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!

Lessons from The Catholic

Picture with thanks to the Telegraph

Many in my parish would think me a Roman Catholic, and for a number of reasons. First I am known as Father; secondly, I wear some semblance of clerical uniform and only in the colour black; thirdly I know what a cassock is and make use of one from time to time; fourthly, I know when it is better to wear a cotta and not a surplice; fifthly, I can tell my amice from my pumice; and lastly, I wear a small courgette upon my head at odd times during the week (if courgette = zucchetto). Indeed, when I pitched up at church last year wearing a black skull-call there were those who thought I was about to swim the Tiber, drag the parish with me, or else do that strangest of things, and become a member of the Ordinariate! 

No, brothers and sisters, I am a catholic, not a Catholic! 

That all said, what a time to be Roman. I have to say, out and loud, that I am a fan of Pope Francis I, Bishop of Rome - known to himself as Father Bergoglio. He strikes me as a man from whom we could all learn a great deal on a whole number of fronts.

As I cast my world-weary eye across Christianty, I see evidence of much in the way of admonition. There is much that we shouldn't do, mustn't do, ought not do, must never do, or else can't do. In the press today, Christians are telling off atheists for having a view of their own that is not supportive of us. As a result of our Scriptures we have lots of rules (let's call a collection of rules a law, shall we) and we will work tooth and nail to apply those rules to the societies of which we are part. Our Christian Lore is now applied behind the smiling facade of caffe latte, but nonetheless with convicted vitriol. If you don't claim a full personal relationship with Jesus Christ, you are somehow delinquent. 

So back to Pope Francis. I would go so far as to say that among the 'famous' Christians of our time, he is by far and away the most Christ-like. I even think he would shudder to read such words, which is sign yet further of the truth of them. He seems, in his early ministry as Pope, to have moved away from the Christian appetite for admonition - setting aside Christian Lore for what Jesus called us all to do first - and to love our neighbours as ourselves. 

An article in the press today tells of the Pope ringing up an Argentinian woman to tell her, in person, that she may receive Holy Communion. Yes, this is a story subject to validation and has a myriad theological questions at the heart of it, but what struck me was not so much the article itself (which was wonderful, if it is true), but the Lore-makers in the Comments section below. They will have knotted their digits trying to pontificate as urgently as they seemed to want to. Instead of preaching grace and love in their comments, they belched dogma! On one hand, you have this smiling grandfather figure allowing a faithful woman into the sacrament of God - and on the other, some pinch-lipped poe-faced theological types in their birettas stomping their sanctuary slippers in a temper. 

Which would bring you to faith?

Yes, Jesus set out guidelines for us to follow, but the first is this - that we love. The Pope, a man who takes a bus, washes the feet of Muslim prisoners, telephones parishioners, owned a Harley and does so with a beguiling smile is, I believe, doing more good for Christendom than

so many Lore-types. I doubt that he would stomp up to me and check my passport for entry in the borderlands of personal-relationships with Jesus, but rather exhibits a joy in his relationship that would convert me to faith in a breath, were I not already there. Put another way, Pope Francis has taken upon him that quality of Jesus Christ that was the greatest gift to humanity, his own humanity. 

The Value of Doing Easter in full

I am not a ridiculously pious man, despite my calling and present ministry. Indeed, some often claim surprise when they discover that do indeed have a spiritual side - a matter for concern perhaps, but not one that I lose sleep about just now. The fact is, I am a fairly normal type - maybe just not your typical rictus God-botherer.

Over the last few years I have been learning about something which, when expressed out loud as in the form of a blog post, seems obvious. Despite the impression of me that you may have formed if you read this thing often enough, I do not come from a heavily liturgical tradition of church. Indeed, my child-hood parish was a fairly straight-forward estate brick wigwam, blessed with a choir that could only sing in unison. I was not born into a bells-and-smells tradition - no: I chose it having tried other things first. 

As I have grown as a Christian, I have discovered the simple truth about Passiontide, Holy Week and Easter: the more I put in the more I get out. In simple terms, for me it is an all-or-nothing thing. 

As the Vicar, one of the things that I am required to do is to lay out the liturgical flow for the year. That I enjoy it and have something of a gift for it is besides the point (I am a crap preacher, so being good at something else is good). I sat in the immediate wake of a happy Christmas and made choices - not for me, but for the good people of Whitton, not least among whom are the worshippers at this here edifice. I pondered last year at the feed-back that I received after the first such sweeps of ceremonial formed by my vicarly hand, and it was good. It observed the very thing that I myself feel when I seek the Lord - that the more you put in the more you get out. This seems to be the plimsoll line for ritualist Christians. 

