Circles and Straight Lines

The lasting effects of the glossolalia 

There are times in my standard Earth week when I find myself hanging with the dudes from the funky charismatic churches. The great joy of our Church of England, apart from the joy and solace to be found in the wording of draft amendments to draft bills for draught excluders is that we are a broad church.

At one end of the spectrum you get the funkies in their open-neck shirts, perma-smiles and and prayers that are two-thirds the word "just". At the other end, you get us old dears, in our black suits and white collars, quaffing gin and stinking of burned resins. And I think that it is a remarkable and wonderful organisation that can house us all. 

In wider society, there is talk of high and low, or else of candles and the upper or lower placings thereon. In other words, one would imagine that my brothers and sisters from the bean-bag edifices of the Holy Stage-Set were the furthest end of the continuum from us from the "if it ain't prehistoric it just ain't cool, man" wholly cluttered-up edifices. Nothing in common, differing emphases on the persons of the Godhead, different outfits, different language and all that. 

I used to think that too. I am the first to say that much of the charismatic wing is a complete mystery to me and I fit into it like my feet do my daughter's fluffy slippers. Equally, I know that my mates from the charismatic wing think me basically papist and a throwback to times before churches had electricity. And that is fine. Actually, it presents a perfect balance - I think. 

Rather than a straight-line with ends - us on one, them on t'other - I have now come to the point of view that despite previous best-efforts to deny this thrice until my cock crowed, we are actually a lot closer. I think the whole thing is a circle, not a line. What charismatic Anglicans and Anglo-catholics have in common is a deep sense of engaging physically with the worship in which we are part. The truth be told, we all wave our arms around and I could no more not cross myself at a Blessing than they elevate arms in praise songs. It isn't contrived - it is just who we are. You look at a picture of a large act of worship at the cathedral church of the Holy Trinity in the Archdiocese of Brompton, and you would see as much smoke, light and effect accompanying the music as in the spikiest of High Church shrines. Perhaps the music is different and we use different linguistic styles, but in the end, we tune ourselves into the bit of God we understand most of all in a physical and specifically tactile way. I sort of get it, truth be told. 

In the end, I think we are all a lot more similar than any of us would have courage to admit. There is always the danger that particularism will prevail and "mine" becomes better than "yours" which does nothing but stifle this wonderful breadth of ours. The more that "we" can be "us" and "you" can do the same, I think that the balance achieved is the best in the world. However, for now I will leave it that in the great circle of church existence, only the accidentals stop us from being rather alike. 

I am Neither a Catholic Nor a Mum

The perfect storm?

No, but I am a parent and a Christian. 

It's a funny old thing - this business of self-applied labels. 'Momhood' is prevalent in our world, indicating that Moms are either somehow very very organised as a tribe, or else genuinely the better parent in any two-parent-child combo. You will never hear "speaking as a parent ..." and even less often "speaking as a daddy...", but you will regularly hear "speaking as a mother ...". Funny isn't it. It permeates into the interweb and its life too - I am not sure I have seen or heard of DaddySnot, but MumSnot is all the rage. Politicians' entire careers and conglomerated companies' entire fiscal output is mitigated by the pleasure or displeasure of MumSnot. And good for them. Without mums there would be no need for Dads. And that. 

The same applies to church life too. If asked, I am a Christian. Speak to millions of others and they are not Christians they are, without any hesitation, Catholics. In my entire lengthening life I have never heard anyone make the statement: "I am an Anglican ...". I have certainly heard "If you are not a Catholic, what religion are you then?".

I have pondered this over years. To be a Catholic is to be a proud-and-out Catholic. To be from my clan is to be "Christian", and if asked what sort -  "Church of England" as eyes flick left to right. It doesn't effect the Methodists - they seem proud to label themselves so. I wonder sometimes if the world, including its members, regard "Anglican" as a euphemism for "mediocre", or "not really any specific type of Christian, it's just that I do to church and hope not to be spotted too often". 

