Iain Banks - Whit

Salvador raised his arms again, closed his eyes and bowed his head. We did the same. Our OverSeer said a brief prayer, asking God to look upon us, guide our thoughts, and - if we were worthy, if we listened faithfully, if we held our souls open to God's word - talk to us. Our Founder bade us rise. We all stood.

Then we sang in tongues.

This is a regular part of our life and we pretty well take it for granted, but apparently it is utterly startling for the uninitiated. As Grandma Yolanda would say, You Had To Be There.

Salvador always starts, his fulsome, muscular voice booming out over us and providing a deep, luxuriant bass line to which we all gradually add our voices, a single flock following its leader, an orchestra obeying its conductor. It sounds like nonsense, like babble, and yet through this glorious chaos we communicate, singing solely as individuals and yet absolutely together. We follow no score or agreed-on script; nobody has any idea where our song will lead us when we start or at any point during it and yet we sing harmoniously, linked only through our faith.

Singing in tongues reminds us of our Founder's first and most glorious vision, during the night he lay near death, in a storm at Luskentyre, in a trance of understanding and transcendence, his lips speaking words no one could understand. Singing in tongues brings peace to our souls and a feeling of intense togetherness; we never know when it will stop, but eventually, somehow when the time just seems right, the sound dies away, and it is over. And so it was on this occasion.

The timeless interval of our singing had passed. We stood quietly, smiling and blinking, with the only echoes those resounding in our souls.

Salvador let us collect ourselves in silence for a while, then said another short prayer, thanking God for the gift of tongues, then smiled upon us and bade us sit down.

We did so. Salvador gripped the sides of the lectern and bowed his head again for a moment, then he looked up at us and began to talk about Morag, recalling her grace and her talent and her beauty and reminding us of the place she held in our missionary ambitions. He ended with the words, 'Unfortunately, there has been a development. Sister Erin?'

Sister Erin nodded, then rose and stood on the podium beside Salvador, explaining the situation as we understood it. When she sat down again, Allan took her place by the lectern and talked about potential solutions, including the possibility of sending somebody on a mission to find Morag and attempt to bring her back within the fold, though without mentioning me by name. Allan resumed his place on the front pew and then Salvador opened the discussion up to the floor.

Calli said we should not have allowed her to go in the first place (Salvador rolled his eyes), then said the same thing several more times in slightly different ways until she got onto the subject of pickles and condiments and the possibilities offered for spiritual propaganda by my grandmother Aasni and Great-aunt Zhobelia's recipes; why, if we sold those we could finance a whole orchestra on the profits (an old refrain). Astar was asked what she thought and circumlocuted with brief grace.

Malcolm, Calli's husband, a big, rough-looking but gentle man, suggested that as young people often needed something to rebel against, it might be best if we didn't rise to her bait; then she might come creeping back after having made her point. Perhaps we ought just to do nothing (glowered down by Grandfather).

Indra, our wiry, fidgety fixer of all things, offered to go and find her and tell her to pull herself together (muttered down by almost all).

Sister Jess, our doctor, a small delicate woman, pointed out that Morag was a grown woman and if she didn't want to come to the Festival then that was her decision (much in-drawing of breath and shaking of heads).

Brother Calum, our principal teacher, un-hunched himself long enough to stand up and suggest we might put an advertisement in a paper, or in the personal columns, asking her to contact us (more of the same).

Sister Fiona, wife of Brother Robert, wondered what the possibilities were of putting Brother Zebediah on the case (laughter from those who knew Zeb - he was generally regarded as something of a hopeless case, and it was known he hadn't gone to a single one of Morag's concerts in London).

Brother Jonathan said he thought we were missing something; why not just hire a private detective to look for her and possibly even kidnap her and bring her back? He was sure his father would put up the money. Come to think of it (he said, when this was met by shocked silence) he, Jonathan, had some money; a single call to his stockbroker, or his bank in the Cayman islands… What on earth was all the fuss about? (Brother Jonathan is young; his father is an underwriter at Lloyds. I didn't think he'd last long with us.)

Allan explained patiently, not for the first time, about the importance of the Sanctity of the Source when it came to money. No lucre was entirely unfilthy, but it was a matter of revelatory fact that funds earned through farming the land and fishing the sea were the least contaminated of all, followed by those made playing serious music - preferably serious religious music.

Jonathan stood up again and said, Well, he had a good and philanthropic friend who owned a recording studio in an old church… (Salvador himself scowled that one down. Like I say, I don't think Jonathan's really right for us.)

Eventually, Sister Erin said that there was a suggestion that I be dispatched to London to talk some sense back into Morag (most eyes turned to me; I looked about, smiling bravely, and tried not to blush too much). Sister Fiona B. stood up to say, Yes, it was about time we started talking about our errant Sister's spiritual state, not just the mechanics of getting her back here. This met with applause and Hallelujahs; Salvador and Allan both nodded slowly, frowning.

Sister Bernadette said that as the Elect of God I was far too precious to be risked in the Kingdom of the Wicked.

'Babylondon!' shouted Sister Angela, starting to shake and speak in tongues (Sister Angela is excitable and prone to do such things). Concerned Brothers and Sisters restrained her gently.

Brother Herb said he didn't think I should go either but if I did then my Anointed state made me all the more likely to be safer and more successful than anybody else.

There was much more talk; I was asked what I thought and said that all I could contribute was an expression of honest willingness to travel to London and remonstrate with Morag if that was what was decided upon. I sat down again.

Had we debated much longer we would have had to light the chapel lamps. Eventually Salvador announced that, reluctantly, he had to concede that the only thing to be done was to ask me to leave the Premises of the Just for the Cities of the Plain, charged with the mission of restoring Morag's faith. A further special service a week from now would provide a forum for the discussion of any fresh developments and offer a venue for the evaluation of any new ideas on the Community's plight. The main responsibility was mine, however, and we would have to trust that the Creator would protect and steer me on my embassy amongst the Unsaved.

Responding to my Grandfather's look, I stood and announced that I was honoured to accept my task in the wilderness humbly, and would leave as soon as practicable. Allan stood and announced that our OverSeer, himself, Calli, Astar, Malcolm, Calum and I would retire to consider our next move. I stood quickly and said that I would like Brother Indra to join us, and this was agreed.

The service broke up after a final prayer, and those on dinner duty went off to make a belated start on the evening meal, which included bridie samosa, channa neeps, black pudding bhaji and saag crowdie paneer.