Sunday, October 30, 1966

[theravenboy]

A white-haired, white-skinned child sits at his kitchen table, feet dangling in the air. Bran Davies is already dressed for chapel, in a little boy's suit and tie. The suit is rapidly acquiring dog hairs; a white dog with a small black patch on his back is nuzzling Bran's leg. "Good Cafall, good boy," Bran says, in Welsh. His voice is a high clear soprano.

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[owendavies.livejournal.com]

Owen Davies, also dressed in his Sunday best, brings two plates of fried eggs and bacon to the table. He pours a cup of tea for himself and a glass of milk for Bran. "Eat up, then."

[theravenboy]

Bran eats his breakfast obediently, although several bits of bacon somehow get diverted into Cafall's mouth. Cafall laps the food up with his pink tongue.

[owendavies.livejournal.com]

"Do not feed Cafall, you will spoil his training," Owen says between bites of his own eggs.

[theravenboy]

"Sorry, Da."

The bacon is gone by now in any case. Cafall leans against Bran's chair, patiently waiting for Bran to drink his milk.

Bran finishes his breakfast and slides down off the chair, carrying his plate and glass to the counter next to sink. He has to stand on tiptoe to reach the counter properly.

Cafall follows Bran, wagging his tail. Bran scratches Cafall's head.

[owendavies.livejournal.com]

Owen clears his own plate and washes the dishes. "Time to go, or we will be late. There is a special visiting minister today."

He opens the kitchen door. "Stay back, Cafall. Chapel is for people, not puppies."

Nevertheless Cafall follows Owen and Bran all the way to the gate. Owen closes the gate behind himself and Bran. He helps his son into the LandRover and begins driving down to Tywyn.

Meanwhile, Cafall sits, waiting patiently for Owen and Bran to return.

[owendavies.livejournal.com]

Owen parks on the street before the chapel. The Davies family has arrived in plenty of time; men, women and children are just beginning to file into the big grey building. Side by side, but not holding hands, Owen and Bran walk through the front doors.

[gramarye1971]

The regular minister greets them with the respect due to one of the pillars of the congregation, and then moves off to usher the few stragglers inside and close the door. He returns, mounting the pulpit just as the congregation finally settles into the long wooden pews and all idle conversations cease.

The service opens as usual, with the familiar prayers and the week's posted hymns. The old organ has seen better days, but Mrs Revett the organist can coax enough of a tune from it to accompany the mixed voices raised in songs of praise.

'I hope that you will all join me in welcoming a learned friend from the Amlwch Circuit,' the minister says when the organ's echoes finally fade. He speaks loudly, for the benefit of the elderly members in the pews closer to the pulpit. 'He has come all the way from Caergybi to speak the Lord's truth to us today, but he assures me that distance is never a concern for him when it comes to engaging in true Christian witness. Dr Lyon, if you will?'

[owendavies.livejournal.com]

Owen sits, silent and attentive. Bran copies Owen's stillness as best as he can, but his legs still dangle from the pew.

[gramarye1971]

A tall, elderly man mounts the pulpit, nodding his thanks to the minister as he does so. He has nothing in his hands, no sermon notes or speaking cards. Whatever he will be saying, he has either memorised it -- or, more likely, will let the Spirit speak through him.

'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.' His voice, a deep and solemn baritone, booms into the stillness. 'The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men.'

He bows his head for a moment, as if in silent prayer. When he raises it again...well, if such things could ever be planned, then he had timed the moment perfectly, for at that moment a weak shaft of sunlight illuminates the back of his head and gives his wild white hair an odd, almost unearthly glow.

(More than one member of the congregation is reminded of a painting seen in a book or in a picture -- the stern countenance of the God of the Old Testament. Enough to prompt an uneasy tremor at the back of one's mind, as men and women remember a cross word spoken to a neighbour or an uncharitable thought borne of frustration or anger.)

'And the light shineth in darkness...and the darkness comprehended it not.'

He allows a beat or two of silence for the words to sink in before he continues. 'The first five verses of the book of St John are known well enough. Men more learned than I have tried to interpret this simple affirmation of who and what the Lord is. But my thoughts always return to the light of life, the light that the darkness cannot comprehend. And I wonder -- is it the case that the darkness cannot comprehend the light, simply does not recognise it for what it is? Or rather, does the darkness refuse to comprehend that light, rejecting outright that most precious gift which lies before it? Which is it? I believe that this question is one of the key questions of our faith...and a possible key to our ultimate salvation.'

