I shall have to start attending St. Luke's. And I'm afraid that means my covenant goes with me." She waited for a moment to give the vicar a chance to dissuade her, but he didn't respond. Perhaps she'd taken the wind from his sails. So she added, "Goodbye," and slammed down the phone, her heart racing.
After a bit, she knocked discreetly at next door. Her neighbour looked surprised when she saw Mabel standing there. It was unusual to see Mabel at all. "I wonder if I might borrow your paper," said Mabel. "I believe there's an advertisement which might interest me."
She avidly read the account of the incident. Sir David had been found by some teenage hooligan, probably thought Mabel, a car thief or one of those so-called joy-riders. Well, serve him right. 'I don't suppose he stole any cars yesterday,' she thought to herself, with satisfaction.
She put the paper to one side, and rooted out St. Luke's church magazine, to check on the time of the early service next Sunday.
But as she turned the corner by the parade of shops, Mabel almost stumbled over a drunk sprawled in a shop doorway. He looked awful, and the stench was vile. Fortunately he was asleep, so Mabel was able to step round him and continue on her way.
But her walk was spoilt. It seemed so unfair that the ugliness of the city should intrude even into the peace of Sunday morning. And Mabel couldn't get the drunk out of her mind. She wondered guiltily whether she ought to have done something, although she had no idea what. Fortunately, she knew both the vicar and the churchwarden walked the same route, and walked it together. So as long as she was ahead of them, she thought it would be all right. It was their job, not hers.
The vicar and the churchwarden were five minutes late arriving, a good sign. So Mabel relaxed into the familiar atmosphere of church. She gently inhaled the soothing aroma of musty books and recently lit candles. She allowed herself to submerge in the dignified drone of the ancient words, and waited with a mild excitement for the Comfortable Words. Today, 'Come unto me all that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you,' held a special meaning for Mabel. She drank them in with deep gratitude, and felt her anxiety gradually float away from her. God really was in his heaven, and all was right with the world once again.
Mabel walked home on the opposite side of the street, just in case, but couldn't resist a quick peek out of the corner of her eye. To her relief, the drunk had disappeared. The doorway was swept and clean, there was no trace of any problem. Clearly, those in authority in the church had done their job properly. Mabel felt a moment of satisfied pride in the Church of England.
The more she thought about it, the more impressed and proud Mabel felt. Although she was congenitally one of those who scuttled out of the door at the end of the service so as to avoid exchanging more than two words with the vicar, on this occasion something told her she simply must ring and thank him for his efforts. After all, he'd done it on behalf of the whole parish.
Accordingly, she screwed up her courage during the day, and rang on Monday evening. The vicar sounded confused. "What man? Drunk, you say? When? I don't remember - " There was a long pause, then, "Oh! Oh dear!"
"What's the matter, Vicar?" asked Mabel. She had never been able to bring herself to call him 'John', as so many of the parishioners now did. It sounded far too familiar.
"Mabel," began the vicar, "have you seen today's paper? No? I thought not. It's on page three. Apparently, Sir David Barber - you know? The guy who's done all that work to highlight the dangers single women face in the city - he was viciously mugged on Saturday night. Someone found him at about 8.20 on Sunday morning, and called the ambulance. He died in hospital a couple of hours later."
Now Mabel was confused. "What do you mean, 'someone found him at 8.20 on Sunday morning'? You found him, you and Chris Weston, the churchwarden. You must have done. You were late to church."
"No, Mabel. In fact until you rang, I hadn't even made the connection. We were late because - because - well - I got up late. I was out on Saturday night and - oh, well, it doesn't matter. But I was feeling rather tired, and we were rushing, you see. But now you mention it, I do vaguely recollect seeing some chap. I remember thinking he was sleeping it off, drugs or drink or something. We hardly noticed him. Oh dear."
Mabel was outraged. "But it's your job! You should have noticed. You ought to have done something. Oh, that poor man. Perhaps he'd be here now if only you'd noticed. If we can't rely on the Vicar, who can we rely on? I really am appalled, Vicar. I must seriously think about changing churches now. I don't think St Luke's vicar would have passed by on the other side. Have you never read the story of the Good Samaritan? I really don't think I can continue at a church where the vicar doesn't put his Christianity into action. I shall have to start attending St. Luke's. And I'm afraid that means my covenant goes with me." She waited for a moment to give the vicar a chance to dissuade her, but he didn't respond. Perhaps she'd taken the wind from his sails. So she added, "Goodbye," and slammed down the phone, her heart racing.
After a bit, she knocked discreetly at next door. Her neighbour looked surprised when she saw Mabel standing there. It was unusual to see Mabel at all. "I wonder if I might borrow your paper," said Mabel. "I believe there's an advertisement which might interest me."
She avidly read the account of the incident. Sir David had been found by some teenage hooligan, probably thought Mabel, a car thief or one of those so-called joy-riders. Well, serve him right. 'I don't suppose he stole any cars yesterday,' she thought to herself, with satisfaction.
She put the paper to one side, and rooted out St. Luke's church magazine, to check on the time of the early service next Sunday.
