Here Comes de Bryde

There was a time when I would tell you that I preferred taking a funeral to a wedding any time. If pressed further, I would claim that it is because of the "why they are here" dimension of it all and yes, there are a few couples who seem to favour the pretty pictures and only God-lite. 

But only a few. 

I have just finished conducting a cracking wedding here. It was life-giving for me, and I think that it might have been for the assembled crowd too. We laughed a lot, and even the forecast and inevitable rain stopped a very helpful four minutes before the bride emerged from the antique Roller. The power of prayer, I tell you ... 

As I pondered the increasing queue for the loo post-nuptials (and my word, what a lengthy queue it was for the single Necessarium in the building) it occurred to me that I might have been characteristically harsh on weddings. In the first place, the couple chose us - we didn't choose them. We had the honour of saying "yes" to them. Within the myriad options that exist for couple these days, that a pair would choose us is not to be taken for granted. Then they invited their friends and family to a place that they have grown comfortable with through the time of preparations - and a group of people who were complementary of the church and of the service. They gave us a go too.

I reflected too upon some of the weddings I have been privy too that have not been in a church setting. Some are exquisite and meaningful affairs, but many are not. Taking God out of the equation leaves you with a book to sign and person in a suit to work out how to stretch that moment out beyond three or four minutes. The fact is, churches are gifted in this ministry - we have had lots of practice I guess.

As with funerals, we as priests get (DV) one go to take our place in realising a meaningful moment in someone's earthly existence. They needn't come to us, but they do, and we should be glad of the opportunity. They choose hymns and sing them, they choose Scripture and pray the prayers. I have also noticed a new level of creativity on the part of couples. They know well what they want and envisage every moment in detail. It seems to me a great opportunity, once again, to enable - as distinct from chuntering about proper music in church. I have witnessed some fantastic things this year in the weddings I have conducted - some true creativity and expression, and I am at peace with all of it (mostly). In fact, I am learning a thing or two along the way. In the middle of these remarkable ceremonies, with all the quirky touches and questionable rhyme, there is a couple, God, and love. 

You can't want for more than that, surely. 

The Day the Bishop Came

What a wonderful day!

You may remember me saying that last Sunday was the day we would be welcoming (or not, as it is his church, but you know what I mean) the Bishop of London to our little edifice. It was always going to be a complex piece of liturgy, given that it had baptisms (2), confirmations (12), a flavour of a dedication festival and the mighty Harvest Festival thrown in for good measure. The church comfortably seats 150 but we shoehorned 176 into the wonky pews, and yes, the Sun she shone.

First things first - I was nervous. The Eight O'clockers were probably short-changed as my mind raced forward to the next service, and I get hopelessly tongue-tied with the BCP Rite when my mind wanders. Yes, I was nervous - but no-one told me that +Richard was flippin' huge. I am a tall bloke but he made me feel short and that happens rarely! Slap the pointy titfer on his head and he was in very serious danger of colliding with sanctuary lamps! 

That all said, my nerves weren't really required. He was gracious, encouraging, relaxed and happy to 'be pushed around where he was needed', and from the first encounter was a joy to have around. He was interested in the history of our church (in this its 150th year) and waxed lyrical about it on more than one occasion. Before doing the things that I would normally do when going into a church for the first time (things that involve words, robes and 'where would I stand when ...'), he walked with me to the Parish Hall to meet the candidates. He took the time to speak to each in person, and privately - gave them a letter and a card, and did a remarkable thing - remembered their names from that moment onwards (and made something of a party-trick of it later). I could tell that he had made each of the candidates feel special taking interest in their names and stories. The younger ones loved him!

I needn't have worried. I sense that he knew a little about me, had made an educated guess that I may have been bricking it, and did much to reassure me that all would be well. The sound system failed but he made light of that, and if anyone has a voice to fill our shoe-box of a church, it is him. He preached beautifully on the subject of love ("knowledge puff up, love builds up") and the gathered assembly were rapt. Now, boys and girls - a lesson for you if you write a blog. The bishop not only referred to this blog, but quoted from it, in his sermon (in a good way, I think). If you write a blog, remember the possibilities as regards readers and never presume that someone doesn't! Enough said. 

