Free The Resurrection of the Body by Maggie Hamand

and asked if he could speak to me on a confidential matter.
    I said of course, and made an appointment for later that afternoon. The PCC meeting was starting at 7.30 that evening, and as usual we were holding it in the living room in the vicarage, which was larger than my office and much more warm and comfortable than the church. I suggested he came at seven, if half an hour would be enough.
    He said that would be fine, and arrived promptly on time. I offered him the usual cup of tea, which he accepted, and we sat down in my study.
    ‘You know Jim Jeffries,’ he said.
    I suppose I had been waiting for this. ‘Yes, of course,’ I said.
    ‘He comes to church regularly?’
    ‘When he’s not in prison,’ I said.
    The sergeant was sharp. ‘So you know about that.’
    ‘Of course I know
    ‘Do you know what for?’
    ‘Petty theft, receiving, that kind of thing.’
    ‘Did you know that twenty years ago he did time for causing grievous bodily harm?’
    ‘Twenty years is a long time.’
    The sergeant looked at me coldly. ‘You take some kind of oath, don’t you, you vicars. Of confidentiality. If someone confesses something to you, you won’t reveal it to anyone.’
    ‘We don’t actually take any specific oath,’ I said, ‘but I think that is fairly generally understood.’
    ‘Are you protecting him? If he confessed anything, you wouldn’t tell us, would you?’
    ‘No, I wouldn’t. But in this instance, I can assure you that he’s said nothing to me that would be of any use to you.’
    ‘I see.’
    He sat for a minute, glancing round the bookshelves. I found my thoughts wandering. This was the kind of issue I had often thought about in the past. There is, of course, a limit to confidentiality. Naturally, if anyone confessed a crime such as sexually abusing their children, there was no way I could sit back and allow the child to go on suffering . Although the Anglican church retains the sacrament  of confession, it is seldom used, and there is not the formal confessional of the Catholics. I don’t know what they would do in such circumstances, but in my view there are occasions on which not to breach confidentiality would be wrong. Whether I would tell the police if Jim had confessed the murder to me I don’t know. I would certainly urge him to give himself up, but I’m not sure that I would betray him to the police if he didn’t.
    The sergeant brought me back to earth with a bump.
    ‘He wasn’t in church on Good Friday.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Has he been since?’
    ‘No, he hasn’t been for a few weeks. I did see him recently, and he told me he was having doubts.’
    This seemed to amuse the Detective Sergeant. ‘Well, he’s not alone there, is he?’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘I’m sorry for taking up your time.’
    As he left I saw that he had in his hand a newly printed copy of the parish magazine.

T he PCC
    There was a funny mood that evening at the PCC. I don’t think that I can have imagined it. We discussed a report compiled by the Social Responsibility Committee on ‘Black Christians in Stepney’ and the policy of St Michael’s towards giving to outside charities. We also discussed the use of ‘inclusive language’ in the Sunday service and decided, as an experiment, to introduce a couple of minor changes into the wording of the service, in order to eliminate one or two instances of male-dominated emphasis in the liturgy. We also discussed the use of incense in church, because one or two people had complained about it last time it was used and in particular an elderly parishioner , Doreen, had said that it brought on her bronchitis.
    Tessa was also at the meeting. She too seemed in an odd mood, and was dressed, unusually for her, in an attractive cotton dress. She wore her hair loose, and I caught her smiling at me once or twice as if we shared some secret knowledge. I think she felt that she was on my side against all this pettiness.
    At the end of the meeting Mercy came into the