Going Back To Basics - Vicar Style

This is not a post about the style of Vicars, because even as Jesus himself did, we should all wear black and with tonsure collars. Images of Jesus in beige dresses was purely to appease the folk festival lot!

No, this is a post about us vicars revisiting some of those oft abandoned territories, those places left well behind in the wake of the Ordinal and the swap from the baggy Watts cassock that smelled of old men, to the viscose version with all the buttons that smell of younger men. I speak of that tectonic progression from honourable Altar Server to Clerk in Holy Orders. If you are a non-liturgical Christian (unlike Jesus, who said the Angelus thrice daily, and that's a fact), look away now - for you will have no idea what I am about to write about. 

It is a factor in parish life that when some people absent themselves from parish life, they leave little less than a whisper of a breath of a breeze and you would hardly discern their departure. Then there are others, who after turning and ankle in an (allegedly) drunken brawl, cease to be able to function in parish life and leave a chasm such as would hold even the ego of the Whitton Vicar. People come and people go. One such someone turned their ankle in an (allegedly) drunken brawl, leaving us short of one Altar Server this Sunday past. For those of my ecclesiastical tradition, we are talking about Taperers or Acolytes (like Jesus was when he turned eleven and hadn't fully learned to wield his plane).

There was ne'er a replacement server to be found. Ankle turn-ed lady was not able to heave the weight of her candle, and there was thereby a vacancy. So I stepped in. I'm the Vicar, I thought. I wrote the ceremonial, I reasoned. I have been a server for years, I ruminated. So it was that I donned a cassock-alb, wore my stole deacon-wyse, set aside my little skull cap and wandered into church the left-hand of two Altar Servers. 

The simple fact is that I cocked it up from beginning to end. I have a liturgical awareness that is fashioned by decades doing the very thing that I failed to accomplish this very day. I kicked the candle during the Gospel Procession and now have a viscose-smelling-of-me cassock covered in candle-wax. I moved the altar rail across for the distribution of the Holy Communion while I was on the outside of it, not the inside. Afore the aforementioned Gospel Procession, I had noticed that I had forgotten to label the short hymn "x2" so we verily sang it once and it was done before we even started to move off. 

Many lessons were learned - many reinforced home numerous times by my beloved Sacristan (who is, for the record, older that Solomon). If Sunday presented the Vicar-as-Server Gravestone, my Sacristan exhausted himself dancing on it! But what a fabulous insight into the worshipping life it presented. How quickly I had set aside so many of the simpler lessons of serving, and how quickly I have acquired habits of unpredictability so as to enliven the worship here. It is now clear to me how much of a pain in the arse I must be to serve for, and indeed how blessed I am by the team of servers that I have here. 

Indeed, this is my recommendation to ordained men and women, particularly those of a liturgical bent - serve once a year at least to remind yourself of where you came from, the skills you had already forgotten, what life is like in your ceremonial wake. In so-doing, be open to making a total pratt of yourself, because humility is no bad ally in parish life. 

To my own worthy team of Altar Servers - thank you, thank you and thank you. You are bloody marvellous!

Where Abuse is Shielded by Love

You may remember me writing some time ago about my life in the Diocese of Chichester, where I was a worshipping child during the heady days of the 1980s and 90s in Eastbourne. You will also know that Eastbourne has been exposed as something of the epicentre of abuse by priests, a number of whom have been charged and prosecuted for the sexual abuse of the children in their pastoral care. Names like Roy Cotton, Robert Coles and Gordon Ridoubt are names in the public domain and are the names of people known to me throughout my own childhood. Other names will eventually become known and I know them too. 

I was reminded yesterday something of the dangers that exist in church life as this matter and the wider debate was discussed at a meeting I attended. It is the case, for all sorts of laudable reasons that for many Christians this is to be dealt with in a pastoral way. By that I mean that in receiving the testimony of an abuse victim, who may or may not wish to disclose that abuse to the statutory authorities, a priest has not passed on the knowledge of either recent or historic abuse allegations to anyone else. This is matched by a fervent desire to walk with the victim and not to add further pressure to them by making a disclosure. 

Sadly, such love is devastatingly dangerous. It is true to say that sex offenders act compulsively and often habitually and a statistic was cited by an expert yesterday that an offender, when caught, is likely to have offended in excess of a hundred times, and that unless stopped, is likely to re-offend in the future. The implication, therefore, of taking a pastoral view with a victim is that the abuser is spared legal process, kept away from therapy, and is allowed by lack of prevention and the secrecy engendered by the shame of sexual abuse to continue. It seems that this is symptomatic of the way such matters were dealt with in Eastbourne and wider afield. Greater love hath no (wo)man than to prevent abuse. 

Questions such as the seal of confession also play into this debate that is now acute. The abuser and victim of sexual abuse experience shame and for opposite reasons seek to hide the fact of their abuse (given or taken) from others. Indeed, it is also the case that the average time from abuse to disclosure is 23 years! 

Until recently, I will confess that I wondered why people left it so long to disclose abuse. Cases like Jimmy Savile have created a new culture of honesty and bravery among historical victims, and so it is that many clergy will start to receive disclosures from victims, often wrapped up in terms of not wanting their secret disclosed. As soon as the disclosure is silenced in love, the abuser walks free from justice or indeed from help. If you are a clergy person (or anyone else) who is approached by an abuse victim, please tell someone as soon as you can. Better to betray the wish of a victim couched in their sense of shame than to discover that in so doing, another victim was created. 

The 'Hit and Miss' of Funeral Ministry

What I am about to describe is common but by no means universal, and before I do write, would like to comment that as a priest, I am considerably blessed by the reciprocal and open relationships I share with many of the Funeral Directors with whom I work.

The simple fact is that I have done lots of funerals services and value its ministry considerably (as do the families I have served). It has also given me a significant insight to the world of Funeral Directors and pressures that they face in meeting the acute needs of their clients. 