[owendavies.livejournal.com]

There is something odd about the visiting minister. Owen Davies listens to him, tracing out the connections (God is the Word, God is life, life is light..) in his mind. There is a doctrinal fallacy somewhere, but Owen cannot place it.

Of course, Owen Davies never finished secondary school. He is no Doctor of Divinity. Owen shrugs the mystery aside.

[gramarye1971]

The sermon continues, delivered in measured, even tones. Dr Lyon's words are simple and carefully chosen, and he does not show any sign of being carried away by the sound of his own voice -- something which even the most sincere minister must guard against. He returns again and again to the question of light and darkness, to the conscious decision that a man makes to accept the light and turn to God...and in doing so, reject the darkness that neither comprehends nor accepts God's love.

'And such decisions are needed more than ever in this day and age, for there is no question that darkness seems to surround us at every turn.' He adjusts his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. 'And so we shake our heads, and speak in hushed and disapproving tones of the wickedness we see in this new "permissive society", and compare it unfavourably to the old days when men and women "knew their place". We dwell on the darkness present in this world, and in doing so we may come to believe that our disapproval is all the armour we need to protect us from it.'

He holds out a hand, cupped palm raised as if in supplication.

'But what of the light, then? The light of life, of God's love? Our Saviour did not simply reject the darkness he saw in the world. He also embodied the light, and deliberately brought it to those whom the darkness has always sought to claim for its own. The destitute, the sick, the outcast, the dregs of His society...what our parents might have called the "undeserving poor", in the days when such a distinction could be made. But by merely arming ourselves against the darkness -- by refusing to comprehend it, if you will -- do we not run the risk of abandoning those to whom He reached out, those who have always needed His light most of all?'

He pauses, and his gaze sweeps the room with a piercing intensity. The measured, almost pedantic tones have given way to something approaching fervour, to an urgency that seems to strain every nerve of his wiry frame.

'The light must comprehend the darkness, for the darkness cannot and will not comprehend the light.'

[theravenboy]

Bran Davies is a big boy, almost six years old now. His da has taken him to chapel every week since he was old enough not to wail in the middle of the service. Bran has heard preachers at their loudest and quietest, their most dull and most intense.

This minister is not like the others. Something about Dr. Lyon's great booming baritone, rising in its passion, makes Bran want to stay as still as he can, so that he can hear every word. Bran tenses his leg muscles, to keep them from kicking under the pew. He stares up at Dr. Lyon, golden eyes shining.

[gramarye1971]

Slowly, Dr Lyon lowers his hand.

'It lives within all of us, this light.' Quieter now -- the tension has left him, and it gradually ebbs out of the air as he brings the sermon to its conclusion. 'It is the greatest foe of darkness, our greatest defence against sin and human weakness. And it is within all of us to turn our inner light upon the darkness, to seek it out, to comprehend it, and do all within our power to banish it from the face of the earth. And so may we humbly ask for the Lord's help to do so, in His name and with His grace, Amen.'

The organ swells to life again, and there is a rustle of Sunday-best clothes as the congregation rises to sing See How Great A Flame Aspires.

[owendavies.livejournal.com]

After the hymns end, the congregation mingles in the pews and the aisle. Owen greets several congregants, asking about their harvests and their sick uncles. Bran stands beside him, quiet, swinging his arms.

Owen Davies has just finished congratulating Euan Jones on his new grandson when the minister and Dr Lyon find him.

"This is Owen Davies," the minister says. "One of our hardest-working deacons. And his son Bran. Owen, this is Dr Lyon."

Politely, his gaze hovering somewhere above Dr Lyon's left shoulder, Owen says, "You gave a moving sermon."

[gramarye1971]

Dr Lyon inclines his head modestly. 'You are most kind, Mr Davies. What little I may say is as nothing compared to the truth that the Lord reveals to us every day, but if others find it helpful in some way...well, we cannot ask for more than that.'

He gives Owen an equally polite smile...and then his gaze falls upon the young boy, who has kept close to his father's side. 'Your son, Mr Davies? A fine lad, indeed.'

[theravenboy]

Bran looks up at the tall man. A lock of white hair falls into his face as he tilts his head.

