St Laurence is one of my favourite saints, primarily because he had a sense of humour. Those whom the Church designates saintly are, of course, flesh and blood but their humanity can, so often, disappear behind a veneer of holy perfection. Not so Laurence. Even when he was martyred – by being roasted alive on a grill – he couldn’t resist making a joke.
‘Turn me over!’ he cried to his executioners. ‘I’m done on this side!’
The event that got him into trouble was a more practical joke and, like all the best jokes of that genre, one that taught a valuable lesson. It was said that, when ordered by the emperor to array the treasures of the Church for inspection (and, presumably, confiscation) he gathered together not gold or silver but people. Lame, sick and old people. Young, unknown and irrelevant people. Odd, erratic and irritating people. These, Laurence claimed to the bemused imperial guard, were the true treasures of the Church.
I’m as susceptible to a piece of Georgian silver as the next cleric but I agree with him. In a faith that believes God became human, people are always going to be considered our greatest treasure and joy. Consequently, this book is full of them. No confidences have been compromised, and all those who are named or directly identifiable have had sight of the text before publication. It is my sincere hope that my jokes in the tradition of Laurence have not compromised the sense of these remarkable people as treasure in my or God’s eyes.