All went very well indeed. He even whipped up the candidates to re-do a response because they weren't loud enough, and that added a dimension of relaxedness to the occasion that made it work so well. At the end, when it came to candles, he joked that "we will need a production line here, brothers". 

The candidates were confirmed, their guests fed, our local history-buff put in direct contact with 'the right person', approaching 200 people happy, a Vicar relieved and a congregation affirmed. Could I have asked for more? Not one bit. It isn't often that little parishes get to receive the Big Guns, but our day will be one that we treasure for a very long time. 

...and we thank him, most sincerely!

The Hidden Meaning of Confirmation

There will be those who can cite Hippolytus of Rome at a thousand paces or else give you the stock  Liturgical Commission interpretation of what a Confirmation Service is all about. Yes, it is the moment when someone who was probably baptised as an infant stands before the world to declare their faith for themselves. Yes, it is the time when the Holy Spirit is invoked through the laying-on of hands so that the process begun at baptism is consummated. Yes, those who are in a cynical mood might tell you that it is a neat way of keeping bishops out in parishes, but for me it is far more. 

Tomorrow sees the first Confirmation Service that I have organised as a Vicar. I have put the liturgy together, provided some education and made sure that lemons and rose-water were obtained by a kindly sacristan. I am reliably informed that with twelve candidates it is the  'biggest' confirmation for as many years and we will be celebrating that with our diocesan bishop. It is also, fittingly, our parish harvest festival and just to add more to the mix, the end of a specific period of celebration  for the 150th anniversary of the founding of the parish. 

For the first time since I have been ordained, this confirmation reminds me of my own in 1983. Confirmed by the wonderful (and to this Christian, very special) Peter Ball, it was an occasion not just for my faith, but for everyone else's too. I remember the day, the family celebrations, the parish church's feeling of overwhelming joyfulness, and a whole manner of other things that for this 11 year old, sealed the day firmly in my heart. 

We have a large number of candidates, period - let alone for a small parish church in days when it reputed that church attendance is dwindling (not here, mate). I have a faint concern that we might actually not be able to seat everyone, but I leave that concern un-uttered. We will be a church full of guests and new visitors who will experience a service (I believe) that will rock their socks. Plans are made, rehearsals will happen and the day will arrive - and a 150 people will know how faith in Christ is alive. Twelve wonderful candidates will leave church changed. And so will the rest of us - because I don't believe that anyone who cares enough about the stuff of faith can remain impartial and unchanged when vocations are exposed and blessed. 

In this little church in west London, we celebrate with Leon, Tricia, Quais, Sarah, Miriam, Claire, Heidi, Marie, Roxane, James, Mia and Jeff - for those being confirmed and standing up to be counted as God's Chosen. We celebrate too for our own sake, as this is our day of confirmation too. 

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. 

The Jewels of Ministry

A Note to God

Every once in a while, in good times and in bad, the Good Lord presents moments that shine brighter than any light. I am delighted that today provided one such moment for me.

Just as I started preparing lunch for the family, I received a call from a lady who had taken the number from the church notice-board by the road (that she managed to read it was a miracle in and of itself). She and her husband were celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary, and as they had been married in Ss Philip & James, could they pop by and visit the church as they were in the area?

Yes, of course, said I. When? This afternoon is fine. See ya then! 

They were with me in the church for the first time since they were married, took some pictures, commented on the changes (of which there were few apparently), and reminisced about their wedding day and the guests. Then Vicar Boy had an idea, one that I presented to them tentatively. They agreed

... and so we had a spontaneous Service for the Renewal of Marriage Vows (as I had the right book to hand). Irrespective of whose idea it was, it was a truly magical moment that made a couple older than my own birth parents newly weds all over again, and acted that way too. If this is parish ministry, then it is the best of things. 