In an ideal world, a client would seek out a FD, and as part of the transaction of arranging the funeral, may disclose a need in faith. That is, more often than not, a denominational identity ("mum is/we are Catholics/CofE/Methodist, and so on). Once known, the understanding is that the FD would contact the nearest minister of that denomination within whose pastoral boundaries the deceased lived and commission their services to lead the funeral. That means that if mum was a Catholic she will be given her send-off by the RC priest in the area; by the local Vicar is she was Church of England (also the default if their faith is known but not the denomination); or by a anti-faith activist if mum claimed humanism among her character traits. 

I have sympathy for the FDs here. Before them sits a grieving family and they are keen to meet their needs for their sake and indeed for the sake of the business for whom they work. They may fail to reach the Catholic priest or the local Vicar in the moment that they sit with the family, so what do they do? Do they wait? Do they inconvenience the family by delaying a service date for their dear departed mum?

Very often, and for quite understandable reasons, they ring the friendly ash-cash collar-for-hire who is their pet minister and often has no "parish" so is easily and immediately contactable. The date is booked, their pet minister will look after the the family, job done. 

If your job is within the realm of "getting the job done" by the tick-list - then this would be fine. Then imagine that dear departed mum was the pillar of local parish church. In that situation, often the family will know and will be specific about the priest, not the denomination, and the job is arranged. More and more often though, people's faith habits become eclipsed and so they may know that mum was a CofE person but not a lot more. The FD tries to ring the Vicar who is, for sake of argument, running his parish and not able to take the call at that moment, and so it is that the ash-cash-collar is commissioned, the date booked and everyone is happy. Mum gets a 'vicar' of some sort, the family leave happy. 

Except that the ash-cash-collar is a, for sake of illustration, a Methodist or other. You may imagine that it makes no difference, but to a lifelong Anglican who had a chance throughout their life to change denomination, it does make a difference. A big difference. The service is done, it's nice, boxes are ticked. But there may be another factor. In many cases, the deceased wasn't a current congregant often through infirmity and may have moved into a care-home many years before the present Vicar arrived. The direct connection can be, and often is, fractured so that the death itself isn't known at parish level. 

What happens to the rightful pastoral needs of the family in this instance? Where is the follow-up? The amount of times I have visited the Crem to see a Church of England person being given their once-only send-off by, for example, a Methodist minister - you'd be astounded. And I doubt that the pastoral needs of the family are met because to ash-cash-collars, this is big business (a figure of 40k per annum was mentioned in a chat I had with someone yesterday). The funeral is not the end of the process - it is often the beginning. The follow-up is of the highest importance and is quite often therefore non-existent for a significant number of families who took the minister who answered their mobile first. As I have sympathies for the FD who have a job to do, so I have greater sympathy for a family whose mother simply got the wrong funeral, perhaps in a theological language that they would never have understood or subscribed to, in the presence of a man or woman who wouldn't have ministered to them in the first place. 

I can't pretend to know what the answer is, but it is a big issue certainly in the minds of many Anglicans (whose opinions I hear most) who have simply given up trying to minister to their dispersed flock because they barely get a look in through the friendly arrangements put in place before they themselves moved into the parish. 

I sat with all the Christians ministers in my area yesterday for lunch. I mentioned a name to them of a chap who does much in the town in this ministry - and not one of us knew his name or who he was, including the person who shared his denomination. She hasn't done many funerals at all - and now I think she knows why. I doubt, too, that those who claim her denomination in the area are immortal, either. 

On Being a New Vicar - 18 Months On

Like so many baby-stalking documentaries, so it is that I can babble on about the effect of time upon my frail and largely hairless form.

It is fast approaching a year-and-a-half since I stopped being an Assistant Curate and assumed the mantle of Vicar in this wonderful parish I call Whitton. I can tell you now that it is the best place in the world, and I wouldn't be anywhere else - but I sense that a deeper reflection would be useful at this juncture (and if you wish to have something worth reading, perhaps).

The Buck Stoppeth

The thing that is both the most obvious, yet the last lesson to be learned, is that just about every buck comes to rest with me. That doesn't apply just to the big things (services being planned and the like) but small things. My slightest oversight in one thing can have quite significant effects for others and their 'moment' before God. Decisions that I make, and perhaps those which seem clear to me, have possible and indeed probably far-reaching effects for those who worship in the community that calls me its Vicar. The effects don't just roll back in short order. I have learned that to miss a cue in one month can revisit in another. The same for those 'simple' choices and decisions

My Walk With God

I still don't go to church, but I still 'provide' it. I did something very rare over Christmas, courtesy of the blessing of other priests in the parish - I sat with my family and worshipped with them on Christmas morning. I sat in a pew that was too small, surrounded by the rabble of kids that I endlessly encourage but among whom I have never sat - so I heard very little except the bustle of gift-enhanced childer. And the whole event was different - despite the fact that, lead it or not, I had compiled the Liturgy I felt like a newcomer in my own church. There is an entire ream of blog posts in that experience alone - which wasn't bad, but certainly very interesting. Sitting in The Stall is, I have discovered, not at all the same as sitting in the church - at all sorts of levels.

Rough and Smooth

The manifest joy of parish priesthood is that it is a beautiful chain of micro-chaplaincies. I have a small part to play in the wider ministry directed to so many organisations and communities in this area, and I rate it as one of the finest aspects of my work. It offers me a significant breadth of experience, and also one that has some small measure of 'pollination' among those gatherings.  However, with the many pearls there is always a small measure of sandy sludge - and I have come to realise that God is in all of it. 

The Family Front

A new Vicar is utterly convinced, from the 'off' that, because they march into a parish after a vacancy, that the church is just dying for their ministrations. At one level they are, so we quickly convince ourselves that everything suddenly depends upon us. The net effect of that is that we totally immerse ourselves into everything, and with our proverbial stick, prod life into lots of things which need us all the more (don't they?). The Family suffers, let me tell you. I am over a year in, and I am only now starting to reign in some of this stuff and discovering that some groups, even Christian groups, can do better when The Old Man is out of the picture. Year One seems to be about doing everything, with Year Two being about undoing much of Year One. Without my Family, I am nothing - and I am still trying hard not to forget that. 