And so I drafted the list of services between Palm Sunday and Easter. Upon emailing it, I could sense the gasps, but it was my sense that it was my job to take my people on a journey with Christ. Yes, it needed flavour above and beyond the purpose presented in the Story, so we had Healing on one day, Meditation on another and longer prayers on another. It struck me last year that different people come to different things, so Good Friday was an epic Whitton marathon (for me and the three others who did all of it) of more than nine hours of worship. Each was well-attended and often by very distinctive groups of people. However, it was also having an effect on me - this year I have done more than I have been party to or have lead in previous years and in simple terms - the effect of the entire story on me was yet greater than it had previously been. The more I did, personally, the more I felt connected. 

My abiding memory of this year was being sat in the hall next to my wife watching The Passion of the Christ after a day of liturgising. She was weeping as the film ended and others were holding one another in consolation. For me, Easter 2013 will be characterised by people 'getting it', maybe for the first time. As I look back on the last ten days, I think perhaps more is more. How could anyone ever fully appreciate the joy and cost of Easter in just one visit?

The Service of Light

Last Sunday, Remembrance Sunday, seemed to me to be the ideal day to hold our annual Service of Light. For those of you unfamiliar with this act of worship, it is a simple service of words and music and which finds its focus in candle-lighting. It is a service aimed at and tailored for those who have lost loved ones in recent months - the newly bereaved if you will. We had scripture that spoke of Christ's triumph over death and music that took them on a journey from grief to hopefulness. It is also the second time this year that, in this church at least, I read the names of the faithful departed (first time being the night of All Souls). It is a service suffused in silence, some gentle chanting from the Taize corpus, the calling of the names, and the short procession to the front for that specific act of remembrance in the lighting of a simple tea-light. Some came, lit and paused. Some came, lit and fled in tears. Some came, lit and helped the next person with their candle. In itself, the lighting of candles was an interesting phenomenon to watch unfold. 

My preparation for the service was simple. I wrote to all the families for whom I conducted funerals, and on the day provided simple tea/pastries refreshments. We are blessed with controllable lighting, so the scene was set for the service to begin. The candles were the focus, not the halogens that normally carry the burden. 

I noticed two things this year. First was that we doubled numbers from the previous year. Second was how many families came along - not just the 'next of kin' individually (as I had expected, and who had received the letter). 

After the service, I took the valuable opportunity to get around as many people as I could. It was clear to me that a good number of those present had travelled long distances, much as they had on the day of the funeral in question. Digging a little deeper, it became clear that these families had (it may seem obvious in hindsight) spent the day together with the Service as their 'excuse'. In one case, I heard from a lady whose family had, on that day, committed to see more of her and they had resolved to gather monthly. 

When we priests/ministers conceive of these special services, it is easy to see them as the end and not the means to a greater end. Yes, the opportunity to light a candle, say a private prayer, to re-member whoever had died from their lives - all important. But not half as important as some of the unexpected behaviours. It, like our beloved Eucharists, was a family event. I grant you that, with one exception, it was a child-free service, and perhaps there is something to be taken from that (as most of these families will have had kids who themselves will have grieved these same deaths). In any instance, it was clear that God's purposes may have been slightly different to mine, and as always, in the very best of ways. 

(Oh, and most of them had, previously, claimed to be 'not really church going people')

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!

A Liturgy for the Making of Church Coffee

¶                 The Gathering and Presentation

At the entry of the teacups and the saucers a hymn may be sung.

Hymn – ‘What a friend we have in coffee’

The Greeting

The barista greets the people

Blessed be powder, granules, and all things Fairly Traded.

Blessed be his kitchen, now and for ever. Amen.

There is one cup and one saucer.

There is one coffee-morning to which we were called; 

one sugar, some milk, one teaspoon,

one stirring of all.

Caffeine be with you

and also with you.

The barista introduces the coffee morning

God calls his people to drink coffee, and forms us into a right royal 
cohort of the caffeine addicted, a holy huddle, to declare the wonderful 
deeds of him who has called us out of drowsiness into his 
marvellous high.
The Church is the Temple of Coffee, the people of coffee and the 
dwelling-place of the Coffee-Machine. In baptism the whole Church 
is summoned to witness to God’s love and to work for the 
coming of better blends.

Prayers of Penitence

Invitation to confession

Jesus is the Good Barista:
in every generation he raises up trainee baristas,
to intoxicate the Church of God that he obtained with his
own blood. cf Acts 20.28 (ish)

We are grubby:
let us call to mind the times when we have failed to wash our mugs
and not rinsed the spoon.