"My da takes me here every week," Bran says, earnest.

[gramarye1971]

Dr Lyon looks down at the boy from his great height. His expression is grave and tranquil, with the very serious look often favoured by adults when speaking with small children who are doing their best to act grown up.

And then he takes a slight step back -- and goes down on one knee. Slowly, as if his legs are not entirely willing to cooperate, he lowers himself until he is kneeling, right at Bran's eye-level.

'You have a good and righteous father, then.' His voice is quiet, with nothing of the great booming resonance that had filled the chapel. But it is no less forceful for the change in tone. 'And I have no doubt that you will grow strong in God's grace, under your father's guidance. Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right.'

He glances up at Owen then, a faint glitter in his dark eyes. 'Proverbs, chapter twenty, verse eleven.'

[theravenboy]

Fearless, Bran stares into Dr Lyon's eyes. He hasn't understood very much of Dr Lyon's last speech, though, so he seizes on one word he knows.

"Will I be strong like my da and Mr Evans and Cafall?" It occurs to Bran that the strange minister might not know who Cafall is. "Cafall is my dog. Our dog."

[owendavies.livejournal.com]

Owen watches Bran and Dr Lyon. He is ready to pull Bran away, if necessary. The minister seems a harmless eccentric, even if his doctrine is rather more Quaker than Methodist. He knows his Bible, at least.

Owen Davies does not know very much about Quakers, but he thinks they believe that everyone has an equal right to speak, or something. Probably Dr Lyon would bend down to speak to any child on his own level.

Probably.

Owen Davies shrugs away the half-formed thoughts in his mind. Nonsense and rank superstition, all of them.

[gramarye1971]

In the short space of time since the service's end, the brisk October wind has been rising steadily, tugging at the women's skirts and prompting the men to turn up the collars of their coats. Dr Lyon catches his breath, ducking his head slightly as a particularly sharp gust of wind sends the dead leaves on the ground scattering for cover.

'If our Lord wills it so, Master Davies,' he says at last, raising his head to meet Bran's earnest gaze. If the timbre of his voice sounds a trifle thicker than before -- well, there is a chill in the air, after all. 'If our Lord wills it so.'

He touches the boy's shoulder, briefly, and then slowly gets to his feet once more. He glances down at Bran...and then turns his gaze back to Owen Davies, standing silent and watchful.

'Saint Mark said it best, I think.' He does not raise his voice at all, but there is an utter certainty in his quiet words that rings out like steel striking steel. 'And he took a child, and set him in the midst of them: and when he had taken him in his arms, he said unto them, Whosoever shall receive one of such children in my name, receiveth me: and whosoever shall receive me, receiveth not me, but him that sent me.'

[owendavies.livejournal.com]

Owen Davies has been standing still, apparently abstracted, as if listening to something far away.

Now, for one moment, Owen's jaw firms and he looks directly at Dr Lyon. He nods once.

Bran trots over to stand by Owen. Owen reaches down to take Bran's small hand in his.

Owen's gaze has gone distant again, but he holds Bran's hand tightly as he says, "It has been an honor to meet you, Dr Lyon, but I am afraid I need to go feed my son his dinner before the afternoon service. I am sure we will see you again then?"

[gramarye1971]

Dr Lyon shakes his head sadly. 'I am afraid not, Mr Davies. I have been called to Bangor this afternoon. The Methodist students at the university have asked me to speak at a special prayer service for one of the faculty of the Religious Studies department -- a good man, who will be sorely missed by those he taught. I would stay here longer, if I could. But I think it best to take my leave now.'

For a moment, his gaze slips into the distance, looking toward where Cader Idris broods over the hills and valleys.

'Yes, best to take my leave now,' he murmurs, more to himself than to Owen. But he nods his head, and takes Owen's hand again in a final firm handshake.

'It has been a great pleasure to meet you, Mr Davies.' A final nod to Bran. 'And young Master Davies as well. God be with you both.'

[owendavies.livejournal.com]

Odd, that is, a minister travelling all the way to Bangor between morning and afternoon services, but Owen's already suspected that there is something quite peculiar about Dr Lyon.

"And with you," Owen shakes Dr Lyon's hand and nods to the regular minister.

"Goodbye," pipes Bran.

Owen and Bran walk out into the bitter wind side by side, not touching each other. They will be back at chapel in an hour or two.