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how it works

TITLE: Don't Look Back | Previous Challenge Entry
By Philippa Geaney
01/11/24
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Once a year, the nuns from St Ursula’s Collage for Girls allowed their senior students a proper, carefully monitored evening with young college men of the same denomination.

They hosted a ball.

It was a ritual, a part of life’s passage for the girls, and a ticked box on the establishment's duty list.

The nun's denomination, and mine, was big on fulfilling religious rituals but short on relationships. I’d grown up under this supposition and believed that was all God wanted from us. If it seemed a little dry, there were the reverential practices, the ringing of bells, the fragrance of candle wax and incense to fill the senses.

And for the girls, there was the ball.

They hired a band and served a sumptuous supper. The girls decorated the great hall and dreamed of the dresses they’d wear to win Prince Charming’s heart, or at least, his hand in dance.

Cinderella had it no better. Their parents? Not so much when the invoice arrived in the post.

Assigned as waiters, the sub-seniors peered through windows into the great hall and watched dreamy-eyed as the dancers swirled around the room. Occasionally, the place erupted in delight as the lead guitarist threw in a riff from an Elvis or Stones song. The swirling stopped and a whole lot of shaking went on until the nuns affecting fury rushed to the stage, where the music at once reverted to The Righteous Brothers’ Unchained Melody or similar.

My Cinderella year arrived in 1965.

“Sally, why are you so calm? I won't sleep a wink.”

It was the night before the ball, and my friend Liz was wavering over her choice of dress.

“I’m excited Lizzy. It’s been fun decorating the hall and listening to the talk over who gets the first dance.”

“You mean who gets to dance with Tom Ryan, don’t you?” Liz studied her reflection in the mirror, then added, “Stephanie most likely. She says he goes to Downlands only because of its academic reputation.”

I shrugged, affecting cluelessness.

I’d never shared that I knew Tom. As hometown friends, we genuinely liked each other despite our beliefs being as chalk and cheese. My heritage within a traditional church caused us to argue over his non-denominational Pentecostal convictions.

“Read the Bible yourself Sally,” he’d say. “You’re living like the Jews. They trusted the Pharisees and their legalistic interpretations."

"Jesus introduced the New Covenant, but you must be born again even to understand.”

“You make it sound too easy. We earn our way to Heaven, Tom.”

Our argument was endless.

The music had started, and the young men had arrived by the time the nuns escorted us into the hall.

Will Tom acknowledge me? Does he know he was every girl's choice? I wished I were somewhere else.

“Hey there, Sally!” Tom called, heading my way.

He stopped short before me. “Wow.” Then, “Will you dance with me, Madam?”

Without waiting, he pulled me into his arms. The Old Tom was back. “I’ve told the chaps you’re my girl, so don’t let me down when they try to muscle in.

I laughed and hoped that was our future.

Although we continued to disagree over ‘works versus grace’.

The sticking point was my wariness of the freedom Tom enjoyed in his Savior. I clung to the security of ritual, the ticking of ‘good behavior' boxes to justify.

Because of this, we kept our relationship plutonic through our university days. But my growing spiritual dryness unsettled me. Unsurprised, Tom suggested I place myself at Jesus’ feet and read John 3:16. I did and became born again.

Yet my thoughts over forsaking the legalistic rituals of my old institution troubled me.

“Read Matthew 9:15-17, Sally. Jesus is telling the Jews a new covenant has arrived, warning them from stitching a new patch-His New Covenant -onto an old garment-their Law.”

“It won’t work Sally. New wine isn’t suited for old skins. You were searching for truth and now you’re overflowing with His Spirit. Don’t pour your new spirit into the old skins of the law. You have a relationship with Christ. Seriously, some of your old beliefs were man-imposed.”

I understood the hesitation of the Jews. The old was comfortable, even if ineffective.

But since Jesus warns that a new patch on an old garment will tear away, that new wine in old wineskins will spill, I decided to cast my care and walk on the water of His word.

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