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. 

Cause for a Little Pride and Optimism

 A little heart-warmer for a brisk but beautiful autumn day ...

Recently, a man came to my door. He was a nice bloke, just one in a certain amount of difficulty. He was quick to reassure me that he wasn't at my door for pocket-change, or a sandwich, or even to propagate some wonky proto-Scriptural sentiment. 

Indeed, the man in question claimed to be at my door to offer me, of all things, some feedback. I confess that I wondered where this may be leading, and as I hadn't recently delivered a seminar to middle-management or else to ordinands, such as demand a crisp white A4 sheet for application of like feedback. No, I was (at that moment) mid-holiday, shabby chic and half asleep! Maybe he had seen into the kitchen window and wanted to invite me to show some pride in my appearance, I don't know!

No - he came bearing feedback of something that made my day.

He was, as I have said, in a certain amount of difficulty - difficulty that manifested itself in his attire and demeanor. He had been sitting on the steps that lead to the back door of the church building, looking like a man in difficulty. He told me all about it. Then it happened. The faithful starting arriving for the early Eucharist when not one, not two, but three of the passing ladies didn't give him a wide berth, but went up to him. They asked if he was alright and if there was anything that they could do to help him. He graciously declined and they went on their way. 

The man wanted me to know that those ladies hadn't gone out of their way to avoid him. They didn't look away and pretend he wasn't there. They approached and they asked. He wanted me to know how touched he was by their kindness. They had gently invited him to the service but didn't push the point. They didn't reprimand him for being where he was, but met him there. They made his day. They made him snap out of the mental anguish that he was enduring at that moment and caused him to realise that life had hope, that people were good. He told me all about it and thanked me for my flock and for what they had done to help him through a very dark day. 

He also told me that once he had gathered his thoughts, and when the service had ended, that he went into the church to play some hymns on the piano that we have. He is a concert pianist apparently. Was that ok, he asked me? I should say!

No Vicar glowed with greater pride than I did that day. We rather boldly claim here that we are "the heart of Christ in the heart of Whitton", a claim it seems that we can make with some justification. 

Old and Knackered?

Picture courtesy of Dan Cloake, an Officer of the Law

And so it was that the fourth decade ended and the fifth began!

Yesterday was my birthday. It wasn't just any old birthday - oh no. It was my fortieth birthday. Some say that life begins. Others would say that it is all downhill (if the cards are anything to go by). 

These 'big birthdays' are a timely moment for pause and reflection. I stopped to think what I was doing as I lurched into my thirties - a day that felt like it was a week ago. Then I was peddling my wares in a West London carpet shop and doing alright with that. I was already married (and had been for five years by then) to the Fragrant Yet Rarely Smelly Mrs Acular (whom I saw a day a fortnight due to working arrangements). We were living as a couple in Sussex and I trudged to work daily through a ninety-minute-plus commute. All my hair was brown, I was in debt up to my nostrils, drove a fast car that I didn't own, in a house I borrowed and with as much sleep as I needed on my days off. Priestly ministry was a pipe-dream-calling that seemed an unlikely matter never destined to be fulfilled. I had stopped going to church because of the work I did and the hours it demanded of me. 

This time around, I am forty and the browns are giving way to the whites and the silver. I am the good side of the lengthy process that means I am undertaking the ministry I was created and born to do. I am a priest in God's Church. I am working in such a good parish setting that I truly wouldn't wish to be anywhere else right now (sincerely). I am blessed with two perfect and wonderful children who do more to make me happy than any humans could ever hope to do - and they don't even try. My amazing soul-mate and wife is still by my side and we now even manage to get a day together in the week. I have gathered more wonderful and generous friends. I feel like I have settled in to my own life for the first time and can, for the first time since I started working, not worry about the next house move, job move, or role-shift. I can finally dedicate myself to what I am and to what I do, and do justice to the short moments that I call my life. 

So, I am forty. I am a decade light of life compared to that moment what I flicked thirty. However, I busked my way through that decade hoping for something more at every stage. I was on my way to a place I didn't know and couldn't see and I spent more of that decade wishing myself away from where I was than to remain where I found myself. Now, I have it all. I lack for nothing. I can truly and honestly say, without pathos or drama, that if it came to an end for me tomorrow I could not ache for the things I didn't have or do. The only ache would be for not having more of the same. 

Happy birthday to me. 

Loose Liturgy

This is for you Anglo-Catholics and you Charismatics out there!

This is Easter Day, the culmination of the arduous journey of Lent, the steep climb of Holy Week, the pause for relief of Mothering Sunday, the agony of the Passion and the desolation of the Cross. Today is the day when we see Him rise. 

I sit here as a tired little curate, one who earned his pennies this last few weeks. The last twenty-four hours, in our church, have witnessed some extra-ordinary scenes, liturgically speaking. What we witnessed was lively liturgy, liturgy in the moment, worship of the second and of the people there - but I have discovered that it doesn't happen by accident.

Last night we had the great celebration of the Easter-eve Vigil, and with it twelve confirmations and eight baptisms. That meant that we had to re-arrange the church to accommodate what was to take place and those who would  come to witness it (a case for churches without pews, just there). Having such a large gathering comprising many who were strangers to our edifice meant that we were often at the mercy of circumstance, within a framework. I am fast learning that 'catholic' acts of worship are at their best if they compromise to the moment. A liturgy that is wrought-iron might look fabulous and is without doubt beautiful, but it offers no room to breathe. A loose liturgy knows where it is going, what needs to happen, and also what can be sacrificed if the need arose. For the gathering, we hope a healthy mix of the formal and the informal; for the priests, a considerable effort not unlike sailing a yacht close to the wind. Our liturgy was acrobatic, spontaneous catholic liturgy, and it worked. 

Today's celebration of Easter welcomed three little ones for baptism. It meant yet more welcome guests who were unsure of what they were doing. It meant, happily, a coach-load of visiting kids who felt comfortable in our Medieval Barn. Some parents worried that their children were too boisterous, but they weren't.

Knowing what is meant to happen when and where is important. It means that liturgy has structure, direction, flow and meaning. I am not one for excessive spontaneity for fear of getting to the end without having journeyed to all the places required, so I have learned the art of holding tight to the rope, while it hangs loose. To a casual observer, the Eucharist may have seemed chaotic, and perhaps in odd moments it was. I firmly believe that good liturgy tabs into order at given points, with times of fluidity interspersed between them. It is, I think, more tiring for we the leaders of the service, but that is the joy of our work. To be thanked by a visitor to our church with comments about how the formal and informal was helpful, made my day.

Happy Easter to you all. Christ is risen, Alleluia, Alleluia!