All               Almighty God, our heavenly Father,
we have soiled you
and our neighbour
in spillage and ring and stain,
through negligence, through weakness,
through our own deliberate failure to use coasters.
We are truly sorry
and repent of all our rings.
For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ,
who died for us,
clean up us all that is brown
and grant that we may serve you in whiteness of life
to the glory of your name.
Amen.

Almighty God,
who forgives all who truly clean up,
have mercy upon you,
pardon and deliver you from all your stains,
confirm and strengthen you in all cleanness,
and keep you in coffee eternal;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

All                Amen.

The Presentation

Each tea cup is filled with powder

Reverend Father in God, I present this heaped teaspoon of coffee 
to be made into a drink in the Church of God.

When the teacups have been filled, the barista asks these questions, 
to which the appropriate persons respond

Have those whose duty it is to know this coffee and examine its 
flavour found it to be of suitable strength and Arabica roast?

They have.

Do they believe them to be duly fit for consumption?

They do.

The barista turns to the teacups and says

Do you believe that God is calling you to this ministry?

Teacups     I do so believe.

Barista        I invite the person on the Coffee Rota to confirm that the teacups 
                    have taken the necessary cleaning and made the Declaration of 
                   Appropriate Rinse.

They have duly taken the soap of cleaning and the tea-towel 
of drying. They have affirmed and declared their sparkle in 
'the cupboard which is opened in the tiny kitchenette and set 
forth in the melamine worktop and to which the saucers of the 
other cupboard bear witness'.

¶                The Liturgy of the Word

Either one or two readings from Scripture precede the Gospel reading.

Sermon

The Creed

All               We believe in one coffee,
the Father, the Barista,
maker of coffee and tea
of all that is,
strong and overly milky.

We believe in one powdered coffee, Fairly Traded,
the only choice for the church,
eternally begotten of the barista,
Coffee from Granules, Milk from Cows,
true coffee from true jars,
begotten, not made,
of one flavour with the mud;
through him all coffees were made.
For us and for our edification he came down from heaven,
was trained by Costa and the Traidcraft lady
and was made to wear a pinny.
For our sake coffee was percolated under Morphy Richards;
it suffered insufficient strength and was re-made.
On the third hour it was nearly ready
in accordance with the instructions;
it descended into chaos
and is stewing on the hotplate of the machine.
He will come again in glory to judge the coffee and the tea,
and of its flavour there will be no escape.

We believe in the sprinkly sugar,
the sweetness, the crystals in browned clumps,
who proceeds from the spoon and the sugar bowl,
who with the Coffee and the Tea is still now sweet and sticky,
who has been stirred through the teaspoon.
We believe in one brand of coffee an appalling instant.
We acknowledge one strength for the flavour of drinks.
We look for the caffeine withdrawals with the pain to the head
and the twitching of the life to come.
Amen.

¶                 The Liturgy of The Making

The Declarations

The teacups stand before the barista, who addresses the kitchenette

Barista       Teacups are called to work with the coffee rota volunteer and the Traidcraft ladies with whom they serve as heralds of the coffee morning. They are to house the coffee in powder and water, as agents of God’s purposes for drinks. They are to serve the community in which they are chipped, bringing to the Church the cakes and raffles of all the people. 
                   
                  They are to work with their fellow saucers in 

                   searching out the strong and weak, the milky and sweet and those who are who take it black, reaching    into the forgotten corners of the cupboards, that the dusty cups may be made visible.

Teacups sharein the coffee-making ministry of the Coffee Rota 
and in leading God’s people in refreshment. They hold the coffee 
and bring the needs of the thirsty before the coffee morning on the 
first Saturday of every month. They accompany those searching for 
caffeine and bring them to donations bowl. They assist in administering 
the tepid liquid; they distribute caffeine-highs and 
administer a shock to the system.

Teacups are to seek instant coffee from the Jar; they are to 
contain the heaped teaspoon before milk 
and water are added, that the whole Church may be equipped to drink 
in their brown nastiness. They are to be un-cracked, least chipped and 
decorated in the words of the last appeal for the roof, as God reveals
his kingdom among us in odd ways.

The barista addresses the teacups directly

We trust that you are fully determined, by the grace of God, to give 
yourself wholly to his coffee-morning, that you may draw his people
into that new life which only a sudden hit of caffeine can 
deliver.

And now, in order that we may know your mind and purpose, you must 
make the declarations we put to you.

Do you accept the coffee as revealing all things necessary for eternal 
awakedness through lack of slumber in bedtime routines?

Teacups     I do so accept them.