The Clever Notions of New Vicars

One lesson I did learn early was, when visiting prospective parishes before interview, to avoid the "well, this is what I would change" tendency. It is folly, and frankly arrogant. But, to my shame, it didn't stop me thinking it. We do arrive with lots of nifty ideas, often massive and always to trump to previous Incumbent (anyone who says otherwise is, my friends, lying). Actually, I am learning that some very simple changes, done well over time can be all a parish needs to thrive. I think that parishes need the new initiative of a new priest because I regard it as one of the new inputs of needful spiritual energy - new season and all that. The fact is, I write things down including my "What to Change This Year" list. The things that happened from my 2012 list have been smaller things that have had a good impact. The Big Stuff didn't happen because it never seemed right. The Big Stuff didn't make it on to 2013s list. The Big Stuff had no correlation to God's 2013 List it seems.

Time

Whoever invented 24 hour days did so to tease priests. A 56 hours day might work, at a push. Parish ministry for the incumbent is ministry in the incomplete. Fact. I get to the end of the week having not done lots of things (in the midst of much completed, I might add - I am not lazy or slack or anything). Indeed, the incompleteness of it all fast becomes a self-preservation matter - a helpful policy together with "To Do" lists and Inbox disciplines. Managing it is the hard bit. There are lots of theorems delivered in neat packages (important/urgent, non-important/non-urgent etc.) and despite that fact that I manage my own diary I am managing something that is bigger than the space and demands more of me than I can give. We call it God's Mission, so it is perhaps as well that I can't contain it into my week! It takes a long time to come to terms with, though. 

Me in The Wider Context

If I am in this job for seven or ten years, it will be but a drop in the ocean of this parish's life. If we take the model of seven years (fitting around the kids' needs and school), i am well over 20% through my time here. I am not the Saviour of Ss Philip & James Whitton (Jesus has that sorted already), but what I mean is, I am not the "Solution" or anything like it. I am here to walk with them for now, and then to walk elsewhere as God determines. Vicars come and go - the Vicar Board reminds me of that. Before I know it, me and my crazy ways will be what others talk about when the subject of the past emerges over coffee ... do you remember him, what was his name, you know - the barmy one who spent too long doing the Notices? This, above many other things, conditions how I work. If I thought I would be here for thirty years, things might be different, but as it is, they are not.

So many lessons are learned with the backdrop of time spent. So many more lay ahead I sense - but for now, I thank God with every fibre of my being that I am here now. 

A Year In

I have (and perhaps more significantly they have) survived my first year as the incumbent, Vicar, parish priest, and village idiot! And what a year it has been.

I remember saying, at the bunfight after my Big Service, that I was never called to be at college or else to be the trainee - but that I was called by God (in line with those called to parish ministry) to that moment and to this year - to Vicardom. Whilst I was richly blessed by all the formative experiences, this for me was the job 'for real' and having completed the first year, am utterly convinced that I am doing what I was born to do. 

It is said that the learning curve of curacy is nothing when compared to that of early incumbency. Whoever said that spoke the truth, though I suspect that they may have been thinking about other things - because for this newbie Vicar it has been a year when I have learned not so much about the job but about me. Put it another way, I end a year knowing how the next will be different, for me.

Becoming the Vicar in a parish that had had a long vacancy/interregnum (and in this case a very positive one, I think) is interesting. No-one wants to change anything during that time and the mindset falls into one of 'survival' at all costs. In this parish, some wonderful things came to life in that liminal space and some of those opportunities have gone on to yield much fruit. However, it is also fair to say that the parish I took on was one where the 'systems' were creaking and where the flock were, to a greater or lesser extent, tired.

So, how did I approach my first year? The first thing I did was to fall in love with 'my Whitton'. If you don't love the place you cannot properly serve it, and in loving it you set your heart to doing what you can for it. I am a territorial priest, and my manor is my manor - for me to minister to with those who walk with me. The next thing was to come up with a million inner-resolutions about how I expected to proceed - all of which were disregarded fairly quickly, truth be known. This year has been about the 'packaging' of parish life - the building, its money matters, processes and practices. Are we properly hospitable even in our absence? What does the passer-by experience in us and our buildings? Each of those considerations brought specific change - not for its own sake, but because the answer to the questions begged an action or a new direction. 

What have we achieved in this year? First, we have survived the year! Second, we are a church whose doors are open daily, and have been so for most of the year. It is bearing fruit, much fruit. We have renovated our parish hall from the dismal wreck that it was to the modern venue it now is. We have changed the access arrangements at the front of the church so that prams and wheelchairs can get in without ascending steps. More importantly, I believe truly that we have learned a little about enjoying our worshipping life. That isn't to say that the liturgy is diluted or dumbed-down - quite the opposite, but I think the faces at the door afterwards speak of renewed enjoyment. We have come to a place where we recognise that we need to define ourselves properly and our mission to Whitton. We have broken down some of those minor fiefdoms that seem to populate parish life. The Sunday-Club tendencies are passing and we are now seeing that we are a parish that is open to all - and that when they come, we feel good. 

As for me, I do far too much and in that I fail. This year, having done the work of seed sowing, will be a year of pruning and shaping. Some bits of Operation Cloakey will need staking so that they don't topple in the next storm, but perhaps more importantly, after the weeding and tilling, there will be some feeding. It has been a wonderful year where I feel very much like I have come of age as a disciple. I seem to make a small difference and I don't appear to have wounded anyone permanently. 

May God bless 'my Whitton', this wonderful parish, this gift of priestly ministry placed into these unworthy hands, the family who support me and love me even when I am in my darkest mood, and the dog who eats my arms - often. 

The Changes in a Vicar's Mind

I am of an age where there was life before and life after. I am not speaking of the children that enhance my existence, or indeed of the noble vehicle of their delivery (known around here as Mrs Acular). I am, of course, speaking of ordination and all things priestly. 

I arrived at the point of Holy Orders in my mid-thirties, so had had some time to formulate some views on life before that momentous day. However, being a priest grants me some fairly unique experiences (among them seeing underneath a high altar, but an event to which I do not refer), and as such have changed my perception of the world in some specific ways. 