It is fair to say, to paraphrase the Pub Landlord, that if you want rules where do you go? The Roman Catholic Church. If you don't want rules, it is not France you go to, but the Blessed Cee of Ee. In a world where choice seems to be the choice of choice, it is odd to me that a denomination that is so clear about its rules and limitations, teachings and edicts (and I offer no criticism at that whatsoever), is made up of members so proud to apply the name to themselves. We on this side of the Tiber, unbounded by rules (with the ones we have so easily abandoned if a pulpit and an altar really don't work with a set of speakers) and apparently so free to live as God made us, seem almost fearful of claiming membership to this august body of disciples. 

Some of you may think that it is only a name, and therefore not important. I think that name is hugely important to us - it is our badge, our "who we are", until it comes to our ecclesial badge. In this life, you are either the brick or the mortar - and I would love for a time when "Anglican" didn't still mean "just not Roman Catholic". 

I am not sure what this makes members of the OrdinaryHat - that is too much for my tiny brain

Ecclesial Anxieties

 What I am about to write is nobody’s fault (I think). It is probably part of the warp and weft of church life and also the fact that tides ebb and flow over decades. It is also because of some events in recent years and recent weeks, and I hope it is not a thing that will calcify into something permanent.

The brand of priest and Christian that I am is in the decline and under serious threat. I speak, of course, as a liberal Anglo-Catholic (as distinct from one who would apply the word ‘traditionalist’ to himself these days). I am a dog-collar wearing, black clad, sacramental, open-minded, priest, and I must report, dear readers, that I am nearly the last in a nearly extinct breed of Christian. I can offer a couple of examples from my present circumstance.

1. Deanery Chapter – this is a gathering of the local Anglican clergy in the town. They are lovely warm and wonderful people, but in their company, I am very much the odd-one-out, ecclesially. Not their fault, nor mine. I am the only one in that gathering (normally) who would be referred to as ‘Father …’ and there is actually a considerable distance between where I am where they are. Not their fault, nor mine.

2. My curate peer-group – this is a gathering of those of us who were ordained in the same academic year. Here, I really am the last of a dying breed. Very often I would be the only one in a collar (and would be gently ribbed for so doing), and very often the only one in the room not to know the words to the song in question, for example. Not their fault, nor mine.

The fact of it is, it’s hard. It is hard being different, the odd-one out. Not only that, but now those of us who are this way are incorrectly labelled as the next coach-load to be leaving for the Ordinariat. We are not. We support the ordination and consecration of women. We always did; we just love our ceremony ritual and focus on the sacraments. We delight in the priesthood of all ordained people – be they male female gay or straight. The thing is that when stood alone in a large gathering feeling a little like the one who rolled up in fancy-dress, it starts to gnaw away at one’s confidence. When I worship among those for whom the Eucharistic is out-moded and passé (and frankly wholly unfamiliar) it causes me to wonder if I somehow missed a bus in my mid-twenties and that I have been left behind.  It is hard at times. I also feel that I have to be on the defensive all the time, to try and justify who and what I am.

I write this post after a gathering of a good proportion of the diocese curates and in which we enjoyed a wonderful act of worship, among other things. That act of worship was a fusion of the traditional (meant in the traditional sense) with the very contemporary, with ‘old’ words and ‘new’ music. For me (and I believe others) it was a wonderful time, holy and Spirit-filled, and I have no aversion at all to it. Yet what an effort to bring us to a point of commonality (speaking as the one who ‘designed’ the liturgy). As I commented at one point – how did we ever become so polarised?

I am not sure how I want to end this post, except to say that at times I feel sad, and at times I feel under siege. I don’t want to feel or be irrelevant, and I want to be or feel like a vestige of something long forgotten and wholly irrelevant. I didn’t like having fun poked at me by other priests because of the uniform I wear, but I put up with it.

So I will fight for my survival and that of my breed of Christian, for that is all I can do.