Moral Fibre

Edwin hunched over his desk staring at the pad of paper and nibbling on the end of his pen. Good Friday was only two days away and he did not have a sermon. That is, he’d written one, but he’d discarded it. Yesterday, Mrs Witherspoon had learned that her twin sons had gone down with their ship after it was torpedoed off the coast of Norway whilst carrying ammunition for the Soviets. The brothers had joined the Merchant Navy together and always signed aboard the same ship, inseparable in life and now in death.

Mrs Witherspoon had been a pillar of the parish longer than Edwin himself. A widow since the last war, she had been at the heart of almost every activity from collecting books for the troops and overseeing the “Spitfire Fund” to the choir and the decoration committee. She was large, loud, fond of broad-brimmed hats with silk flowers on them, and she was broken. Edwin did not know how she could possibly withstand this double blow. He did not know why she should have to. He certainly did not know what he could say to console her.

Yet the entire parish expected him to stand in the pulpit on Good Friday and deliver a sermon that would ease her suffering. Edwin didn’t have any words of comfort, and it didn’t help that they’d had no word from Kit since last Sunday. Georgina pretended not to be on edge, but she tensed every time the phone rang — and it had not ceased to ring for almost twenty-four hours as word spread through the parish of the fate of the Witherspoon twins.

Edwin drew a deep breath. Random thoughts floated through his consciousness. Sacrifice. Greater love hath no man. The Lamb of God slaughtered. For the Lord he slays the first born that the people may go free. But why the second son as well? Why both together? For whom? For what? A war already won and nearly over?

Everything had been said already. Every phrase was hackneyed. He had no new message. He had no succour to give. He was empty. Maybe he should admit that. Just get up in the pulpit on Good Friday and announce: “Dearly Beloved, I am no wiser than any of you. I do not know why this tragedy happened. I don’t think it was fair. And if it was the Will of God, then I hate God for his cruelty.”

That was not likely to make anyone feel any better.

He had to offer something more uplifting than that, even if his heart was not in it.

There was a gentle knock on the door. Irritated, Edwin frowned and swivelled around in his desk chair. Amanda usually had the sense not to interrupt him when he was working, but when she did, she burst straight in. The door, however, did not open. He called out in an uninviting tone, “Yes?”

The door clicked open, and Kit Moran peered around the edge tentatively.

Edwin joyously sprang to his feet and went to shake his hand. “Kit! Thank God! You made it! We were worried about you!”

“I tried to ring last night—”

“Oh, it was impossible. There’s been a local tragedy. Everyone wanted to tell me about it. When did you get here?”

“Half an hour ago. Amanda tells me Georgina and Fiona are out somewhere, and so we sorted out the accommodation first. Adrian’s upstairs settling in now.”

“Sit down, sit down!” Edwin indicated an armed chair. “You look tired.” Edwin could see marks where the oxygen mask had chafed around his nose. “Were you over again last night?”

“No, during the day. It should be in the papers soon.”

“Another important raid then?”

“It looks like we destroyed an important U-boat factory. I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you more than that.”

“Did you all get back safe?”

“Yes, although one of my gunners was wounded, but not badly. You look tired too,” Kit added with a faint smile.

Edwin sighed in exasperation and removed his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then replaced them. “Nothing important. I’m just having a crisis of faith.”

Kit chuckled, then seemed to realise Edwin wasn’t joking. He stopped laughing and looked at Edwin concerned. “Are you serious?”

“Well, let’s just say I’ve run out of words of comfort. I don’t know how to explain or justify the losses any more. I don’t understand how a benevolent God could allow human slaughterhouses or fire-bombing either. I know, I know: God isn’t to blame. We humans are to blame, but … what can I possibly say to make it all sound meaningful? In two days’ time, on Good Friday, they’ll all be looking to me for wisdom and faith, and I haven’t a clue what to say.”

Kit thought about that, and then remembered something his mother had said. “Good Friday is a day of grief. When Christ died, it seemed to all those left behind that He had failed. It looked as though he wasn’t the Son of God. He was human, vulnerable, and helpless. He had been betrayed by one of his closest friends, and He thought he had been betrayed by God as well. He was feeling just as you feel now — forsaken, confused, and without faith. My mother always said that on Good Friday we should feel as He did. The meaning doesn’t come until Easter.”

Edwin gazed at Kit in astonishment and murmured a heartfelt, “I really must meet your mother one day.” Then he frowned slightly and added in a voice that was both amused and annoyed. “Your suggestion, however, does nothing but put the burden of writing a triumphant sermon off for another two days! I will have to deliver something cheering on Easter day.”

Kit smiled. “Well, maybe God will inspire you before then.”