1. Human existence: I have now done so many funerals (I have exceeded thirty this year already) that I have a fundamentally altered view of the whole human existence thing. I spend so many hours and days summarising people's whole lives in mere breaths that I realise how briefly we exist and how fragile we are. No sooner do we arrive than we check-out. If I were an atheist (or worse still, by far, a Humanist) I would be quite clear that if this were actually it, that morality could sod right off - that I am going to do the best I can for me and my clan. That we are here so briefly convinces me that there has to be more. God has to exist or else this vast intelligence and eloquence we develop in our brief planetary stop would seem an awfully high achievement just to nourish invertebrates. There has to be a higher greater wider purpose to us, or else what a waste of time talent education and opportunity. Psalm 139 is now a very close friend of mine. 

2. Cynicism - on good days and bad, on grey days and bright - I have to be the paradigm of positivism. I have to be the happy chappy of the parish, the smiling geezer in the black dress, all fired up and ready to go. I have to model the hope I preach, walk in the grace I am bestowed with and always  - always - have that deportment of man with wind in his sails and a Single Malt in his veins. The thing is, there are times (not many) when I am in church in a black mood. There are times when I am taking a proverbial kicking over some triviality when instead of the beneficent smile you see, I am harbouring notions about prolonged death-doing.  Simply put, I am not always in a good mood, dammit. This comes at a price, this Vicar Front thing - it makes me more and more cynical in every season. It would explain why gatherings of priests are either grinning inanely or catty - either one or the other. You ask Mrs Acular, she'll tell you. Of an evening I flake out on my settee and basically slag the telly off for hours at a time. And it gets worse over time. 

3. Children - partly as a result of the fruits of my wife's loins, but also in no small part to the work I do, I am bowled over by the innate theology and abilities of even the smallest children. I am increasing of the the view that we are born with all that we need for life save for some of the logistical abilities, and that we spend the years of our lives disarming ourselves of those things we were once gifted to do. This week's question from one of the Twins Aculae is "daddy, who made God". Give me a theologian who can answer that meaningfully, and let them explain to my five year old. I am guessing that already my daughter will articulate an answer better than I can. Open-mindedness, warm heartedness, lack of coy-ness, directness, clarity of thought-ness: kids have all of these things. I am now of a view that if you are going to expound something or issue a platitude on something else, you should do so in front of a child of three-to-five and see what the response is. I am willing to bet you would not utter any more and that by default, the pages of Facebook would be empty. 

4. I am what I am, and what I am needs no excuses: Early posts on this blog betrayed an inner-panic about my relatively new ordained status. I didn't feel worthy (and I still don't) but I have now learned to live with it. I know how preposterous I am, so I care little that anyone else does too. Actually, I would go further. I believe I was born to do this. I love the life I lead and feel finally like I have arrived where I was destined to arrive. If you don't like me, that is not my problem. If you disagree with me, tell me. If I repel you, then go away. I am finally at peace with myself and I rather like it. 

5. I am ready to own a dog. If I can cope with twins, a dog ought to be a cinch!

Cloake Out

(If you are going to a Belt of Green, have a great time. I can't be there this year so will pray for you all and the quagmire that will unfold beneath your tents this weekend)

Moments of Perfect Clarity

This time of the year is special for many ordained people as it is Petertide (more or less), the time when many of us were ordained. Already I am considering the fourth anniversary of my Making as a Deacon, the third of my Ordination to Priesthood and they have been the best of times.

The very grave issue with blogging is that as an activity it can become a spittoon or else the residue of the rumination - which it to say that we use our blogs to whine, grumble and work though our minor psychoses. Mine is no exception, although I have tended to rant less than in previous years. It struck me how I log on to complain, and rarely to celebrate in that unfettered way that we Brits find so hard. Christian Brits do celebration with an ecstasy of self-apology like so other race on Earth. 

Earlier this week, and not for the first time since my own 'moment', I was privileged to be present for the First Mass of a new priest. For those of us of a sacramental disposition, such a Rite is in many ways the perfect pinnacle of priestly experience, the best of things. One's First Mass is a stunning balance of abject terror and child-like excitement, all bound up in the person of one who feels oddly fraudulent placing a chasuble over their heads, let alone waving arms around in a liturgical way. 

First Masses represent different things. By their very nature they are perfectly crafted and long-planned affairs with every facet and movement of ceremonial designed and intended. A new priest is so terrified that each step and gesture is deliberate, considered and executed with precision. The music is often from the heart of the new priest so a provision of such wonder and true authenticity, it is almost as if the spirit of the priest him/herself is singing for us. Family and dear friends, supporters well-wishers, observers and guests - all turn out to make First Masses fully populated and thereby buzzing with the tension that the Spirit sees fit to imbue such gatherings with. In short, you will see a priest presiding his/her heart out, and a priest almost certainly a sixteenth of an inch from tears all the way through (or else closer than that in my case). From within and without, First Masses (for those who do them) are the absolute summit of all that a priest regards as special before God. 

For those of us who bear witness to such events (I include ordinations in that), these Rites of Priestly Passage do something very deep within us. They remind us. They simply do that. They remind us why we accepted God's call. They re-affirm in us the absolute and complete rightness of accepting that call and making all the sacrifices in life that such acceptance demands. We feel again that feeling we had in our hearts when it was our time to process in to our own Masses or ordination - that sense of bewildering joy and trembling uncertainty. More usefully perhaps after the fact we are reminded of how wonderful this job is - how perfect, how it is more than we could ever hope for or dare dream ourselves capable of. Even in the context of the Stuff of Grumbles, we are given moments of perfect clarity as to why we are who we are - priests and ministers in God's Church. 

So to Fr Andrew next door, and all ordinands, deacons and priests all about to pass or have just passed through these exquisite moments of the greatest joy we can know - my prayers to you, your families and those who support you in your ministries. May the Lord be with us all. 

By The Holy Innocents we Shall be Brought Low

It seems that the only time that you hear about priests in the press these days, they have been arrested for something or have outraged someone. Sadly, it seems to be the case that when priests are in the news following their arrest, that it is for alleged offences against children. 

Sadly, two priests known to me personally were in the news yesterday. They were two priests who ministered in the town where I grew up, and whose ministries had some contact with my own growth and development as a Christian. I cannot say whether or not they are guilty of the allegations made against them, but I pray for all concerned. Neither is this the first time. I have known several priests who have been subject to similar allegation and investigation, and to date the ones that I know have all been cleared of any wrong-doing. The fact is, that if a priest is hauled public, it seems to be for transgressions (alleged or actual) against children. 