The Thing That Excites Clergy

I grant you that it is the only day in the week that we work, and I grant you that in normal circumstances the work that we do fills only some of the day. It is properly hard being a cleric - such arduous lives. 

Some of you who are reading this and are ordained, or indeed any of you might know what I am referring to. It is that sense of excitement as Sunday approaches. Whether we are leading worship, partaking in it or just observing (itself a useful pastime) - Sundays approach withe a sense of happy anticipation for many of us. 

Perhaps it is just me!

It is often that time when our whole (or a larger part of) community gathers together. Yes, it is a time for gossip and that can often permeate the first verse of the first hymn, but it is a time when we gather as the faithful children of Christ to worship and adore. Some of us, if we are of that tradition, may find renewed sustenance in the Holy Matter of the Eucharist, or simply the release of happy chemicals in the blood when we sing for all we are worth. Compelling times, mostly always happy, with friends and those of a like mind - so why wouldn't we look forward to it. 

Enjoy your Saturday wherever you are reading this - tomorrow is our day once more. 

A Shona Mass, a Gift from Zimbabwe

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Today I have had the particular joy of sharing a Mass with my very dear friends from the Zimbabwean community. Not in Britain by choice, they have moved here and made new lives, families often split even now. I asked them to repeat this hymn in their own language which is my favourite. In the best of time and the worst of times (and 'worst' as I could hardly ever imagine), their faith is summed up in the joy and passion of this hymn. As I said to them, as a result of knowing them I am glad and proud to apply the label of Anglo-Catholic Charismatic to myself. Zimbabwean charismatic worship is still very 'catholic' in flavour, and no-one there could deny the presence of the Holy Spirit. 

Another wonderful, painful, joyful, devastating moment of goodbye - though I hope for only a short while. I sense that I will see these wonderful Christians some more. 

Please do watch the video (forgiving my blunt direction to start them off) - this is the beat of my heart. 

Envisioning One Vision

Apart from being among my favourite Queen songs, 'one vision' is fast becoming my stalking horse. Actually, the words of the song are helpful for many church communities, but that is besides the point!

I am, as you may have noted already, in a liminal space. I am slowly leaving one ministry while at the same time mentally engaging with the next. Yes, that engagement is more to do with the temporal issues of housing and schools, but in the background a whole array of mental processes are springing to life.

Actually, that is not true. If my 'Whitton' stream of thought were a garden, it would be an overgrown jungle of a mess. I have not enough time left on this planet in the best case scenario to ever see through every idea and passion that is growing like bindweed in my little bonce. If I took the time to write them down they may even extend beyond the realms of the humanly possible over centuries. Call it ecclesial daydreaming, but whatever else, it is a nice thing to do. 

However, there is a danger. The vision for Whitton will only be partly mine, and entirely rooted in the 'then and there'. My daydreams are currently out of context and very probably rooted in the happy idyll of curacy. Whilst this daydreaming is good, it is mostly in vain - mostly. In the end, the vision for my next ministry is mine, and only in that it affects me. Any vision I may have for the parish will need to be based upon much listening and talking. That excites me no end. 

Curates who are (or have been) blessed with the prospect of the next job will know what I mean in all of this. For us our dreams are slowing coming true and the aspirations of many years of religiously based fantasising have but moments to draw close to life and light. The tendency is perhaps for us to seek to run before we can walk, of charging in like bulls in china shops - a tendency that we absolutely must temper. All I know with complete certainty is that the transition will be a bitter-sweet thing from a much loved ministry into the unknown, and that in working towards that Whitton One Vision I must take time, work hard and enjoy the journey. It is also worth noting that the soon-to-move-cleric can probably see the most potential in a church - reason enough that we move around from time to time.

I can't wait. 

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!

What is The Price of a Smile?

You don't need to say it, I just know. Go on, you missed me, didn't you! It's alright, I don't mind you saying so!

