Lest They Be Forgotten

Let My People Stay!

(What happens when the newcomers outnumber the incumbents in the new country? It begs the question whether discrimination can occur in reverse? Is mono-culture or multi-culture the answer? This is my favourite story although it's a tad long, first published in my story collection Fringe Dwellers (Hidden Brook Press) in 2008, and now in its second edition)

 Let My People Stay!

The Rev. Julia Styles looked out from the rectory and across the road towards St. John’s. It was a beautiful spring morning and the grove of sugar maples under the old matriarch tree shading the front entrance would soon be in bloom. In no time, her church would be returning to nature and become worthy of its name again – St. John’s-among-the-Maples. Beneath its large, new neon sign, the caption, “All Christians are welcome,” echoed the beliefs of its founding fathers from fifty-five years ago. On Sundays, the parade of Mercedes’ and BMW’s will arrive with the Chinese service goers. The poorer ones will  come via public transport, or on foot, for the outdoor service under the large tent that has taken up the old parking lot; and they come from all over now, even as far as the lakeshore. It seemed like only yesterday when getting newcomers, let alone younger people to come to Sunday service had been an uphill battle. Now you couldn’t keep them away. God had indeed willed it, and she was happy for this.

She took the little white tablets out of the bottle; she needed more of them now just to keep that demon of pain at bay. Swallowing them down and steadying herself, she put on the ‘nature’ chasuble made by the children, over her white alb. It was covered in prints of trees from all over the world, which the children had hand painted: maples, akee trees, bamboo shoots, coconut palms. Today was also her special day, her day of reckoning, she knew. Her mind went back disjointedly to the events that had led to this pass. It had all started about five years ago.

***

“We can’t run like this anymore – it’s all deficits,” Marion Derby, the senior warden and treasurer said. “The Women’s Auxiliary is in deficit, the Sunday school is without a teacher, the building is in need of repairs and our weekly intake is less than our expenses.”

The annual general membership meeting was in full swing, and Rev. Julia looked among the audience of regulars. Old Joe Smiley sat in the same seat he had occupied when she was still a teenager. His wife had passed away the previous year and the man was going downhill fast; he even had an oxygen tank and tubes in his nostrils. The number of canes and walkers had gradually increased and Julia was glad for the investment they had made in the elevator soon after she took over as pastor from Rev. Morris six years prior to this very day. It had drained the building fund but at least these folks could get around inside the church now – including going to the hall downstairs for coffee after service, and to other social celebrations that kept this community together.

Harry Bailey, retired high school teacher and former warden, piped up, “I didn’t hear that clearly – my hearing aid’s acting up. Why the devil are we in deficit? We ran our affairs so well all these years. I would think the new wardens need to get their act together.”

Here it comes, thought Julia, the same old factional bickering – a disease that spread among this aging population faster than the cancers and strokes that were killing them off steadily. But then, old people do get cranky, she reminded herself.

“Just a moment, Harry,” Julia said. “It’s not a question of the wardens not doing their job. We saw the aging of this community years ago. We have not been successful in bringing new people to the church. Now we are paying a price.”

“People who would come to this church have left the area – moved to the burbs –Ajax,Whitbyand the like” someone piped up from the back row.