I don't believe that the priesthood is the preferred life for those who would act wrongly against children. I accept too that a priest abusing that trust is a very exciting headline for the world who would seek to see us as other-world oddities. I do wonder, though, if there is any such thing as spiritual warfare (and I can offer no real view either way), that the powers of darkness seem to do most of their damage to Christian priests and their ministry through children and young people - by temptation and transgression, or by false allegation many years later. 

The first thing I would say is that if you are reading this and engaged in anything that could haunt you in several decades time, to stop and put matters right now by whatever appropriate means. The second thing is to say that it is becoming harder and harder to work with children because there is an increasing fear of what will be claimed when we are old men and women. Needless to say, those who were cleared of allegations were still left with their ministries (very publicly)  in tatters and their life much the same. I sometime genuinely fear that being a caring human being (priest or not), and one who will offer comfort at a range closer than ten feet, will leave me open to allegation later. 

My last word, though, should be to remember those children who have faced abuse in their lives - be that from priests or anyone else. Whatever happens to priests who are in fact guilty is nothing when compared to the damage, hurt and betrayal experienced and felt by the children. Prayers for them should be our loudest in all of this. 

The fact is, I would prefer it that the Devil used something else (you know, embezzlement or something like that) to knacker priests - not little children. 

Fighting for People over Theology

The world of the Church of England is peppered with great collisions of people, all fighting for a particular corner. Last week I recieved not one, but two questionnaires spammed to me by a Vicar himself a member of the Evangelical Alliance (who are not right set on the issue of 'gay marriage' [sic]). It would be fair to say that they really don't like the idea at all, not one little bit, no. 

Fine. A view is a view and an opinion is an opinion. I have several. 

Flit across to the next table and you will find good people becoming quite narky about a document. It is becoming increasingly important where you stand (or sit) on this issue, and which fancy website you will subscribe to. Many of these people are Vicars. 

On the next table, there is yet another scuffle concerning the consecration of ladies as bishops - and that debate is causing much aggro between people of the two opposing sides. In some ways, you are in or you can sod off - from either side of the proverbial coin. Many of those involved in that debate are Vicars. 

Last year, the whole lady-issue caused many people to re-evaluate their basic sacramental theology in a knee-jerk reaction to breasts in cassocks and change teams. Many of them were Vicars (or bishops), and did what to my mind was a terrible thing, and ripped entire parishes from top to bottom as they did their little flit with half the congregation (sod the remaining lot - they didn't agree with us anyway). 

Once again I say - we all have opinions. We have a right to them and we are free to express them to a level appropriate to our context. But this is where my concern comes to light. When we were ordained, did we agree to fight for causes over people, or were we called and ordained to minister to people despite the causes and opinions that they hold? Were we called to feed all the sheep, or just the ones whose wool we prefer? Before anyone tells me that the differing views of others doesn't mean that they love them any less, let them hold their tongue before they fork it. They may well be telling a porky-pie, if we are deeply and truly honest. 

I sort of wonder whether priests/ministers are not called to rise above all this stuff, just a little, and put personal opinion aside in favour of service. I am sure that in Downton Abbey Mr Carson wouldn't enjoy all the meals he is called to serve - but it is his job to put the food on the table. He is entitled to his view, and to express it - in the right place. Needless to say, he would be ill-advised to refuse to serve it. 

My job, I believe, is to he there for anyone and everyone as they have need for my service. If I am too busy locking thuribles or NIVs with other clergy, I would fail in that. My job is to pray for the debate, that God's will be done - not to pick up a stone and throw it. 

Just saying. 

The Truth About Priests

Courtesy of Facebook's very own Mrs Vicarage, Helen Reading. I can't find a single argument against this assertion, so instead I shall go to Evensong.

What I Miss About Curacy

Before I say anything else I must state, in absolute terms, that I have the best darn job in the world. Whitton, Lundun Tahn, Boeing 747s, charging Stags - love it love it love it. The parish, its people, the community, all of it - love it love it love it.

Yet it is worthy of comment that I miss my curacy and miss it considerably. I think that these two things are not mutually incompatible, so feel able to open these thoughts out - in case they are of use to other folk (professionally or voyeuristically). 

Curacy (in the 'training role' sense) is a specific, once-only gift. I have often been annoyed by those who, without reason, have mumped about their training experience, the free house, the free professional on-site tuition, the willing folk of the parish who entrust some of their life's needs to the Noobie. There are, of course, those who have appalling curacies - but they are the small minority. I am not one such lad - mine was good, very good. 

What I miss about curacy is the envelope that surrounded me as I ministered. Perhaps it was a cocoon but it was a nice place to be. Part of that was found in being part of a Team Benefice, but knowing that one's first ministerial steps were over a soft landing was a specific relief and joy. That ''stableiser" thing in the first weeks and months gave way to simply being able to work alongside someone else who had to do a similar job, someone with whom things could be discussed and dreams dreamt. Being the Vicar changes that, subtly, with the job of incumbent being surround more in a sort of loneliness than the old life. Yes, I miss having a Training Incumbent and all the dimensions such a person brings.  

Having the buck stop with me, as it were, is a two-edged sword. I like to think I am an energetic and creative man, with a comfort for being decisive. I like having the buck stop with me, but it brings its own stresses and strains, as I am not one who is always as convinced by my own rightness as I might convey. In short, I worry, more than I used to as a curate. 

Curacy is a far more pastoral ministry I find. I am blessed indeed by the presence of another priest for whom pastoralia is a clear gift. I remember, as a curate, wondering if I was 'stealing' all the priestly stuff while the Boss dealt with strategy, money and the stones in the walls. He was very graceful, and I think I now know why. Modern incumbents are less about direct pastoral work than perhaps they once were. Mine is, by default (which is to say I didn't opt for a change in focus per se) a more strategic working life, and one where I have to trust much of the pastoral to the care of others. While in hindsight it seems obvious, it has been an unexpected change in my ministry. 