Enough of that. I am back in the saddle after a week away with the family and the wife's family in a wooded place without cars where food is costly and the coffee strong. I have cycled up hills, climbed unimaginable heights, spent so much time swimming that under this black shirt I still look like a flabby walnut, have eaten more food than Mr Creosote, slept more than I have in years and won an immoral amount of money at poker (imaginary poker, imaginary money, computer game on the gadget). All in all, a good week has been had, and as I sit here in the middle of my first proper day back, it is a clear blue day and the sun is bright and warm. Kids, I am on top of the world.

I have a choice. I could have written one of about eleven currently embryonic blog posts that clutter my blog-cortex. I choose not to, because I simply want to record how I feel being me in this moment. I think my choice was also made when I saw how many grumpy blog posts were in my Reader, and knowing that I am apt to collude and add to their number, have opted not to! As an aside, what a miserable whining lot us bloggers are at times?! Anyway ...

I want simply to say that I feel great today. I have over a hundred emails wanting something from me, but I don't mind. I have a couple of acute pastoral conundrums to wrestle with, and that is alright too. The garden has sprung into life and needs taming. The cars are be-speckled with the gloop of country roads and need cleaning. All this is just fine. Lent is fast approaching and I have to fully resolve how I will observe it - but that just doesn't seem to matter. I am feeling good, the world is bright, the colours are more radiant, I am capable of anything, nothing can stop me this day. In this day I have received so much already, and the price of a smile? Simply the cost of being glad for what I have. 

The True Meaning of Christmas

As a former retailer, I long grieved the loss of Christmas! I have always been a Christian, but retailing in England is not always a positive experience. Yes, we hear much about how retailers fail their customers, but I can also add much in the way of balance when I recall some of the abuses I suffered at the 'hands' of those who considered that spending sixty quid in my flooring emporium earned them the right to be abusive! Christmas was something of a bottle-neck in this trend, with those busy in their preparations lost in an internal mire of stress and pressure! We need only look at the faces of shoppers in the run up to the Big Day (from about August onwards), and you will not see much joy, I can tell you. In my former life, the big issue was 'I need to have that carpet in the spare room before Christmas, or life as we know it will surely end'. Why, because the third-cousin-twice-removed was going to stay over, unwillingly, for the night. Please believe me, lovely Christmas reader, that if that carpet did not (or could not) get stapled to the floor boards in time for grumpy-drawers, my life would be rendered invalid. Oh, the names I have been called, all in the name of pre-Christmas preparation ...

Is my point made: do you get the idea?

I have just spent (most of) my first Christmas Eve as a Priest, and have had the pleasure of a number of chance encounters, and also the annual Crib Service. Inclement weather prevented Dandy the Donkey making his now regular appearance, which was a worry to me, given my daughters would surely have sobbed their hearts out once they were told!

Not a bit of it. We had a whole cohort of kids, all tea-towelled up for the Nativity Scene (for those of you resident in England who are unfamiliar with a Nativity Scene, ask me afterwards, as there are sure to be many of you in enlightened 21st Century Buckinghamshire). We had Angels, we had animals (two of which were ably acted out by my own little cherubs). We had Dolly Jesus, a bale of hay and carols. Perfect.

This is where the meaning of Christmas truly lays. The faces on the kids, the eagerness and pure innocent joy in their hearts, the rabble born of such joyous energy - all these things are signs of what a Christmas is all about. Christmas is a celebration of childhood, and a celebration of family. It is a new begininnig, a fulfilling of a promise long made. It is about the purest emotions that humans can experience, and they remain unfettered and undiluted in children. I wish with utter passion that I could have just a little of that unbridled joy back in my heart, but I rejoice that I am blessed sufficiently that I can see Christmas through the eyes of my daughters. Jessica sang 'Twinkle Twinkle little Star' all by herself in front of 200 strangers in the vast county church, and did it like it was a routine matter. She could barely lay her head on her pillow earlier tonight, not because of Santa (though he is eagerly expected), but because she had been a donkey for baby Jesus.

My daughter, two years old, has worked out the importance of Incarnation - and that makes her among one of the keenest pure theologians ever - if only she knew it.

Happy Christmas, and God Bless