“Like Jesus?” said Israel.

“Yes,” said the reverend, sounding unconvinced. “Although you have to remember that Jesus had the obvious advantage of being the Son of God.”

“Arguably,” said Israel.

“Arguably indeed,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Many people who set up their own churches do seem to fancy themselves rather as the Messiah.”

“Right,” said Israel. “So…What was it the schismatic didn’t like about your church?”

The Reverend Roberts looked uncomfortable. He fiddled with his coffee cup.

“Well, I should point out first of all, it’s not my church as such, Israel: the church is of course the people, the body of believers-”

“Like a synagogue.”

“Well, no,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Not exactly. A synagogue is a beit tefilah.”

“Yeah. Right. Which means?”

“House of prayer?” said the Reverend Roberts.

“You know Hebrew?” said Israel.

“A little,” he said.

“That’s more than I know,” said Israel.

“I’m a Christian minister,” said the Reverend Roberts. “I also know Greek.”

“Wow.”

“It’s part of the job. Anyway, a synagogue is also a beit knesset-a gathering place. And a beit midrash. House of study. The church, on the other hand, is ekklesia-”

“Could you spell-”

“It’s probably not relevant, actually, Israel, to your investigation. I’m just showing off here, really.”

“Ah, right. Yes. So. The man who didn’t agree with the rest of the body of believers?”

“Our schismatic, yes. He believed that there had been what’s called a ‘charismatic awakening’ in the church.”

“A what?” said Israel.

“A pouring out of the gifts of the spirit?” said the Reverend Roberts.

“Right.”

“Never heard of it?”

“No.”

“The charismata? The nine gifts of the spirit?”

“No. Sorry,” said Israel. “No idea what you’re talking about. You’ve got me there.”

“Words of wisdom?” said the Reverend Roberts, hopelessly. Israel shook his head. “Words of knowledge? Faith? Healing? Miracles? Prophecy?” He was drawing a total blank. “Anyway. Discernment of spirits. Speaking in tongues. Interpretation of tongues. It’s 1 Corinthians 12.”

“Uh-huh,” said Israel. “That’s another one I’ll maybe need to-”

“Yes. Take a note. Look it up,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Yes. It’s basically…spiritual manifestations.”

“What, like in a Pentecostal church?” said Israel.

“Kind of.”

“Wow.” Israel was genuinely impressed. “And what, all these things were happening in your church?”

“Not exactly,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Mr. Burns-”

“The schismatic?”

“Him. Yes. Mr. Burns claimed that these so-called gifts were happening among himself and a few friends, and that I was ‘stifling’-I’m quoting here-stifling their expression.”

“Oh.”

“More coffee?”

“No, I’m fine,” said Israel. “So he upped and left?”

“Upped and left,” agreed the Reverend Roberts. “That about covers it.”

The two men stared outside for a moment at the black nothingness of the Reverend Roberts’s back garden.

“It was my own fault, in a sense,” said the Reverend Roberts, sighing deeply. “I should have seen it coming.”

“The schism?”

“Yes. I made the mistake of letting the young people’s group start to incorporate worship dance and flag waving into some of the evening services.”

“Sorry?” said Israel. “Did you say ‘flag waving’?”

“Yes. It’s often the first step.”

“What is?”

“Flag waving,” said the Reverend Roberts. “Sadly.”

“Flag waving?”

“Flag waving, yes. Yes. It’s to do with David and the linen ephod.”

“The linen what-odd?”

“2 Samuel. Look it up.” The Reverend Roberts waved his hands dismissively. “Anyway, it could be anything, to be honest; it’s just a fashion thing, really. It just so happens that this time around it’s flag waving.”

“The waving of flags?”

“Precisely.”

“In the church?”

“Yes. Big banners, really, and sort of…bunting. People dancing with them. A bit like Jewish folk dance.”

“Right. Sounds…unusual.”

“Oh no. Not at all. It’s become a standard part of the renewal movement within the church. I don’t know exactly why. I suppose people want to express themselves creatively. Praise props, I call them, the flags.”

“I’m sure that goes down well.”

“Yes, you can imagine. Anyway, so Mr. Burns and the charismatic group within the church exerted a big influence over the young people, and so they broke away and…set up on their own.”

“And Lyndsay Morris is one of them?”

“As far as I’m aware, yes.”

“She’s part of this whole charismatic thing?”

“So I believe. She had been a regular attender, but she hasn’t been for a long time now.”

“She’s really into it though, is she? I mean, she’s a Christian and everything?”

“I couldn’t possibly say, Israel. We all stand before our God naked and alone. As it were.”

“But I thought she was a Goth?” said Israel.

“The two things are not mutually exclusive.”

“Really? I sort of thought Goths were a devil-worshipping sort of…people.”

“Ha!” The Reverend Roberts laughed. “It’s more a fashion thing, isn’t it? And who are we to judge fashions? God created us in his likeness, not in your or my image. Genesis 1.”

“Right,” agreed Israel, with a faraway sound in his voice.

“Anyway,” said the Reverend Roberts. “That’s the story of our schism, for what it’s worth.”

Israel slurped the remains of his coffee and glanced at his unreadable scribbled notes.

“Well, that’s very helpful, thank you.”

“Is it?” said the Reverend Roberts.

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Good. Well, glad to be of help.”

“Erm. Where do they meet, the charismatic people?”

“They have various meetings. The church is called Kerugma.”

“Kerugma?”

“Yes,” said the Reverend Roberts disdainfully. “From the Greek. Meaning ‘proclamation’ or ‘proclaimer.’”

“Right.”

“The young people attend a group called the Retreat at the community halls. That’s tonight, actually.” The Reverend Roberts glanced at his watch. “Starts in half an hour.”

“Ah. Right. Well, maybe I should…

“Check it out?”

“Exactly.” Israel got up to leave. “And anyway, I should let you get back to doing your sermon-”

“Bloody sermon,” said the Reverend Roberts, glancing at the accusatory commentaries on the table. “But just hold on a minute.” He put a heavy hand on Israel’s shoulder and pushed him back down into his seat.

“What?”

“You’ve been here sitting, listening to me talk about my troubles-”

“Which was very helpful,” said Israel, brandishing his sheet of A4. “For my investigation.”

“That may be,” said the Reverend Roberts. “But tell me, how the devil are you?”

“I’m fine,” said Israel.

“I was worried about you the other evening,” said the Reverend Roberts, leaning back.

“Really, I’m fine.”

“You didn’t seem fine, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Well, it was the…shock, I suppose, of Pearce, and…Anyway, I’m fine now.”

“Are you sure? I know that grief can be a terrible shock.”

“Yes. Well. I went to see the doctor, actually.”

“You did?” said the Reverend Roberts.

“Yeah. He gave me a prescription for some SSRIs.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They’re tablets. Like Prozac, apparently.”

“Yes. I know. Not personally. Pastorally, if you like. And you’re going to give them a go?”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Israel. “I haven’t picked up the prescription yet, but I think it might make a difference…”

“With what?”

“Well. Just…everything, I suppose. You know, that sort of feeling…”

“I’m not sure I do know exactly which feeling you’re talking about, actually,” said the Reverend Roberts.

“That sort of feeling of not…I don’t know. Failure, I suppose.”

“Failure?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“I feel like I’m a failure.”

“Oh. But doesn’t that rather depend on your definition of success, Israel?”