Tales From The Parish

It was the parish barbecue – but where was Father Okoli?

MELINDA mixed another jug of orange squash and put it down on the drinks table. Everything was ready for the parish barbecue.

Father had been on edge all week, checking the weather forecast, fretting about the number of chairs and tables, repeatedly asking for the list of food.

On his very first day in the parish he had told her of his wish to give a party for his three parishes, but he’d waited for the Spring Bank Holiday to ensure the highest possible turnout.

Now the day had arrived, and a healthy queue was forming outside the gate. Father must be pleased.

“It’s twelve o’clock,” Erika called from the gate.

“Great. We can start,” Melinda replied.

People of all ages flocked in, some she recognised, but many she had never seen before.

Please, God, let it go well for Father’s sake, she thought. He’s a good man.

The tables filled up, children ran around, and an eager queue snaked to the hot dog stall.

Happy sounds of chattering and laughter filled the warm spring air.

The party was going well. Father must be happy – wherever he was.

“Any idea where Father is?” she asked Erika, who was serving the wine. “Nope.”

Melinda scanned the place. It seemed everyone was having a jolly time but in their own groups.

The three parishes weren’t getting to know each other at all!

After lunch, they should start a team-building game. She must tell Father.

Melinda left the drinks stall in Erika’s hands and went looking for Father. Walking past a table, she heard someone grumble.

“No wonder Father prefers his new parish! Look at the beautiful church, the presbytery and this big garden!”

“We’re like the old wife and this is like the pretty young new one. We just can’t compete!” a woman said.

Melinda stopped in her tracks. Poor Father.

Like a child at the arrival of a new baby, his other parishes were feeling jealous and neglected.

This was why he had wanted the barbecue – to make all his children feel included, cherished and wanted.

But if anything, the rift might be growing!

They had to do something about it before everyone went home.

But where was Father? She asked around but nobody had seen him.

When she didn’t find him in the church or the presbytery either, she panicked.

She ran back to the garden and shouted.

“Has anyone seen Father Okoli?”

Silence fell instantly, and people shook their heads.

“I can’t find him anywhere. He would never miss this barbecue.” Heads nodded. “Let’s go looking for him!” someone said from one of the other parishes.

They got up and left everything behind. Food half-eaten, drinks halfdrunk, handbags on chairs, walking sticks and footballs abandoned.

People from the three parishes joined each other to search for the man they cared so much about.

Their calls echoed in the belfry, in the gents’ toilets, in the chicken coop, until a cry of, “I’ve found Father!” came from one of the kids.

There Father was, sitting in his car, fast asleep.

“Poor Father, he works so hard for us all!” the same person Melinda had caught grumbling earlier said.

“Oh, bless him! He must have been parking the car after driving me here.

“I didn’t have a lift, so he picked me up,” an elderly gentleman said.

“I’ll give you a lift next time,” a young man offered.

Everyone was relieved to have found Father safe and sound.

They decided to let him sleep a little longer, then send one of the kids to wake him up, so that he wouldn’t be embarrassed.

It would be the three parishes’ little secret.

When they returned to their tables, Melinda noticed that the elderly gentleman was sitting with the young man, and the groups were all mingling.

It seemed that searching together for the man they all loved had been the best team-building exercise.

More next week.