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Bless Our Daily Bread
July 30th, 1889 — Greg Evans home

Greg and his wife had a two room tenement on Pennyworth, and though it wasn't much it was more humane. The landlords left the water on a little bit longer, the grocers extended his family's tick or credit from payday to payday, and doors remained upright and on their hinges without the fear of rough "music" and bright torches from drunken louts.

Kate, his wife, hovered hover an old coal fueled stove taking care of a simple soup of beef scraps from the butcher, potatoes, and vegetables. Meat wasn't usually in their diet but tonight was special as Greg had invited a holy man over, though he be in training. Their daughter Audrey set the table, the cuttlery consisting of spoons and bowls.

Greg looked to the door as he sat at the table, fingers tapping at the wood. Kate spoke, "Your tapping won't make him come any faster Greg."

"Would you have me help you Kate?" He asked a brow quirked.

"Stick to your brew and I'll stick to my stew." He chuckled he knew his way around alcoholic cauldron of bubbly goodness, not the kitchen cauldron she claimed as her domain. His fingers continued to tap to a rhythm all their own. Perhaps this man could ease the burden of faith, and shed the light of the Lord on his home.

@Wendell Banges

It was always a pleasure for Wendell to go and speak with other people about his faith. He knew he was a bit more devoted and others, since it was his goal to have his own little church, but that didn't mean he hated people who didn't spend as much time with it. Denominations were nothing to him, either, though he knew some of them disagreed with the Church of Magical Jesus.

For example, most Muggle churches hated witches and wizards. Wendell's church celebrated them as holy, and he was glad for that. His faith meant a lot to him, even if it didn't mean a lot to his family. Wendell hoped one day he'd marry a good, church girl and they'd have a lovely little magical family.

Pennyworth was where Wendell and his family might have lived, had his father not bought the house on High Street. Now that he was growing older, Wendell knew he ought to be thinking about moving out soon, a thought always on his mind. He wanted to live close to the shop, so he might save his money.

Coming upon the address, Wendell smiled. Someone else's cooking was always an adventure, but if that meant he got to bring a little of the Lord's light into the house, he would be happy. Wendell knocked on the door sharply but politely, and then put his hands in his pockets to wait.
Greg heard the knock on the door and rose to answer. He was pleased tonsee Wendell and gave a. "How do you do, come in, come in." He closed the door behind him.

Wendell would fond a quaint abode, for the working class. A small two burner stove where their meal cooked, a cupboard, a table woth a few chairs, and a curtain in the doorway that no doubt lead to a second room.

His own motjer say at the table knitting while his wife cooked and Audry played with her corn husl dolly. Greg offered the young man a seat at the head of the table. "I hope you didn't find gettimg here too troublesome." His gaze settled to Kate, "How much longer?" A certain eagerness to his voice.

"I'm afraid good vicar my husband has never been blessed with patience. Would you like a mug of ale?" She asked of Wendell. "Though we have all been looking forward to tonight. Our hovel blessed with a man of God."

Greg's had rapped on the table in agreement. "Here! Here! A true man of God!"

The elderly woman cut her eyes at her son pausing in her knitting. "Demons seize the hearts of all men, some simply cannot pass God's test."

"And if of a wolf's in sheep's clothing from the start, what do you say of that mother?" Greg sounded irritated.

Wendell nodded and smiled gratefully as the man, Mr. Evans, invited him in. He gave polite waves and nods of acknowledgement to the women of the home, admiring it slightly. It looked cozy to Wendell, if not the largest space for the family.

The young man took his seat where it was offered, "Oh, it was alright. The time on the walk over was long enough that I had time to think to myself of a variety of different things. I'm certain everyone must enjoy a good walk from time to time."

Wendell was a little uncomfortable with the title of 'vicar,' though he said nothing about it. He didn't feel, by far, officially trained, though Mr. Dursley often made jokes about him taking over the church should Irvingly decide to be rid of Muggles.

"I'll pass on the ale, madam, though by no means will I stop you all from enjoying it." Wendell felt the distinction was necessary, for though he practiced temperance, he was far from the type to stop moderate consumption. "And your home is no hovel, in fact I believe it rather nice."

The leader-hopeful was happy about being called a man of God, as he truly felt called, but fixed his eyes upon the widow Mrs. Evans after her comment and her son's, hoping to mimic the piercing gaze of Mr. Dursley himself. "Now, madam, certainly it is true that all of us are tempted at times. I believe everyone has a chance for forgiveness in the arms of God, though let it be said that us magic-folk have been blessed to have a closer connection with Him."
His wife used a simple Augmenti charm to fill Wendell's tankard with water before setting it beside him and then going back to the cooking at hand. She blushed as he spoke of their home, but then chided herself, "Excuse my lack of humility."

Greg paid it no mind, rather his mind turned to what the young vicar was saying now. "Blessed with a closer connection you say? And what does one think of the dear old good book's, 'thou shalt not suffer a witch to live?' What reason do you have to believe we are his chosen, and not his abomination?"

