Winter of Grace (7 page)

It was
weird
. Like a rock concert, only all the songs were about God and Jesus. There was a choir on stage, and a full-on band, plus a guy with a microphone and a pretty good voice, who led the singing. It was all mercy and glory and being saved and rejoicing.

The whole crowd was on their feet, singing their lungs out, clapping and swaying. The words were projected up on a big screen, and a couple of times I found my feet tapping and my lips moving. The music was so infectious that it was hard not to let it carry me away. But Stella stood with her arms folded, stonily silent.

In a strange way, the atmosphere reminded me of the peace rally: that united feeling, that sense of being part of something bigger than my own small self. Except this time, Stella and I were outsiders, not part of the Northside worship-beast.

But I had the feeling that it would be easy to slip inside, easy to belong. Every time I looked around, someone smiled right at me – an Asian woman, a red-haired girl about our age, a burly Islander man, a bald guy. This crowd was just as diverse as the peace marchers, and everyone was smiling and singing and being friendly and happy. And gradually I started to relax into it, I let myself be absorbed. By the end I was singing along with everyone else. But when Stella glared at me I stopped, even though we were more conspicuous standing there in silence than joining in.

At last, Pastor Matt, Jay and Elliot's dad, stood up to speak. He had a wonderful voice, deep and ringing and utterly sincere. He was quite handsome for an old guy; you could see where Jay and Elliot got it from. And he made jokes, too.

I don't know what I'd been expecting him to talk about – sin and damnation and hellfire, maybe, not that I had a clear idea what any of those things were. But instead he talked about love. He talked about saving the world through love. He talked about how God is our loving father, and how He sent His son Jesus to be our friend, the best friend we could ever have, a friend who would never desert us. A friend who brought a message of love to save the world, a message that could come alive in us, every moment of every day. And finally He reminded us that we could help contribute to the work of Jesus, by cash or cheque or credit card, and we'd find envelopes under our seats.

There was thunderous applause, then more singing and clapping. Other people were groping under their seats, and in a daze, I did the same. I slipped a five-dollar note into the envelope and held it out to Stella, but she frowned and shook her head. A man came along and collected the envelopes, and whispered, ‘May the blessing of the Lord be on your head,' and he smiled so warmly I felt a bit of a fraud. I mean, it was only five dollars. But I guess even five dollars multiplied by every person in that church was a fair amount of money – and I saw one old lady put in a hundred.

Afterwards we hung around outside in the winter sunshine, waiting for Jay. I kept half an eye out for Elliot too, just casually, but I didn't see him. Stella had her arms folded. At last Jay wriggled through the crowd and rushed up to us, beaming. ‘So, what did you think?'

He was asking me. I saw Stella's face close up.

‘Your dad's a great speaker,' I said.

‘Amazing,' said Stella, just on the line between sarcastic and sincere.

‘You should really come to youth group,' said Jay, still looking at me. ‘It's cool, you'd love it. Wednesday nights, seven till nine.'

Stella said, ‘I can't. Not Wednesdays.'

‘I don't know …' I said awkwardly, ‘This week we're having a debate about the war,' said Jay, as if he knew that would hook me in. He barely even glanced at Stella. It was the first time a boy had ever shown more interest in me than her. It felt all wrong, but at the same time, not unpleasant.

Jay laid his hand on my arm and said in a low voice, ‘I'd really like you to come.'

I swallowed. ‘I'll … I'll think about it.'

Stella said firmly, ‘We have to go now. My nana's coming for lunch, we'll be late. Come on, Bridie.'

‘Call me!' Jay yelled after us.

As we waited on the station platform, Stella said abruptly, ‘You won't go back, will you?'

‘I don't know. It wasn't what I expected. They all seemed really nice. It was … interesting.'

‘You think?' Stella snorted. ‘Well,
I'm
not coming, that's for sure. Sheesh. I just don't get it.'

‘Get what?'

‘I just can't
believe
in all that. To me, it's the same as saying, let's all believe in Greek myths, let's believe in Gods and Goddesses living in the clouds and throwing down thunderbolts. We don't believe in that stuff anymore, so how can you believe there's an old man called God up there somewhere, looking down at us? And he had a son called Jesus who died, then came back to life? Where's the
evidence
, people? It's the tooth fairy, it's the Easter bunny.'

‘Okay,' I said slowly. ‘When you put it like that, it does sound … unlikely. But what about what Pastor Matt said today, the message of Jesus? Love one another. That's pretty radical. If everyone lived by that, it would change the world. No more wars, no more poverty. Maybe you don't need to get into the whole rose-from-the-dead, died-for-our-sins bit.'

Stella leaned out to see if the train was coming. ‘That's another thing I don't get. Jesus died for our sins, what does that
mean
?'

‘He died so we could have eternal life, isn't that what Pastor Matt said?'

‘But if God loves us so much, why not just
give
us eternal life? What's the point of killing Jesus?' Stella shook her head. ‘I tell you what, if I was Jesus, I'd be way mad with my dad.'

I laughed, though I felt a bit guilty. I was pretty sure the gang at Northside wouldn't think it was funny.

‘Oh, well,' said Stella, as the train finally roared into the station. ‘When you go to
youth group
, you can ask them all about it.'

THE KINCAIDS' HOUSE was mayhem as usual. Scarlet was playing the flute to Nana, Tark was watching cartoons, Paul lumbered up and down the hallway booming into the phone, while Mish whirled about the kitchen in the corner of the big room, preparing lunch.

‘Stella, could you be an angel and make a salad? Bridie, is there milk in the fridge?'

I had a peek. ‘Nup.'

‘Damn –
Paul!
When you're finished – bread and milk.'