Will you be diligent in water-tightness, and in all cleansing that 
will deepen your shine and fit you to bear coffee for the lovely folk at church?

Teacups    

Do you believe the doctrine of the Fair Trade as the Church of England 
has received it, and in your ministry will you expound and teach it?

Teacups     I believe it and will so do.

Will you strive to make the coffee of Christ known through strength 
and stain, and have a particular care for those who should sip from you?

Teacups     By the help of God, I will.

Will you be a faithful servant in the kitchenette of the church, after 
the example of Christ, who came not to be drink coffee but to make it?

Teacups     By the help of God, I will.

Will you endeavour to fashion your own life and that of your saucer 
according to the approved cupboard stacking arrangements, 
that you may have a pattern approved in the late 1970s?

Teacups     By the help of God, I will.

Will you work with your fellow saucers in the soapy suds for the 
sake of the cleanliness for the next coffee morning?

Teacups     By the help of God, I will.

Will you accept the discipline of this Coffee Rota and give due 
                   respect to those on duty?

Teacups     By the help of God, I will.

Will you then, in the excessive strength of the granulated coffee, 
continually stir up the sludge of sugar that is in you, to grow in 
sweetness and taste?

Teacups     By the help of God, I will.

The coffee-morning people stand and the teacups turn and face them.

Brothers and sisters, you have heard how great is the charge 
that these teacups are ready to undertake, and you have 
heard their declarations. Is it now your will that they should be filled?

All               It is.

Will you continually stir them?

All               We will.

Will you uphold and balance them on their saucers?

All               We will.

The teacups turn back to face the barista, who continues, addressing them

Pray earnestly for the gift of Nescafe Gold Blend.

The teacups rattle before silence is kept.

The Making Prayer

The teacups sit to kneel before the barista, who stands with a spoon.

Barista        
                   We praise and glorify you, almighty coffee,
because in your infinite strength you have formed throughout 
                  the world a jittery people for your own possession,
an addicted people,
a universal headache.

We praise and glorify you
because you sent your only Son Jesus Christ
to take the form of a coffee-rota volunteer;
he humbled himself for our sake,
and in obedience accepted the fourth Sunday,
even during August.

We praise and glorify you
because in every age you send your boiled water
to fill those teacups whom you have overfilled with powder,
to equip your rota people for the work of coffee-mornings,
for the building up of the general fabric fund.

And now we give you thanks
that you have called these your teacups,
whom we fill in your name,
to share as vessels in the propagation of the Fairtrade muck,
who came not to be tasty but to morally robust,
and to give their capacity as a drink-holder for many.

Therefore, Father, through Christ our Lord we pray:

Here the barista places a heaped teaspoon of coffee in each teacup, saying

Send down the boiling water on your parish teacup
for the creation and sharing of strong coffee in your Church.

When the barista has laid hands on all of the teacups, the prayer continues

Through a dose of UHT, heavenly Father,
give these your teacups milky coffee far too strong.
Make them faithful to serve
and constant in advancing your caffeine in the world.
May they follow the example of Jesus Christ your Son,
who washed the cups of his parish,
and set the needs of coffee before others.

May their coffee be potent and flavour-devoid,
their slurps declare its temperature
and their winces reveal its nastiness,
that your people may walk away intoxicated and high
and be made jumpy for the coming of their day ahead;
to whom, with you and your Boiling Water,
belong granule and crystal, milk and a stir, now and for ages.

All                Amen.

The Tasting

The coffee-rota volunteer says to the newly made coffees

We taste not coffee but a vile concoction
and ourselves as your fools for not buying better.

All                We taste you as coffee in the hall:
may caffeine dwell in our bloodstream through sips,
that we may be rattled and jumpy for hours.

Prayer after Coffee

Silence is kept.

God, barista of the coffee,
whose servants Dow Egberts and Traidcraft revealed the coffee of 
Christ in their jars as purchases of your people:
by this coffee-morning in which we share
awaken within us the caffeine-high of poor coffee
and keep us awake for three days at a time;
through him who laid down his filter for us,
but is percolating and crewing with you, now and for ever.

All               Amen.

All may say this prayer

All               We thank you, gracious Vicar,
for welcoming our children to feast on the cakes;
by your raffle may we be victorious
and with your cheap prizes send us,
in the name of all that is just daft and silly. Amen.

¶                 

                  The Sending Out

A hymn may be sung and probably badly, but it’s all good, eh?

The Giving of the Leaflet

Barista         Receive this leaflet,
as a sign of the next event to be run by Churches Together
or else the local choral society.
Build them up by your attendance
and drink their coffee too.