Greg knew only what had been beaten into him by his muggle father, and though he was intrigued by this magical church, the guilt of his up bringing still stained his mind. His mother listened ever quietly as she knitted, and his daughter hardly seemed to notice Wendell's arrival, too preoccupied with her toy, a small doll stuffed with straw.

"Oh, madam, please. We must be happy in our humble homes." Wendell said cheerfully. Humility wasn't one of his fortitudes. He gratefully accepted the water and kept on the conversation. He did enjoy that the Evanses had a different way of speaking to his own, it helped him with perspective.

That was the sticky point for some, and Wen could understand it. "Well, in my church we believe that the Lord himself was a wizard, when he took human form." The fear of Muggles and discrimination were high, and that was wrong. While Muggles themselves could be worthy of the Lord, they were to be guided by their moral superiors, witches and wizards like himself.

"As for the quote, well, we believe in something of a focus on the New Testament." he said, "Though it is clear that some things in the Old can be repeated and trusted as well."
Kate gave a small nod, but old habits died hard. The food however smelt heavenly, and indeed if anything could be said for the woman despite her stiff exterior, she know how to cook.

Greg's mind was elsewhere, more on the preacher's words. "So Jesus was a wizard, well, are you to say those he lead, his disciples were of the magical sort too? And what of Paul, or Saul was he really was, wasn't much for Jesus's teaching but he sure made one hell of a stamp with the workings of a church." He was well versed in his history and the bible, he had to be to live with his father.

"Surely if you only took stock in the new testament then you would find that perhaps churches follow closer to the words of Saul then they are Jesus, what say you of the Church of Magic?" Greg was having fun, he loved a good talk whether it be theology or philosophy.

Wendell would be the first to admit that he didn't know nearly enough of the Church as someone who had grown up in it, having only learned of it in his seventh year at Hogwarts, but his study since then, he had hoped, was enough to become well-versed enough in the church to teach others. Sometimes, Wen got more focused on the big ideas behind the Church: the magical were god's chosen, and they had a duty to themselves and the world to protect the weaker Muggles.

"I, personally, believe that the Lord blessed His disciples and followers with magic, and then continued to do so from up in heaven, which is were those born from Muggles come from." Wendell said, "Of course, after a point it is genetic, though there is rather tragic business with Squibs--come from sinner's families, you see. Not their own fault." Wendell sighed.

"We talk about many things. Mostly the words of the Lord, sometimes the words of Saul." Wendell didn't think the Church wanted to divide anybody, "I believe most follow the Christian religion close to them--I personally shadow the rector of St Fergus' Church, Dursley, a Muggle man, but with a good soul."

Wendell nodded to himself, pondering, "I suppose it's because the Church is so small, that it can be seen a variety of different ways. We are the same in a few important ones--believing in the Lord as a wizard, for example."
Greg sat back in his chair, his arms crossed his heels dragged out on the the hardwood floor. He was obviously comfortable, but in addition his brain meat had been given something to knaw on. He couldn't abide by the idea that squibs came from cursed families the same way he couldn't abide that magical children born among muggles were curses to their families. "So in other words you wish to claim that like the jews we are God's chosen people under the direct leadership of Jesus, who by nature was God in flesh. So what does that make the jews?" He pondered, "or better yet those who are Christian but have no magical gifts? Would you foresake them? What about those who are of the magical aptitude but are say Bhuddists..."

Kate tried to fight back a stern look at him, but failed. She did not find it within good manners to speak such blasphemy and question God's will. He caught her gaze, "Relax wife, I ask simply for the need to be enlightened in our Lord's heavenly embrace. Surely the vicar here has answers." His gaze turned back to Wendell, a glimmer of a smile. He was enjoying this conversation rather thoroughly, there wasn't many in his time that he found he could be so open and free with on the topic of religion.

Wendell shifted. He was beginning to have his doubts, and confessed to Greg, highly embarrassed, "You've got me there, Mr. Evans." he chuckled nervously, "I've only been with the Church for four years, so I'm not as certain on issues such as those, though you might ask either of the Misses Fairchild, I believe. Muggles are accepted as well, they just haven't been as blessed by the Lord as we wizarding folk have. No offence to anyone in company, of course." Wendell paused, "As for magical folk of other religion, we try to bring them round to see the light, as one might do for a more Muggle Christianity."

"Of course, not everybody wants to join in." Wendell acquiesced, "But we can pray for those who make that decision." he paused, looked at Mrs. Evans, "Please, Mrs. Evans, it's of no poor manners to me to answer questions of my church. It gives even me a chance to learn more about the Lord."
"See Kate no harm no foul, besides a good vicar faces the problem head on, and is always honest to his congregation, and that Mr. Banges is why I'm beginning to like you." He flashed him an award winning smile. "Now let's eat, and you will be sure I will talk to this Miss Fairchild, but Mr. Banges an all more important question do you like stew?"

His wife served the men first, then the children, and then herself before having a seat. "Would you like to lead us in prayer?" Greg inquired of their new guest. The mental spar between them certainly had made this night a blessed one in his opinion.

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