LONDON, 22nd JULY 1998 – We're very proud to announce the results of the first annual St Simeon Prize, which is awarded for the story which relates the most unusal and amusing event known to have taken place in a religious gathering.

This year, we were presented with a tough choice, but our distinguished panel of judges finally made their decision last night at our London event on St Simeon's Day. We begin with the winning entry for 1998...


Winner of the 1998 St Simeon Prize

 We work in a community based project on the outskirts of Montevideo called St James, and a few years ago on our feast day, the bishop came to celebrate the eucharist and do a few baptisms at the small community centre.

He of course came in full episcopal attire and as he made his dramatic entrance, to the silence of the small crowded room, a little voice unused to such Anglican pomp and circumstance piped up, saying: 'Daddy, are there going to be clowns as well?'

Congratulations to Mark & Carolyn Gilmore, currently working in Montevideo, Uruguay, who receive a complete (and rare) set of all the Ship of Fools magazines printed in the 1970s and 80s.

Mark & Carolyn have sent the following, tearful acceptance speech: 'What can we say? It is a great honour to win the first St Simeon's Day Prize and it makes the hard slog of ministry here in the so-called 'graveyard of missionaries' well worth while. I'm sure our link churches and our mission society (SAMS) will see it as the pinnacle of these last three years. So, in the words of Orange Juice, we're simply thrilled and of course proud as well.'


Our two runners-up caused us a severe attack of temptation as we considered them for first place. They are the following...

Second place

An old Roman Catholic friar I once knew had the naive habit of opening the Bible at random and picking out a verse for guidance. These were usually ambiguous texts such as, 'Go forth across the river', which the literalists present then spent ages agonizing over.

On one occasion, the friar sat in a crowded room and picked out an obscure piece from the Book of Chronicles. 'The men of Nebo pisseth against the walls...' At this, even the most ardent of believers couldn't control themselves!

Kevin O'Donnell, Crowthorne, Berkshire, England

Third place

A wedding was taking place at a church in Leicestershire. The service was going swimmingly, and the couple were approaching that poignant moment when they exchange vows.

A rather elderly relative chose that moment to die, very quietly, in his pew. Rather than interrupt the proceedings, those around him simply propped him up for the rest of the service, and only removed the body when the wedding party retired to the vestry for the signing of the register. What they did for the photographs is not known.

Gordon McGuinness, Nottingham, England


And here are the other stories we received – all of which we enjoyed, and which we present for your entertainment. Thank you to everyone who contributed. And remember: it's not too early to start collecting stories for the 1999 Prize...

The healing service

The rector of a parish (who was later made a bishop) had a penchant for healing services and such charismatic things, had a wife who kept a lookout for people in the congregation who might benefit from his ministrations.

She came into the vestry one Sunday morning with the information that there was a woman in the congregation who had an obvious problem with one of her legs. The rector entered the church in the usual way, and at the time of healing, said: 'I understand there is a woman here who is in need of healing in her leg. I think, my dear, it is you,' he added, pointing to where the woman sat. 'Would you care to come forward for healing?'

The woman hobbled forward, and he was just about to lay his hands on her and pray for healing, when she said: 'Thank you, rector, but you see I have a wooden leg!'

Gordon Tams, Coldstream, Scotland

Bishop loses the plot

In the days when bishops confirmed hundreds of uncomprehending candidates at one sitting, the elderly bishop was clearly exhausted as the long lines of teenagers mercifully came to an end – but there were the elderly still to come. As the bishop began to fade and nod off, he still managed to repeat his lines: 'Defend, O Lord, this thy child...' But at last his grip on reality finally died as he laid hands on a bald gentleman, saying, 'Bless, O Lord, this stone, well and truly laid...'

David MacGregor, Port Elizabeth, South Africa

Unexpected baptism for missionary

I was converted to Christ on the hippy trail to Afghanistan. I got as far as Sidmouth in Devon where I was halted from my cosmic travels by hearing the gospel from a minister of the Free Evangelical Church who advised me to go to a Brethren Church when I returned home. This I did. But I was unaware at the time that I had entered the faith via the gates of a narrow Pietism which relied on three male members of the congegation to give the word of the Lord, and on the Lord himself to adhere to a form and predictablity every Sunday, which could be relied upon never to change until the Parousia.

This particular Sunday was a morning baptismal service. The baptisty was a sunken pool beneath the floorboards in the centre of the church. We sang a hymn, and had a Bible reading, followed by 10 minutes of silence, waiting for one of the three to speak. Mr Patterson suddenly rose up and began to hold forth in the name of the Lord. He was a big man, about six foot three with ears like a spaniel and a voice that seduced you into sleep by virtue of the fact that he spoke slowly and sonoriously and in Biblespeak. He was also a bank manager, which perhaps explains why when it came to his religion he escaped from the world of figures to the world of fantasy. On this day he excelled himself. The comments in brackets were my thoughts as a young Christian.

