of about Virginia’s age; Angelica; and, of course, Virginia herself.
It was an odd collection of people. They themselves marvelled openly at their diversity in age and occupation. Almost weekly Mrs Hammond could be counted on to open the meeting by saying, ‘Blessed are we who allow our Lord Jesus Christ into our hearts! Where else but through the Lord could an old woman like me still be growing and learning and sharing with people like you?’—at this moment she clasped her gnarled hands with great fervour—‘Let’s start by offering the Lord Jesus a prayer of thanks!’
To which the Reverend, when present, would say, ‘Quite right, Mrs Hammond, quite right.’ Occasionally one of the theology students would throw out an ‘Alleluia’ or an ‘Amen’ in the background to reinforce the general enthusiasm.
But in fact, Virginia was not so optimistic about the harmony of their group, and didn’t feel the Lord was doing his bit to smooth things out. The Lord was testing her, it seemed, on the very ground where she should feel safest.
It had to do with the occasional ‘Alleluia’. That background affirmation always sounded false, sarcastic even. Virginia was upset by the theology students.
Stephen and Philip had appeared together, out of nowhere, one Sunday just after Easter, at St Luke’s. They were inseparable, almost interchangeable, disconcertingly similar in their mannerisms and their affectations. It hadn’t initially occurred to Virginia to think of them as ‘that sort’, although Angelica had whispered something about it almost the first time she saw them in church. But knowing this (as by now she felt she did), and áware that if they knew anything about the word of the Lord (which as theologystudents they must) then they were condemning themselves to damnation—in the light of all this, Virginia had a hard time accepting their presence.
‘But Reverend,’ she wanted to say but couldn’t, ‘they are emissaries of Satan.’
He would have said only that affectation was not necessarily any indication of sin. He would have said they were taking the first step towards the salvation of their souls and were to be encouraged rather than shunned.
But Virginia—who had turned to God precisely because her distressing experience had revealed human nature to be fallible, sly and, well,
fallen
—was less trusting. She had observed them, both at church and in the group, and she didn’t think they were taking any steps towards salvation at all. What she had observed was that the group—herself included—was being observed. Mrs Hammond’s heartfelt call to prayer was being recorded as a sociological phenomenon for some assigned essay at the university on evangelism within the Anglican church. Virginia was almost certain.
She had talked about it with Angelica, who understood her distress at finding the seeds of Satan in the one secure corner of her life. Angelica was Virginia’s closest ally and dearest friend in the group, and for Virginia, Angelica was the truth of harmony through the Lord that Mrs Hammond praised so. For although the two women were similar in many ways, and Virginia sometimes thought she saw in her friend her own younger self, only worldlier and better equipped to cope, it was difficult to conceive of any purpose other than the Lord’s work that could have brought them together.
Angelica Trumbull, at twenty-eight, twenty-three years Virginia’s junior and technically young enough to be her daughter, was a source of true inspiration. Like Virginia, she had behind her a veiled tragedy, to which she occasionally referred, but some years ago she had found God, and this oblique evil had lifted, leaving aheavyset but attractive young woman with the face of a cherub and a cascading mass of blonde curls, who shouldered the responsibilities of her single life with a quiet eagerness. An eagerness, indeed, that Virginia, who often felt defeated despite all the Lord’s blessings, would not
It was an odd collection of people. They themselves marvelled openly at their diversity in age and occupation. Almost weekly Mrs Hammond could be counted on to open the meeting by saying, ‘Blessed are we who allow our Lord Jesus Christ into our hearts! Where else but through the Lord could an old woman like me still be growing and learning and sharing with people like you?’—at this moment she clasped her gnarled hands with great fervour—‘Let’s start by offering the Lord Jesus a prayer of thanks!’
To which the Reverend, when present, would say, ‘Quite right, Mrs Hammond, quite right.’ Occasionally one of the theology students would throw out an ‘Alleluia’ or an ‘Amen’ in the background to reinforce the general enthusiasm.
But in fact, Virginia was not so optimistic about the harmony of their group, and didn’t feel the Lord was doing his bit to smooth things out. The Lord was testing her, it seemed, on the very ground where she should feel safest.
It had to do with the occasional ‘Alleluia’. That background affirmation always sounded false, sarcastic even. Virginia was upset by the theology students.
Stephen and Philip had appeared together, out of nowhere, one Sunday just after Easter, at St Luke’s. They were inseparable, almost interchangeable, disconcertingly similar in their mannerisms and their affectations. It hadn’t initially occurred to Virginia to think of them as ‘that sort’, although Angelica had whispered something about it almost the first time she saw them in church. But knowing this (as by now she felt she did), and áware that if they knew anything about the word of the Lord (which as theologystudents they must) then they were condemning themselves to damnation—in the light of all this, Virginia had a hard time accepting their presence.
‘But Reverend,’ she wanted to say but couldn’t, ‘they are emissaries of Satan.’
He would have said only that affectation was not necessarily any indication of sin. He would have said they were taking the first step towards the salvation of their souls and were to be encouraged rather than shunned.
But Virginia—who had turned to God precisely because her distressing experience had revealed human nature to be fallible, sly and, well,
fallen
—was less trusting. She had observed them, both at church and in the group, and she didn’t think they were taking any steps towards salvation at all. What she had observed was that the group—herself included—was being observed. Mrs Hammond’s heartfelt call to prayer was being recorded as a sociological phenomenon for some assigned essay at the university on evangelism within the Anglican church. Virginia was almost certain.
She had talked about it with Angelica, who understood her distress at finding the seeds of Satan in the one secure corner of her life. Angelica was Virginia’s closest ally and dearest friend in the group, and for Virginia, Angelica was the truth of harmony through the Lord that Mrs Hammond praised so. For although the two women were similar in many ways, and Virginia sometimes thought she saw in her friend her own younger self, only worldlier and better equipped to cope, it was difficult to conceive of any purpose other than the Lord’s work that could have brought them together.
Angelica Trumbull, at twenty-eight, twenty-three years Virginia’s junior and technically young enough to be her daughter, was a source of true inspiration. Like Virginia, she had behind her a veiled tragedy, to which she occasionally referred, but some years ago she had found God, and this oblique evil had lifted, leaving aheavyset but attractive young woman with the face of a cherub and a cascading mass of blonde curls, who shouldered the responsibilities of her single life with a quiet eagerness. An eagerness, indeed, that Virginia, who often felt defeated despite all the Lord’s blessings, would not
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