‘To a Trout: There is nothing more deadly than a Priest!’
These were the words that greeted us as congregants one Sunday morning. A nervous snicker passed down along the pew. Whilst the congregation were always expecting the unexpected, their nervousness as to what might actually transpire was part of what kept bringing them back to the ‘Sunday Service’.
Whilst he gazed at the full pews before him, the minister was gently slapping the business end of a ‘priest’ into the palm of his hand.
I suppose not everyone in the congregation would have been familiar with the object in his hand. My thought was closely followed by his description of the object: A short, sometimes decorative shaft, topped with a lead or metal weight. The purpose being to humanely despatch a fish with a sharp tap to the base of the head, instantly killing the fish. Not only is this supposed to be humane, also a quickly killed fish also tended to taste much nicer, was my own experience!
Everybody’s eyes were focused on the priest being slapping rhythmically into the palm of his hand. The church had fallen into a silent trance.
The minister stopped his actions and asked, almost rhetorically: “Why would we call something so deadly, a priest? From a fisherman’s perspective, a priest delivers the last rites. What then would be, or how would we describe the ‘first’ rites?”
The feeling of nervousness was becoming more intense, catching contagiously up and down the aisle and along the pews. Experience had taught us that questions emanating from the pulpit had an uncomfortable habit of prising open our Christian core.
“Any volunteers?” There was an almost mischievous grin on our minister’s face. Once more he brought the priest into action. ‘Slap, slap, slap’ as the head buried itself into his hand. “No-one!” The silence lay heavy around us. “Oh well!” It was a dejected, resigned sigh.
In retrospect I suppose I should have seen something coming. Not that I could have foreseen exactly what transpired. But I suppose we should all have been a bit more prepared. After all we knew our minister!
‘Click’ the lights went out. Pitch black would have described a condition far lighter than the inside of the church at that moment as my eyes tried to adjust to the darkness that followed a blinding flash of light accompanied by my ears popping from a tremendous pressure wave. Yet there was no sound. An explosion of light and air and then absolute darkness.
The feeling was so intense it shocked me through every sensory element I possessed. I was almost tempted to pinch myself to see if I was alive. The silence in light and sound that continued, attested to the fact that the rest of the church congregation were as numb as I was.
Slowly I sensed the church getting lighter. The lights were slowly getting brighter. There in the gloom was the minister standing facing us. Suddenly with full force he brought the priest down, hard into his palm.
‘Slap.’
“Now you have an idea of what a trout feels like when a priest delivers the last rites! The lights go out, literally. A pressure burst in the skull!” He paused obviously waiting for something to happen. There was a rustle in the pew behind me so I turned to see what was happening. A group of children were making their way up the aisle. Soon they were standing in a row before us on the platform beneath the pulpit.
“Last rites or first rites! I asked, which do you think comes first? In front of you we have a group of youngsters who are taking the step of becoming responsible for their actions within their Christian community. This exists in many religions and traditions. A rite of passage. The first rite of moving from being a child to being an adult. Within our church community we are confirming them as individuals. No longer, do they answer to their parent’s in their Christian walk, but to their Father of all fathers. This rite of passage confirms that they have left their childhood behind. It also confirms the commitment made on their behalf when they were baptised. Their old life is over. It is dead. The last rites have been applied to their childhood.”
He made his way down from the pulpit, still carrying the priest in his hand. Slowly he walked before the line of young adults. He had the priest cradled in both hands so that each of them could get a good look at it. At the end of the line he stopped and held it up for all to see.
“If, like the trout, you have taken the fly that our Lord cast out to you and that He has reeled you in. Then like the trout this priest despatches your old life. You can enter your new life freely. A new road to be travelled with Christ. You are now alive to a new responsibility towards God and to towards yourself and to your fellow Christians.”
There was another rustle in the aisle and I saw, one by one our church elders coming forward. Each carried a small gift box. They filed onto the platform, each one standing before a youngster. They presented their boxes as gifts, turned, and left quietly. The minister dipped his hand into the box of the person closest to him and withdrew and beautiful ornately carved priest.
“This priest is to be a constant reminder to each of you that your old life is dead. We welcome you as adults into our church family. Your last rites bring you to your first rites. Your right to participate as adults in our church and to take responsibility for the call Christ made to you to become fishermen.”
With that he made his way down the line again and shook each of their hands. I could only imagine that the youngsters had been expecting a premature meeting with the priest in his hand!
He turned back to face us. “What about your first rites. Can you remember the occasion? Can you honestly turn to your fellow Christians and say that since the ‘Last Rites’ were administered, you have turned away from your childish actions and that you now take complete responsibility for your walk with Christ.? Can you honestly look them in the eye and say yes?” The nervousness itself attested to the fact that the majority of us were feeling distinctly vulnerable. The smile on the minister’s face said it all.
“Perhaps there are some of you who would like to collect your own ‘priest’ from the box. There are still a few left and if necessary I can order some more. I’ll just leave the box here, come and help yourselves when you’re ready.” His voice changed slightly and was filled with reverence and humility. “Whilst there is nothing more deadly to a trout than a priest – other than Christ, there is nothing more necessary to you as a constant reminder of your responsibilities as a Christian.”
