My wife and I have just taken out a mortgage for a lovely flat in a newly built neighbourhoodthe sort where builders are still hammering away and the paint on the walls hasnt even fully dried. We simply must have the place blessed! No ones lived here before, so how on earth can we settle in without asking God for His protection? insisted my Gran the moment she heard the news. Mum quickly backed her up: Of course we need to consecrate the flat. Wed be daft to tempt fatehappiness, good fortune and prosperity are what we need in a new home.
Despite my wife and me being a bit sceptical at first, we couldnt withstand their determination, so we agreed to arrange a blessing.
It really is a necessity, Gran said, her voice leaving no room for debate. On the chosen day and time, the doorbell rang and standing at our doorstep was a vicar: a stooped man with wiry grey hair and a magnificent beard. A sizeable silver cross dangled from a thick chain around his neck, and he clutched a battered satchel and a censer. He handed each of us a candle with quiet ceremony, then started to explain the rite.
My dears, he declared with gravitas, light your candles and follow behind me. We obliged, expecting a solemn, spiritual service. However, as my father tried to light his candle, it turned out to be stubborn beyond belief. It sputtered, smoked, and flatly refused to catch fire, no matter how much we fiddled with it. After several failed attempts, the vicar hastily gathered up his things, stuffed them back into his bag, and snapped the clasp shut.
Leave at once, all of you, the vicar muttered, tone uneasy, theres definitely a bad presence in this place… There was something urgent in his voice as he made for the door. He grabbed his satchel and disappeared down the corridor, leaving us standing bewildered in the foyer.
A peculiar vicar and an even stranger candle, mused my wife, pointing out that the vicars own candle was now burning serenely.
Maybe he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and thats why the blessing couldnt happen, quipped Mum, trying to break the tension and lift our spirits.
He gives a big speech and then legs it at the end. Perhaps theres no Wi-Fi wherever hes off to, I thought, attempting to find some humour in what was, frankly, a rather bizarre encounter. Where could we ever run to anyway? Were stuck here for the next fifteen years with these mortgage bills, I added with a grin.
So then, do we stay, or do we try another vicar? Grans voice brought us all back to reality, nudging us to figure out a way forward from this unexpectedly strange situation.
