Believe it or not

A TEACHER'S DAY-3 DAVID ROGERS

Monday morning. The discussion lesson in classroom four, with my fifteen year old East Enders.

'It's easy enough to believe in God. It's the church that's difficult.'

`Wdyer mean, Slicker?' asked Mickey.

'Well, like all that the church does and says, it don't always seem like what God would want—some say they can get married and others they can't.'

The rest were mystified. It was all too much for Monday morning. Slicker the Vicar always liked holding forth about religion, and this morning he had got in quick while the others were still half-asleep from paper rounds or re- covering from Sunday night freak-outs.

But Gentleman John came to the rescue: 'acs and all that, he means. He's been watch- ing Meeting Point again, you know, all that

chat about if you're a Church of England vicar you- can get married, while if you're an RC' one you can't. Why can't they?'

'Cos they're bent,' put in McNeil, brightly. 'Course they're not, bleedin' Scottish nigger.

It's 'cos God says so in the Bible, isn't it?' 'Where?' asked Slicter.

'I don't know. I don't know the whole lot, do I? But we had one of those Plymouth Brethren round the other night, an' be said it was all in the Bible.'

'Bet it ain't,' said Slicker. 'Bet it ain't got nothing to do with God. Bet it's that Pope an'—who is it?' he struggled, 'I know— Archbishop Canterbury-having a go at each other. 'cos each thinks they're high-class citi- zens and the other lot's a crowd of low-class bums.'

'Yeah,' said McNeil, 'like when Rangers play Celtic. They're always having a go at each other, an"—with a burst of inspiration—It's like America and Russia, neither side can back down, 'cos they can't suddenly say they've been wrong all these years.'

'That's what my sister says about the pill,' said Mickey. 'She says—an' she married an nc—the Pope must know the pill is ox but he can't suddenly turn round and say he's been preaching a lot of cobblers all his life.'

Slicker was getting very excited. 'Seel That's what it's all about. That was on Meeting Point, an' all. If you belong to one church you can 'ave birth control, if you belong to another you can't. See, I can believe in God, up there, knowing all about everything, an' understand- ing all, you know what I mean? I can believe in that. But when it comes to all them churches and funny clothes and different ideas, and songs—that's more difficult.'

Sir—in this school we're all mixed up, c OF B and RC an' all that. Well, you know that ser- vice we all have each day—what's that?'

'It's undenominational. It's kept as simple as possible so that everyone can join in.'

'An' that's all bleedin' wrong. What about us what don't believe? I thought Christianity was all about free will. In RI we get taught that God wants people to make up their own minds, and yet we all get pushed into the hall each morning to worship, cos it's not a lesson, it's a service.'

'An' then they worry on Meeting Point why the churches don't get many young people. It's not 'cos they don't believe in God, it's 'cos after school they're fed up with church assemblies.'

Slicker was having a good morn- ing. Nobody felt like contradicting him. McNeil started to scratch dirty pictures on the desk, and Mickey longingly rolled a cigarette in preparation for break. Slicker con- tinued: 'Another thing. They don't let women be vicars, do they?'

Mickey looked up, interested. `Do they want to, then?'

'Not the point. They're not allowed.'

'That's funny isn't it, sir, 'cos they're allowed to be traffic wardens, now.'

'And judges.'

'Tell you what, though,' said McNeil, 'I saw a black man the other day—an' he was a vicar.'

'That is funny, sir. I mean, if you have black vicars you'd have thought there would be girls as well.'

'Ignorant gyppo,' said Gentleman John. 'It's 'cos Jesus wasn't a woman. You don't 'ave woman vicars, 'cos Jesus wasn't a woman.'

'No, an' e wasn't a black man either.'

'How do they expect us to go to church when they have corny things like that? I bet it's all things like that what keeps people away from church. It don't need any of that jazzing up like blessing of bikes like that bloke did down the road. It don't need no gimmicks, it just needs a bit of common sense, and less of those stupid prayers and hymns.'

'You don't know nothing about prayers and hymns, Slicker.'

'I do an' all. I used to be a Crusader, didn't I? An' some of the things they say are stupid. Like they say about not being worthy to sweep

up the crumbs under God's feet '

'Why's God got crumbs under his feet, then, Vicar?'

`—yet they don't mind taking it upon them- selves to use God's name to burn witches . .

'O000ho, gyppo. They don't do that now- adays.'

. . or say that God's on their side in wars,' ended up Slicker with conviction.

'Slicker's right, though,' said Mickey. 'I mean, take all that starving out in India. You'd 'ave thought the church would send some money out there to buy food. But know what? They're just collecting money for a new steeple.'

'Yeah,' said Slicker. 'If I was that arch- bishop I'd sell half the churches, use the money to buy food, and send half the vicars out to India to dish it all out.'

`Ah,' said Mickey, lighting his cigarette as the bell signalled break, 'if you was archbishop, Slicker, I think I'd even go to church?.