Paul nodded; he raised his hand, grinned at me and said into the phone, ‘I understand that, mate, but the point is …'

‘Should I go?' I offered, but Mish shook her head.

‘Sit there and talk to me. Use the other tomatoes, Stella, don't waste them.'

‘But they're yucky,' said Stella.

‘They're all right. Cut the bad bits out.'

‘I'm going!' yelled Paul, and the door banged behind him.

‘Mish tells me you've been at church,' said Nana Kincaid, who'd escaped from Scarlet and pulled out a chair at the dining table.

‘It was boring.' Stella chopped tomatoes. ‘I hate church.'

‘Stella!'

‘Well, I do.'

Nana shook her head. ‘Show some respect. Priests and nuns give up so much to do God's work.'

‘They chose it, no one asked them to.'

‘
God
asked them to,' said Nana. ‘And don't you roll your eyes at me.'

I started to lay the table, listening to them argue. Mish caught my eye and we exchanged a smile.

‘Nana, the church is so
sexist
! Why is God called Him? Why shouldn't God be female? Why can't women be priests?'

‘Because Jesus was a man.'

‘Why does a priest need a penis, he's not even allowed to use it!'

‘
Stella!
' But Nana Kincaid couldn't help smiling.

Stella scraped the tomatoes into a salad bowl. ‘There aren't enough priests to go round. They're all old and doddery, and the church still won't let women do it. It's cutting out fifty per cent of the human race; it's saying women aren't
capable
. That's a terrible message to send to girls.'

‘Mother Teresa was a woman. The Blessed Virgin Mary was a woman.'

‘So we're allowed to be saints? We're allowed to be virgins? But that's all?'

‘Of course not, you can be a wife and a mother and—'

‘Nana! I want more out of my life than
that
.'

Mish made an indistinct sound, half laugh, half snort, and quickly smothered it.

‘Women are different,' said Nana comfortably. ‘You'll understand when you're older.'

Stella gave up on the salad and faced her grandmother with her hands on her hips, knife still clenched in her fist. ‘What about all the terrible things the church has done? The crusades, the Inquisition, burning people at the stake. What about child abuse? What about forbidding men to wear condoms, even to stop spreading AIDS?'

‘Christianity has been around for two thousand years, of course it isn't perfect. But look at all the wonderful work the churches have done through the ages, all over the world: taking care of the sick, the homeless, the poor; educating children; feeding the starving. And churches give hope. They help millions of people. They give care and love.'

‘That's what Bridie said,' snorted Stella, and Nana Kincaid turned to me with her pale blue eyes as bright and sharp as Stella's own in her soft velvety face.

‘Ah, Bridie. You've always had more sense than Stella.'

I muttered something, uncomfortably caught between Stella and Nana, and then Mish rescued me.

‘Sit down everyone – oh, Paul, there you are. Thanks, darling – Tark, cut some bread; you're so good at it.'

We all scraped back chairs, sat down and began to help ourselves to food. Tark was talking about football, and Nana had just asked me about school when Stella started up again.

‘If church is so fantastic, how come Dad stopped going?'

Scarlet groaned. ‘Give it a rest, Stella!'

Paul reached for the bread. ‘I still believe the Church does good work in the community, and I still want to help with that.'

‘But you don't go to Mass any more.'

‘No. I have theological difficulties.'

‘What does that mean?' I asked.

Nana Kincaid didn't say anything, but she had a pained expression on her face.

Paul waved his fork. ‘The virgin birth, the miracles, heaven and hell, transubstantiation—' ‘Trans-
what
?'

‘That's when the bread and wine at Communion turn into the body and blood of Christ.'

‘Eew!' squealed Stella.

Tark said flatly, ‘Yuck.'

‘Not
literally
,' I said.

‘Well, yes. According to Catholic scholars, the essential substance of the bread and wine literally becomes Christ's flesh and blood. Like magic. You can see why I have trouble believing it – sorry, Mum.' Paul pulled an apologetic face at Nana. ‘Not to mention confession and the resurrection and the blessed martyrs and the rosary.'

Nana carved up her asparagus tart. ‘You say what you like. You'll come back in the end. They always do.'

‘Huh!' said Stella. ‘Not this little black duck.'

I said to Paul, ‘If you don't believe it, why are you sending Stella to St Margaret's?'

‘Good question,' said Stella.

‘I'd
like
to believe it,' said Paul, and laughed. ‘I do believe in the moral side of it. The Ten Commandments, do unto others, turn the other cheek. I believe in
that
. And St Margaret's has an excellent music program.'

Stella rolled her eyes.

I turned to Mish. ‘Do you believe in God?'

Mish laughed. ‘Me? I'm a wishy-washy New Age mystic. I believe in nothing and everything. I'm not a huge fan of organised religion. But I do believe in ghosts, and karma, and the power of prayer – even if I'm not sure there's anyone there to hear it.' She pointed her knife emphatically. ‘But I must say, I'm very happy to see you girls exploring your spirituality.'

Stella made gagging noises, and Nana snorted, and they looked at each other and laughed. They loved to argue, but deep down, they were exactly the same.

When I got home, Mum was in her study marking papers. I brought her a cup of tea.

‘Thanks, darling, that's sweet of you.'

‘I do have an ulterior motive.' I leaned against the doorway. ‘Could you give me a lift on Wednesday night? About half-past six?'

‘I suppose so. Where to?'

I named the suburb where the church was.

‘What on earth's all the way out there?'

‘It's this youth group thing,' I mumbled.

Mum frowned. ‘What kind of youth group?'

I drew on the floor with my shoe. ‘It's called Northside.'

‘But what is it, some political thing?'

I took a deep breath. ‘It's a church group.'