The Flight of the Haggis

With thanks to Laura Sykes for prodding me in the ribs with this erstwhile project, I am delighted to feature a blog written by one of my longest standing online muckers...

Winsome, Lose Some

The work of Fr Richard Haggis, this blog is in the hands of a lyrical writer who has a very clear grasp of the realities of the world and the church. Put another way, he is a cynic, but does is in a most beautifully crafted way. 

Seriously though, Richard is a joy to read (even in those encounters on social media) and I advocate his thoughtful work to the rest of you. He knows a little of the vagueries of the Church of England, but has never lost his pastoral heart. I have neglected our association for far too long, so I am glad to have an opportunity to do something to mend that!

Being in A New Diocese

As many of you may have gathered, I am now working in a new Diocese. I was formerly in the Diocese of Oxford, an organisation that sponsored my vocation, trained me, ordained me and gave me my Title - and for all of that I will hold the Diocese, and its people, close to my heart.

Sadly, for priests of my particular breed (more especially those of us at an earlier stage in priestly ministry or those of us with no sense of calling to rural ministry - or both) there are few/no incumbent's jobs to speak of. That is the way of things, whatever my thoughts and feelings - and I was required to make my own luck.

So here I am, happily in place in a new Diocese. It is a strange transition, mostly because it is unexpected. In the context of parochial ministry, one learns the lay of the land, the names of the right people to talk to. This happens by osmosis rather than deliberately, and so it is that a new set of people and processes needs to be learned. 

Yesterday proved to me what a wonderful diverse diocese London is. Within the one working day, I was sat at one point next to a (very amusing and entirely decent) priest from the Cathedral Church of The Holy Trinity in the Archdiocese of Brompton;  later the same day I was seated next to the (equally amusing and entirely decent) Incumbent of All Saints Margaret Street, a liturgical Mecca to those of my disposition. Both were normal things to do in a normal day in the Diocese of London. Furthermore, at one end of the day I was sharing a room with a man whose voice I have heard on Pause for Thought for years; the other end of the day I was exchanging pleasantries with another man whose voice is heard on television and radio (and who has an interest in media, including blogs I was delighted to learn). Just a normal day.

In every sense - be that ministerially, personally, emotionally, socially, geographically and also through the lens of my children's eyes and those of the fragrant Mrs Acular, I am daily reminded of the rightness of moving here to west London. I am surrounded by priests and Christians of such breadth and of all shades of tradition. Frankly, it is breathtaking what a difference it makes to life. The price was paid mostly by my amazing and supportive wife who had to suspend her career, and perhaps in a few decibels of aircraft noise. 

One of my greatest fears for the Church is that it becomes the same - that the monied organisations feed off of the cadavers of the dead (broke) churches and make them all the same. Breadth, variety, difference, dialogue, less corporate image, more quirkiness - all of those things will see the Church live on. A few months ago, I feared becoming a marginal Christian of a bygone age. Now, I am still a marginal Christian of a bygone age, but now I am but one of the necessary shades of priestly expression that makes up the remarkable tapestry that is the Diocese of London. 

What is The Point of Wasps?

This is a question that has fascinated me for years, but is not what I want to talk about today!

I want to talk about stone [not the hamlet on the Oxford-side of Aylesbury; not about the town I once passed on the train to Manchester; not about a powder-induced state of near floaty-lightedness].

I spent a wonderful time as Day Chaplain in Orxford's diminutive but otherwise wonderful cathedral church. My job there was to dither about among the hoards of tourists, pose for umpteen pictures until my cheeks got cramp, lead short prayers on the hour and on that day, to preside at Holy Communion, Cranmer Style! It was a good day, and one that reminded me of a strange phenomenomenomenon. 

Stones, the ones that the builders used to build such edifices as Orxford Cathedral, Lincoln Cathedral and, say Ripon College Cuddesdon (where I trained to be a vicah) - they have selective memories. Yes, dear reader, stones can be contrary (and almost certainly perverse). 

When I have visited great ancient churches (big and small, and the not-so-ancient, come to think about it), I have felt the power of prayer ooze from the stones they comprise. No church is silent, trust me. Even when there is no noise and you are the only person there, churches are not silent. Jubilant choruses, heartfelt hymns, intoned psalms, Great Amens, bustle and chat, applause maybe; and also minor-chord laments, the anguished cries of grieving relatives, the pathos inducing recitations of Psalm 22 as the heart is ripped from the church late on past Maundy Thursdays - every note resonates from the stones. If you think I am mad, work out a way to be alone in a church sometime, and make the journey. The noise is deafening at so many levels.

But then you get other stones that seem to have no memory at all - Teflon coated blocks of absolute silence. My Theological College is like that. Whilst it is a wonderful place and a warm and vibrant place, nothing sticks to it. Maybe because in many ways such colleges are sausage factories, airport lounges. Ordinands enter, pre-Deacons leave - in mere months it seems. It is odd having lived, worshipped and raised a family there, to visit to find it looking like it did before but n'er a note of past parties and lectures hangs in the air. Silence is silent (even in the chapel, oddly). This isn't a criticism, more an observation.

I have no doubt that this behaviour applies to house-bricks too - but in which way I have yet to establish. My manse has seen many things, I am sure - but I am not sure what, if anything, has adhered.

Yes, but how?

As it was the last day of my holiday, we went to St Mary Magdalen's in Oxford (see picture). Plonked right in the centre of the city it is my 'church of choice' when I am free to visit somewhere else on a Sunday. It is my 'sending parish', that is to say - I went there before I was ordained. It was like returning to the bosom of the family, and Jo me and kids were recieved warmly as anyone is there. The music was, as ever, out of this world.  They have long paid a professional choir to lead the music of this exemplary High Mass, and yesterday saw them in fine voice (even if the funky organ was sounding more like Ivor the Engine). The girls were on their bestist behaviour, and Jessica (who loves to sing above most other pursuits) was hypnotised by the angelic beauty of the music. She was in my arms for most of the Mass, and she was transfixed by them - not even a chocolate coin broke her gaze at one point. It is also the church in which they were Baptised, so it is to us a profoundly important place.

It was also the day that 'the Ordinand on Placement' offered a sermon as part of his training. This is normally a mixed affair, with some good and some bloody awful sermons. The geezer who preached yesterday did very well, in fact - and it is a tough gig for even the most seasoned preacher. I am pants when I preach there, trust me! He praught on the Beatitudes (Mary Mags follows the Roman lectionary, traditional language if you please), and gave much for us to ponder upon. In essence, he invited us to be as poor people, not fixed on the material things of our world etc etc - and he is right, mate! 

There is always a question that lingers in my mind after hearing such noble sentiments about giving up the things that I have - how do I do it? In truth, in very truth I say unto thee, I would find it nigh on impossible to give up a lot of what I have - not because I need that stuff, but because I like my stuff. I like my car, I like having a few shekels in the bank, and I have worked hard to get that.  I want to be a good Christian (and I think that largely, I am), but I can't just give it all up to be even better! This quandary has never been resolved in my mind. Do I want my cake and to eat it too? The other things that weighs heavily on my heart as a priest, is how I can have the audacity to preach such a message when I fail to heed it myself - or at the very least, fail to understand how best to meet that expectation. Answers on a postcard, please.