The Sport of Priest Frightening

Let me introduce you to the new sport of "priest frightening" at which I am now the world's leading exponent.

First, find a church that is open. A much harder task than you might think in the UK, where closed, abandoned, lock, disused, converted and walled up churches are much more the norm. Having found one that is open you need to sneak in whilst it is in use. The sneaking in is quite important, because you must give no warning of your presence at the back of the church. Sneaking is best done whilst the priest is engaged in reciting prayers to a tinny congregation in a side chapel. His droning - of course these days it may be her droning - and the mumbled responses of the congregation should mask any noise that you might make. Sit yourself at the edge of one of the aisle so that you can see into the side chapel and so both watch and hear what is going on. Sit very quietly. Perhaps meditate a little or muse on the words being used in the service. It is a very good idea to be seated in this contemplative manner directly in the line of sight of the priest when he, or she, processes out of the side chapel at the ending of the service. It works wonders, or at least it worked wonders this morning.

A green priest, no, he was not literally green but was robbed in almost emerald green vestments - I do worry about the transvestite tendencies of the priesthood - was officiating at the office of holy communion to a small and mainly elderly congregation. After a long session of prayers and responses - actually I do not think it was that long, it just seemed it - he started the stuff with the bread and wine. After the appropriate blessing of these - much holding up, folding of cloths, and intoning - he began to administer the rite by calling up the congregation and letting each in turn kneel at the altar and receive their sliver of communion bread and their sip of wine. "The body of Christ". "The blood of Christ" - Christianity is a very macabre religion I think - very macabre.

Having administered the rite, the priest then brought the service to a close, wiping the plate and chalice clean, folding the cloths and draping them, blessing the congregation and, finally, solemnly processing out of the side chapel so that, now unseen to the congregation, his last words were addressed to the high alter in the main part of the church.

Thus, having closed the service he began his stately and holy walk towards the back of the church. By now he is directly facing me, but has not yet realised that I am there, sat as I am quietly and contemplatively in the side pews. As he processes he suddenly sees me. A look of total shock and surprises crosses his face and he gasps out a load scream of horror. It echoes through the vaults. It echoes down the aisles. It echoes in the transepts. It echoes in the side chapels. He is for the moment dumbstruck with terror and, transfixed, can not move or say a word, his face frozen, his eyes wide with fear.

The horror on the priest face does not abate and, for a moment, I think he might rise a burning crucifix and threaten me with instant exorcism, or grab holy water to throw in my direction. There is little doubt of my satanic presence. I did wonder whether he might pass out with shock and fall to the ground. His face was quite ashen. 

There are sounds of members of the congregation suddenly standing, some rushing out of their places so that they may see, others craning their necks. I fear that some might have started looking for wooden stakes or bunches of garlic. Others extending their hands for more physical means of attack, - chairs, crosses, whatever they can lay their hands on. They clearly mean to defend their priest.

Eventually the priest gathered himself, and making some sort of effort to compose his face, not too successfully, he lurched forward and came up to where I sat. There, as if in doubt that I could be anything other than an unholy apparition, he proceeded to keep patting me on the head, the shoulders, the arms, everywhere he could reach. It was as if he desperately needed to convince himself that I was ordinary flesh and blood. He persisted with this so much, whilst mouthing apologies - but not in a voice that would have convinced anyone - that it was quite clear that he did not trust that I was actually harmless. He voice still trembled. I was as if he would not have been totally surprised had I suddenly belched fire and taken wing.

By now members of the congregation, at least those who could manage to walk unaided, had rushed out of the chapel and were staring at me, not quite certain that I was safe, not quite certain that I would not strike their priest down dead with some hurled brimstone, or cause his body to spiral through the air to come to rest suspended above the alter, or be smashed through the stained glass windows.

I smiled at the priest, wishing that he would stop pawing me, and said " I always suspected that I had horns" raising my hands and making their shape over my head. The priest looked genuinely uncertain at this. I do not think he was in the mood for humour!

Eventually he wobbled his way shakily off to his vestry, not yet looking totally convinced that I was not in reality a satanic presence.

Slowly, one or two of the braver members of the congregation approached me and tentatively said good morning to me. I do not think they would have been completely surprised if I had breathed fire at them.

I rose, I am not sure they did not back away just a little, and quietly made my way into the main aisle, where I took some time examining the interior of the church. Some other of the braver members of the congregation came over and also said hello. But I did note that quite a few others made their way, with what best speed they could, considering their age and infirmity, out of the church, with sidelong glances at me, just in case. I do not think they felt totally safe.

On leaving the I thought it best to speak to the priest to reassure him that I was mostly harmless, but I got the impression he was not absolutely sure.