Whilst I am a pratt a lot of the time (or shall we say 'smiling fool'), curacy was a more appropriate platform to be the clerical clown, the funny man, the ball of slightly unhinged energy. Incumbency is marked more by the demands of being strong through changes, resilient in the face of direct criticism that is not found in training. I am the chairman of the board, promoted from marketting and entertainment! I think I look at it as having 'grown up' in ministry (although I am still a nutter from time to time).

Taking the lead is exposing and vulnerable. Hiding behind a leader is safe and comfy. That said, being in the front seat is exciting and nail-bitey and the uncertainties are compelling. People who said that the learning curve from curacy to incumbency is steeper than that from old life to curacy were right. 

But I wouldn't be anywhere else in the world. 

Oak Trees and Greenhouses

I existed in a greenhouse, and my friend existed under an oak tree. The presence of the oak tree and the greenhouse have had an effect on us, and quite possibly how we behave on a day to day basis. 

The difference between oak trees and greenhouses is in the experience of those in the space closest to them. The thing is, you have no idea what I am talking about!

Since becoming the 'lead' in a parish, I have been given an opportunity to move from the curacy position of thinking about my own ministry to the incumbency position of thinking about the ministries of others. I have thought hard about this transition over the last few months, and have come to the conclusion that I can characterise ministries in two ways (among the many ways that surely exist) - as oak trees or greenhouses. 

In thinking about oak trees, I think of a something mighty, deeply rooted, long lasting, visually significant. The oak is the focus, the thing that artists paint or picture. It is an iconic plant that speaks of longevity. In thinking about greenhouses, I observe that they are modest buildings that are an important part of the garden, but rarely the focus. These are not the characteristics that I (necessarily) focus on, however. 

What is true to say is that under the wide arms arms of a mature oak, nothing else grows. There is no light and very little nourishment in the soil. What is true to say about greenhouses is that their sole aim is to give life to other things. In its modesty, it is the place of germination and new life. The oak tree is in centre stage; the greenhouse is not, it is the new plants and not the building itself. 

I believe that ministries hold some of these characteristics. They may be individual ministries or wider concerns, but the effect upon the ministries of others is largely the same, I think. The only way you can live in proximity to the oak is in being an oak too. The greenhouse doesn't choose its seedlings, it just gives them the best start. 

If you are a tree, mightiness is a favourable condition. In ministry, I fear that it is not. When a ministry is about a name, a personality - it is an oak tree ministry. If you are a greenhouse, success in the area of horticultural nurture is a favourable condition. In ministry, it is the same if that nurture is of new ministries or the enablement of other ministries within the same space. 

As I reflect upon my training experience as a curate, I learn much about how I must be as a Vicar. I was afforded all the warmth and opportunity that a greenhouse grants a seedling. In other words, I was given a new life often at the expense of the silent effort of another person. It was about me, not him. My friend, sadly, experienced the opposite; it was about his trainer not about him, and so he feels under-developed and weedy in ministry. As a Vicar, I have a duty to be the same as the one who gave me my chances. I can be an oak tree and soak up all the light, or I can be a greenhouse and channel it. 

Life After Church Life

As I watched The Apprentice this week, I pondered the 'old order' of contestant who had to render themselves unemployed from their hitherto sparkling careers so that they stood a fighting chance of hopping into bed (in the business sense) with Sir Lord Alan Amstrad. They had clearly devoted the entirety of their (albeit short) working lives to climbing the greasy pole from the great heights of which they yielded to the greater possibilities of a hundred-grand and a job in Srallan's mail room. Even though the contestants were often of the Higher Order of Buffoons and The Attitude Enhanced, they had made substantial sacrifices to be contestants in this must-see abuse-a-thon. 

Then all but one 'Got Sacked' (sic), unto the oblivion known only to the failed contestants of Reality Telly World.  I have no theology of purgatory, but I imagine it to be a little like that - full of the nameless chumps who failed to win the public vote or please Srallan. 

There are similarities between these people and that very rare breed of people, among whom I now know several individuals, who are now no longer employed by the Church. These friends to whom I refer are ordained priests who are now not ministering in the Church of England for different reasons. Bloggers will be very familiar with one such priest, and his agonies.  

I write as one who is blessed with ecclesial employment and a rosy future, and as one who knows only too well that I cannot and must not ever take it for granted. Life happens, things happen and sometime priests are cast out of their ministries. Yes, there are many people who lose their jobs, many for no fault of their own, but the difference for priests in the Church of England at least, is that the consequences are perhaps far worse. In the first instance, and without exception, we have all given up something to take on a ministry. Most have set aside former (lucrative) careers, moved families through training and curacy who too have had to make very substantial sacrifices for the ministry at the centre of it all. We do that with our eyes open and mindful that we are called to do this. 

But what happens when it goes wrong? This is Petertide and hopes in many ride high for a glorious future and a life's ministry in God's vineyard, and so they should. But what happens when it goes wrong? Priests not only lose a job for which they sacrificed everything, they lose a home, and not just them, but their families too. Some (and a very small 'some') of us have other homes, but most don't. What does seem lacking in the system is a way to help such priests whose ecclesial demise range from acts of human stupidity, to unfortunate place at the wrong time to good old disillusionment. It happens because we are human, and whatever the rights or wrongs of the cause of the separation, I would argue that their exists a need on the part of the Church to do something affirmative for this small number of smashed up individuals. I know priests who have risked homelessness (an their families) because the fit or the timing of their ministry wasn't optimum. I judge no-one, neither church nor cleric, but pray for those on the wrong side of a line that few priests ever conceive of. I can only imagine that it is the absolute worst place on Earth. 

Retrospection and Introspection

Anais Nin once said: "We write to taste life twice; in the moment and in retrospect". I had never thought about blogging in these terms, but now that I have, it feels like a clear statement of the obvious! 

When a sane human sits for the first time behind a computer screen, seeing that it is but a blank box, wondering what on earth to write in that box, they can never begin to predict the effect that those soon-to-be-born words will ever have. After a year and a half, a public minister of religion who blogs is, if I may be direct, a fool if they have no notion of the effect of their words. We write into a world that, for good or ill, takes our words with a certain valency simply because we are vicars, curates, bishops or archdeacons. 