'O great and loving heavenly Father, we have heard the rustling of thy garments in the mulberry trees and we wait on thee O God (What rustling, I asked myself – I heard nothing). O Lord, we have tabernacled with thee this morning and thy spikenard hath ascended forth and anointed us afresh (Where is this guy going? What is he on?). Thou hast helped us. We have journeyed to thy mercy seat, O God, and the lamb without blemish has been slain for our sins (Who has journeyed, what seat, what lamb?)...'

This prayer was followed by the notices, again led by Mr Patterson, who announced that he was having two missionaries from Africa for tea. The baptismal candidate gave his testimony, while Mrs Whittaker – a thin, wiry 90 year-old ex-missionary from Uganda – played the organ to 'Up from the Grave He Arose'.

The service ended, and as I left I heard, to my horror, a loud splash. Turning round I saw Mrs Whittaker's hat floating on the baptismal pool and a distraught Mr Patterson wading in and fishing furiously to find the ex-missionary who had slipped into the water. She had survived the atrocities of the African bush but whether she would survive anabaptism with the Brethren was my closing thought to this eventful morning.

The closing prayer

At a certain university Christian Union, a regular speaker was indulging his inclination for long talks at a weekly meeting. Roger and his flatmate Chris were present as usual, although Chris had been working all night to get in a submission before the deadline, and so was pretty tired. So much so, in fact, that he nodded off during the talk.

He awoke with a start to find Roger digging him in the ribs whispering that he had been asked to close in prayer and everyone was waiting. So Chris quickly stood up and despite not knowing what the speaker had been saying, managed a very general and very devout closing prayer, asking the Lord to bless everyone as they went away – and then sat down, relieved to have got away with it.

A shame, therefore, that the speaker was only halfway through the talk...

David Williams, London

Temptation beyond endurance

A minister was speaking passionately about the need for love and the power of love a couple of years ago. As he was speaking, a stone came through one of the church windows. The minister mumbled, 'Little turds, I wish someone would kick their heads in!' The congregation continued listening out of politeness, but the practiciality of what he said seemed lost!

Gareth Dunlop, Antrim, Ireland

Jesus loves Jim...

About six years ago, a lady called Roberta Clemmence was singing with her partner in a local church here. They has just finished a patronising song which goes along the lines of:

Jesus loves Roberta,
Jesus loves Roberta,
Yes he does, yes he does,
And he wants Roberta to love him too.

Her partner then launched into a rendition of:

Jesus loves Carol,
Jesus loves Carol,
Yes he does, yes he does,
And he wants Carol to love him too.

At that point, rather than quitting while they were behind, Carol moved into the congregation, and sat beside big Jim Hughes. She asked Jim his name and he told her. Now big Jim Hughes hates Jesus, and has done so for some time. Carol then sang:

Jesus loves Jim,
Jesus loves Jim,
Yes he does, yes he does,
And he wants Jim to love him too.

All this in corny Country & Western style. Then onto Stit Wilson. Roberta sat down beside Stit and asked him his name. Stit obliged. Carol asked Roberta, 'What's his name?'

Roberta, obviously unfamiliar with the name, replied, 'He says his name's Stit.' At this point, Roberta and Carol went into an embarrassing nightmare of:

Jesus loves Stit,
Jesus loves Stit,
Yes he does, yes he does,
And he wants Stit to love him too.

Then worst of all, Carol headed upstairs, while Roberta sang the song. As she headed down to the front of the gallery, she tripped and fell, her face hammering against the balcony partition, and her ankle twisting awkwardly. At this stage I had to wipe the tears of laughter from my eyes and help the poor women into my car and on to hospital. This legendary performance is folklore in our parts.

Gareth Dunlop, Antrim, Ireland

Sheep and goats

I was attending a service in a small Mennonite church in Pennsylvania. The preacher was talking about how Jesus will separate the sheep from the goats, and (rhetorically) asked the congregation if anyone had ever thought that his or her spouse was a goat. The loud 'Amen!' from his wife in the front row rendered him silent for a full minute.

Hanna Bruin, Netherlands

Spontaneous worship

A large group of Christians were worshipping in a marquee. Spontaneously, a man in the congregation started to sing:

He'll be coming round the mountain when he comes,
He'll be coming round the mountain when he comes...

By the end of the second line, the entire congregation had their hands in the air, looking upwards, joyously singing along...

Coming round the mountain,
Coming round the mountain,
Coming round the mountain when he comes.

It was only at this particular point in the song that anybody started to realize what they were about to sing next!

Chris Lane, Luton, England

[For those who don't know the song, the next line plunges into the inspiring words: 'Singing ay-yay-yippee-yippee-aye...']

Slipping in the baptistry

The church had a temporary curtain set up so that people who were to be baptized could change. During the baptismal service, a rather large woman was stepping into the baptistry when she slipped.

Rather than grabbing the edge of the tank, she grabbed the minister's tie and dragged him down with her. As his torso descended, his feet and legs went up, flailing away, trying to get loose. They connected with the stanchions which held the curtains up and knocked them down. Behind them stood a stunned gentleman in the buff who was beginning to change for his own baptism. Needless to say, the church erupted in laughter.

The person who shared this with me said that the event has been burned into her memory.

Mark Maki, Anaheim, California, USA

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