The Vicar of Ebay

[smokingboot]

Admittedly he was a priest, not a vicar, by the time I met him. His first calling was to the Anglican Church, in which he wed, had two daughters, then converted to Roman Catholicism becoming that rarest of creatures, a married priest. At first this had not gone down well with the parishioners who couldn't quite deal with a holy man accompanied by conjugal duties, but there was no evidence of disapproval last night. The church was packed.

For reasons complex and not entirely my own to explain, I had been invited to a Stabat Mater in a church in Greenwich. The back of the Church was a house run by nuns, dilapidated in the extreme before the priest took over. 'But Father K's never happier than with a hammer in his hands,' said the sacristan. Father K did indeed take great pleasure in showing me all the marvellous stained glass panels, doors, cupboards and fireplace surrounds he had put in place. 'All from Ebay!' He beamed. One couldn't help beaming with him. The house was full of warmth and colour. Turns out that the nuns give shelter here to escapees from human trafficking.I was invited to dinner, a fabulous array of Tamil curries and delectations, while various altar helpers, some harpsichordists, the organist, a much older priest - also an Anglican convert - and the father himself chatted in lively manner.'Normally we'd have a little wine,' he said, 'but we've given that up for Lent. But the moment Christ is risen, pop!' He mimicked a bottle cork being pulled.

Prior to our meal, the musical mass had been utterly beautiful, in particular the Ave Maria performed by a duet of opera singers. Some of the children were too young for an extended service, and behaved so irritatingly it would have taken a celestial choir to stop me from wanting to wring their parents' necks. Devoted parents may want their children to understand holy week, but it's a mystery to me just what they hope to gain from bringing their offspring to a mass based on a 13th century hymn about the woes of the suffering mother. Seems a rather lugubrious outlook on parenting, but what do I know?

All we can be sure of is that I've a long way to go before earning a wimple.