For me, this is a two edged thingy. I look back to see 'me' in my words. Largely, and as I have said before, the words I write are composed mere seconds before I write them down. The idea for a post will never be more than an hour old when it is written (even if published later), so I can only see 'me' in retrospect. I can see when I was having a bad or good week, a tough or easy month, and so on - but only by looking back. I have also learned more about my personal prejudices by reading my own words. I must confess, too, that I actually do enjoy reading my own work. Is that bad?

To assess the effect of our blogs is helpful. When we write posts, we flip little pebbles into the pool of ether in which we and our readers live. To not note where the ripples cast out to is to miss a rare opportunity to note the appetite of the blog-reading world, who are (quite possibly) a representative cross-section of the world we claim to minister to. What I am not about to do is do The Vernacular Curate's Cool Top Ten of My Best Effects - partly because I haven't the time, partly because it isn't important, partly because it is poor blogging in and of itself, and partly because if you were interested, you'd look (and you have the nearest to it in the sidebar to the right of this box)! 

I regularly Google myself as The Vernacular Curate. I do this not to look in a mirror, but to see where my particular ripples have reached - and the results rarely fail to surprise me. If you write a blog and don't do this, I advocate it as a pass time that teaches (sometimes some very hard lessons). In so doing, I have discovered that antisemitism sites have referred to my writing across the world; that I am a regular feature in a recreational website that follows certain blogs (and discusses them in forums I have since discovered); that my post mentioning man-boobs makes me an expert and a cited source; that my appreciation for Lord Jeremy of Clarkson is appreciated elsewhere; that the BBC features my website a few times on its own website (and gives me about a quarter of my traffic now); that I am, apparently, an intellectual liberal; that I have a Wikio ranking; that I am a fixture on a fair selection of health websites; that I have been translated into other languages; that my blog is advertised in places where ladies have their boobs on show; and that for the love of God I am still seeing references after forty-odd Google search pages (when I stopped trawling). This is before any of the kind references made by fellow-bloggers and the ripples that those recommendations cause. Am I glad that my words are in all of those places? No. Did I intend them to be in any of those places? No. 

The overwhelming thing that I have noticed, and of which I am rather proud, is how frequently the words of this daft priest have been published in non-Christian and non-faith websites. I write about just about anything, but as a priest. No apology is ever made for that, or my work, or how I live my life - yet I seem to emerge in the oddest places. To borrow +Alan's notion - with the tens of thousands of hits I have had, it would take me several lifetimes to enter that many people's front-rooms in person, in as many countries. What we priests would give to be able to touch people's life on that scale. And this is only a piffling little venture (as my Wikio raking will tell you). This is where the value of blogging rests - in its effect through the weeks and months (and well-beyond).

Doubt

A brief moment bound up in a couple of exchanged comments with Dr Bex Lewis has provided something of the last straw for me. No, she has said nothing to upset me, just nudged me to write about something very close to my heart that I regard as the shadow in me that I seek to avoid, or at the least look away from.

I don't have a great deal of time for guilt as a pastime. I see no point in it, no sense in it, and regard it as an emotional millstone that for some comes with a set of halogen lights to attract best attention. It takes effort to carry, brings with it no collateral gain, and is just not a phenomenon I can be too involved with! Make a mistake, live with it, learn from it, move on. Life is a moment more 'over' than it was just then. Waste none of it ...

However, I have my own millstone. It is one that I think is largely universal, but in the circles that I mix in - Christian ones, ordained ones - it is 'an inconvenient truth' for many. But I have to say in clearest terms, that there are times when I have doubts about it all. 

My doubt has a catastrophic face. It isn't a doubt about the virgin birth, the resurrection, angels or anything like that. No, my doubt is bigger. I have little moments, my bubbles of 'nothing', where what I believe the other 525,540 minutes of the year, seems like the greatest pile of nonsense ever thought up. It feels like a hoax, that actually, of course we are just an accident of chemicals and energies a fortunate distance from a star. How on Earth do dead people become not dead? How the dickens can a women hold a child without exchange of cells with another human? I have moments where I am convinced that I have got it all very very wrong indeed. Oddly, that is when I feel guilty - not for thinking the thoughts, but that I have been complicit in the greatest con ever known. These moments happen, not often, but they do. 

Then they pass. Doubt can be less catastrophic in its ankle-pecking for me too. I encounter 'blog despondency' (I am not alone) more than you might imagine. This is about the sheer presumption of hoping that even one person would read what I write. Such laudable blogs exists, and there is a list to the left of these words - yet I presume to add my  two pennyworth. Even pleasing 'results' don't assuage that one always. The dog-collar thing is another one. There are times when I feel like I am in fancy-dress, that this retailer will wake back up and be back counting rugs, like he should be. This priesthood lark is too good to be true, and at times, that translates into '...so it can't be'. I would hate to suggest that God made a mistake, but days come around where I wonder if he broke his duck with me (assuming we overlook the Fiat Multipla). 

I will post this in the morning, at the start of a new day. Today has been a good day, and the culmination of a wonderful weekend completely devoid of doubt. Why am I writing about this now? Partly Dr Lewis, partly because if I tried to write about this on a 'bubbles' day, I'd probably delete this blog outright.

Even-handedness with the Holy Spirit

I read a blog comment elsewhere which brought into focus a niggle I have, and one that I have expressed on here before. It is about the distinctivness of priests and laity. 

The argument goes that priests do not have special 'powers' (a term often used but not my own) and that we are not ontologically changed  - that our inner-being is not changed as we are made priests. The implications for this are significant.

Send down the Holy Spirit on your servant N for the office and work of a priest in your Church.

This is moment of ordination, the moment when the Spirit is invoked and the ordinand changed by the grace and intervention of God through his Spirit in the laying on of hands. If this is not the case, we have to say the same for any change brought about by

Confirm, O Lord, your servant with your Holy Spirit.

 and if we have to say the same for that, then we have to say the same for any change born of

N, I baptize you
in the name of the Father,
and of the Son,
and of the Holy Spirit.

...and I doubt that any would argue that through baptism we are not changed. To me, at least, we cannot pick and choose, simply because a heart for inclusiveness finds distinctiveness awkward. We have a role and a charism, and I think that those to whom we minister rather count on it.