Dismissal

Deacon        Go in the granules and milk of church coffee. (Alleluia, alleluia.)

All                I’d rather not. (Alleluia, alleluia.)

Copyright acknowledgement (where not already indicated above):

Some material included in this service is invented: ©  1973,

Greeting ©  A Friendly Christian

Some material included in this service is mocked: ©  The Archbaristas' Council 2000

Some material included in this service is mis-used: ©  The Archbaristas' Council 2005

Some material included in this service is silly: ©  The Archbaristas' Council

My New Favouritist Thing In the World for Today

While all of you have been sleeping and waking, working and playing, eating and drinking, fighting and loving - a process has been taking place that few people ever see. It is a thing that takes place in deepest darkest secret, emerging complete like a mysterious creation from another world.

Well, sort of.

Today I have been mostly building services - a sort of Liturgy Construction Site where the framework of our worship has taken form. 

And it is the most fun in the world, let me tell you (unless you happen to be my Sacristan [and he reads this] in which case it is a source of much concern).

With all services and liturgies, you could open up a book, start at the beginning and get to the end, doing as directed in a blind way until it becomes just another register entry. Alternatively, you can build a living thing, that has shades of light and dark, periods of noise and silence, spells of great pathos and emotion. And so it is that I have been putting together the big services that regale the Passion, Death and Resurrection of Our Lord. I have completed Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday, and rather than having formed four distinct liturgies, have crafted one liturgy in four movements. 

Fashioning liturgy is a wonderful thing, and this is the first year I have done it on this scale (for, perhaps, obvious reasons). Until now, I have picked up the book or Order of Service and done what is said. This process gives a depth to that which I finding incredibly helpful. It's in little choreographic moments that so much can be achieved in these services that we all know and love (if we know and love them) - for example, matching the three points where the Cross on Good Friday enters the church to those where the Paschal Candle enters a day later. Another is the use of the Pangue Lingua and its tune - once on Maundy Thursday, and again in echo at the time of the Veneration on Good Friday. The use of bells and their discontinuation - all these things, small and apparently accidental, give so much flavour, so much more meaning. 

Finally, I get liturgy. It is orchestral. It isn't linear as it sometimes appears or is delivered, but a beautiful movement of events that rotate, rise and fall. Needless to say, this Easter will now mean even more to me than I ever thought it could - because I have been granted a rare opportunity to shape worship (not as frequent an event in the life of a Vicar as you might imagine)

Killing the Old PCC

Kum Ba Ya, M'lud

Fret not, I am not about to emerge as the next headline after One Direction have moved aside. I have not strolled into church with my Ouzi Nine Millimeetah and popped caps into asses. No, none of that.

But ... the Old Order is no more. A new dawn breaks over Whitton.

Those of you familiar with the Parochial Church Council as an entity will know that it is a gathering of the willing who gather periodically to be talked at, either by the Vicar or else the Treasurer, or else the wind-bag who always has an argument for every occasion. They are normally constituted by the faithful and willing who, when they are elected are bright-eyes and fluffy-tailed. By the end of their tenure, they are The Haunted - characterised my sallow-eyes and rictus grin. They will have given up many hours of useful life and devoted it to sitting in and among the Windbags (see above), then dutifully getting on with the task in hand - or put another way, everything that needs doing around the place. 

The level of work covered is very distinctive at such meetings. The wattage of the bulb for use over the Decani choir stalls, so that Old Mrs Miggins cataract isn't scorched; the pile gauge and weight of the carpet sample for the littlies to sit on so that their fragile derrieres are not assaulted by the curvature of medieval stone; the correct  brand of nasty powered-coffee for use after parish events with and without liturgy; the colour of the door knob to the parish office up the stairs that no-one can climb without crampons and a rope; oh, and the pre-payment and accrual basis of the accounts in the fiscal year to date (that only a graduate accountant can fathom). Get the idea?

Well, things they are a-changing. I have never enjoyed sit-in-circles PCCs where every minute detail of every irrelevancy is discussed to the Nth degree (by three people while the remaining fourteen lose the will to live). There is much to be learned by the models established by many school Governing Bodies. 

From now on, the members of my next PCC will all belong to a committee. There will be six committees that range across all of parish life (comms, finance, pastoral, hall, buildings and fabric, children and young people). They needn't run those committees, but be critical friends and communicators (in both directions of that). They will submit reports prior to PCC meetings so that we can read them and come armed to fewer meetings, not more. There will be no such person as a PCC member who does not exist on a committee. What would be the point? In the end, it won't be the onerous duty of a dozen or so press-ganged people to run the entire show; with smaller groups working in this way, half the parish will share the fun.