Quotes taken from the Common Worship provisions for those Rites

Chasing a Rainbow

Being a priest is the very best thing in the world. Well, for me it is. It is like living the 'dream come true' as for the preceding thirty-odd years (yes, all of that time) this was the place where I daren't even hope to be for fear that the hope would never come to pass.

In my life there have been some very significant people. They have raised me, nurtured me, nurtured my faith, and nurtured my calling to the priesthood. They range from family members and friends, to fellow-parishioners and priests. Some of them read this, so what I will try to consign to this screen, I will try to get clear.

For younger people of my church tradition, the notion and ideal incorporated in the 'priest' is a significant thing. Those of a catholic pursuation (I can only speak for us, so please don't think I am being exclusive), for good or ill, place their priests on something of a pedestal. For me, I can number the bishop who confirmed me, two curates who passed through our parish in their training, and a couple of others who form this list of 'priests of note'. They embodied what I regarded as a the model of priesthood (as I observed them from the outside), and it was them and their example that I aspired to in the way I hoped to live my calling if it was granted fruition. 

I still do. 

Self-image is a blessing and a curse in this life. I am very comfortable inhabiting the skin of one David Cloake. It is often fun for me being me. In many ways, I 'see' me fairly jolly clearly. It means that in the vast majority of times, I can just get on with getting on, and why perhaps I have an issue with excessive navel gazing. I am me - live with it. I do! This brings a consequence, though. I am not my 'ideal model' of a priest in the ways I have aspired to. I know where the warts are, the scar tissue, the shadows. I know that I am lousy at half the spiritual mechanisms that you might ascribe to me as habit. I am a blunt instrument, lacking subtlety and the lighter touch at times. For me, 'priests'  are well-read spiritual paradigms. For me, 'priests' embody all that is good and whole in humanity. They are exemplars of prayer, fine preachers, pastoral geniuses, gifted listeners - among a long list of other qualities. I am none of those things, much. 

Don't get me wrong, I am not downhearted. I live with this, but I think that all priests (within my scope of reference) are the same. None of us fully fill the priest-shaped hole that we have fashioned and formed throughout our own upbringing. We are, in many ways, constantly chasing the rainbow that will never be to our touch. Mine is not a life of constant disappointment though. It is a life of pursuing a state that for now elludes me. The odd thing is, the pragmatic part of me knows I will never get there - but in the effort to try and be the best priest that I can be, I can't find a way to grasp that sense.

Blogging Etiquette - for Priests

This thing that we do, blogging, is a reasonably new thing. It is odd and still strange to a good number of people and so it seems to fall to bloggers to expound the rule-book (were such a thing to exist) to those following shortly behind. Bloggers blog, then they tell other bloggers how to blog. There is a specific appetite for such material if hit-counts are to be believed - so I work on the basis, as a fairly new bloggist in my own right, that this must be the case. 

I am increasingly of the opinion that there is an implicit etiquette in this activity, more especially where weirdos like priests have their crack at this particular whip. Priests are, by very definition, public figures (paid, employed or otherwise) as our titles and Orders have a valency of their own which cannot and should not be ignored. So, a Sunday List for you - one that is neither exhaustive or to be regarded as anything other than my opinion:

1. At the centre: I believe very firmly that if someone blogs as a priest, that they have a duty to centre all that they do on the hope of Christ. The hobby-horse becomes, after a while, a pain in the bottom! Individual posts must vary, of course, but a priest should always exhibit the hope and grace of God in the overall work.

2. Read Ye Lest Ye be Read: At the side of this post you will see a list of other blogs. Most bloggers display a 'blog-roll', partly to attract traffic and partly to create it for someone else. It is the community aspect of this passtime and is healthy and good. However, I believe too that a balance needs to be made in the authorship of those blogs. Priests can gain  considerably by reading often barely read, modest writings of ordinary lay Christians. Their blogs tell us what those in our care are thinking, and we ignore them at our peril. They write without the constraints of Orders, the need to be sensitive or to package things for public consumption. One of my blogs-of-choice is Daydreamer - who is a perfectly noble barometer for the life of our parishioners, and a woman who is blogging at the same rate as getting to know how to use a computer! Reading the high hitting levitous priestly writers is only half the job for us - find a parishioner and 'follow' them!

3. Word Counts: We have something to say and we say it in our blogs, but again, this is half the work for a priestly blogger. I am guilty of failing in this a lot of the time, but I wonder if it is not 'better' for us to write more words in comment on other blogs that are written in our own posts. Other blogs talk about other things, and to fail to engage in those postings is to state by actions that what we have to say is of greater value that what others have to say. I know that, for me, I sit here and blurt out an 'absolute statement' and post; then I play with the kids or eat (or sleep or do the paid job etc). I am trying to comment on other blogs more, as in those engagements I am likely to learn more in the end. Also, let us not forget our valency - rightly or wrongly - as we perhaps even have a duty to engage with those who share our hobby. 

4. For Whos Sake? The central kernal in offering spiritual direction is also applicable here. When we type our words, why are we doing it? Whilst I know no such bloggers personally, I have encountered writing here and there in other work that has taught me that self-aggrandising priestly bloggers are a danger. The 'look at me' tendency of some odd little outputs here and there is akin to the desire ot be ordained to the be one 'at the front' or 'to wear the uniform while walking the dog': just plain wrong. For the sake of clarity, I follow no such blogs  - but I will 'out' them the next time I find one. 

5. For Whos Sake II? I perhaps take this to the edge, but I am troubled by some blogs that would not reflect the person who people would expect to see the next Sunday. I am ranty and a little sweary at times, but I hope that in this blog you would read the same person who you would meet after. When people read the blogs of priests and other ministers, they expect a behaviour, rightly or wrongly, to be that of priest. Only blog what you are prepared to say from the pulpit - or else don't. To do otherwise causes injury, I believe - and that is not the business that any of us are in. 

This is the start - and I hope to be challenged, corrected or added unto below. What we do as priests, we don't do in our own name, and to forget that would be, well, difficult! 

To the blogs I follow - thank you for what you do to help me in this and for being a part of this funny world we inhabit; you all do far more for my writing than you imagine and I just love pawing over your work!