What They Don't Tell You at Theological College

If you want to know about Ernst Troeltsch, immanence, the correct means of ringing a chapel bell before Evening Prayer on a Tuesday in Epiphany, how so many people are phased by a healthy Mariology, what Ἀρχὴ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου Ἰησου Χριστοῦ means, or indeed the greater joys of the latest Kevin Mayhew assassination of a good tune, where do you go? 

Theological College innit. 

You will get all of those things there, served (in the case of my college, Gawd Blessit) with fine food, alarmingly cheap liquor (I recall setting the prices one year) and the company of lovely ordinands - natural leaders called to work almost completely alone for the next four decades or less (which is short hand for that fact that ordinands are a suspicious bunch not fond of being led because they are the leaders, innit). 

You go to your Vicar, tell him/her that you feel The Call (like the Force felt by Jedis but with less Yoda). S/he sends you to the Diocesan Director Of Ordinands where you shalt be grilled until thee be verily dead of the exertion  and with any luck a season ticket to a BAP (not a flour topped roll, but a secret panel where you will be stared at by people who will smile at you while they do it). If you pass the flour-topped bread roll, you will be invited to give up your salary (or much time after work) to study the finer recesses of the psychology of Dr Troeltsch (sat next to some lovey who will have all his books under her pillow already, and will thereby make you feel like a pilchard). After that, you have your pretty new stole blessed, clip on the collar and launch forth into the unsuspecting world of Christians and all their enormities. 

Then you make some discoveries. 

During your curacy (if you are lucky like I was), you will blessed with a training incumbent who will walk you through the 300 million things you didn't learn at college in a meaningful and organised way. You have three years for that - no time at all. 

Then, if that is your Yoda Force, you go on to be the Landlord Spiritual of a lump of London or somewhere else. Semantic prestidigitation on the Application Form will discreetly hide that fact that you were only a curate when you applied and know sod-all really. Day one - all alone except the "to do" list (which will have grown since six months before the interregnum started that you just ended).  

This last few months, I have wrestled with the the parish finances. I have just escorted a very nice man indeed through his redundancy. I have just drafted a Person Specification for a job role that I have just been called to create, and will venture down the fraught road of employee rights and human resource frivolities. I have had to manage border disputes, manage those who don't wish to be managed, be the chairperson of a charity which I needed to register with the Commission (automatically becoming bound by the law in such things). That is before having to find the words to comfort a mother to a baby who may be dying, the woman who sees no hope in life any more, or the man who seeks absolution after a lifetime of alcohol abuse. I have had to be the nice man, the polite man, the man who takes the hits and hides the bruises. I have to have a sense of absolute certainty in all that I do, without apparent personal weakness or the human scuffles that emerge for us all. I have overseen a significant building project blessed as I was this time around that I had a gifted and qualified parishioner to take the lead. Then we come to the stuff of eternal life and salvation - much of that is communicated by me, in my own frailty and oft doubt. I have been on the telly, the radio and am a public name in some places - that requires a certain amount of edification, but is never going to form part of the College Curriculum. 

I don't blame college, or indeed the system. If theological college launched a course that covered all of the above, I'd still be at college or worse, I would have run a mile before applying. The world of the Vicar just isn't what you might ever expect in your wildest or worst dreams. We are, in a very real sense, the jack of all trades and master of none. I thank God daily that he forced me through the world of work that preceded my ordination by fifteen years, because there was the training I use now. Right there. 

Though, to be sure, it is still be best job in the world. Deo Gratias. 

God's Mixed Messages

Yesterday I wrote about those moments of absolute clarity in one's ministry. Today, I wish to remember those whose moment didn't come as had been hoped, or as had seemed inevitable before. 

Somewhere along the line, when talking about calling and the forms it takes, there are conversations with others and those palpable moments when one senses God pulling. I liken that sense as a fine nylon thread (like fishing wire) - strong yet barely visible. Those of us who have responded to a call will know a little of that nylon thread - that call we cannot see yet are subject to. 

A lot of people feel a sense of calling, and some those people respond affirmatively to it by seeking the process of discernment. That is normally bound up in yet more conversations, meetings, interviews, exercises and tests maybe, and more prayer than you could swing a cat at. Lots of that. Of  that noble army of those seeking discernment, some get to do that thing we refer to as a 'selection conference' which is a gathering of wise and sage clerics of much experience whose task it is to affirm the work of none less than the Holy Spirit in the life of the hapless candidate who sits before them in arduous interviews. Some receive the 'yes' and some do not.

Perhaps the frustrating thing about the whole process of discernment (which doesn't end at ordination, I ought to say), is that it takes an age, demands absolute commitment and is rooted in a fairly solid certainty of the nature of the calling. I doubt that anyone goes off to selection with the sense that God really got it wrong, but that they are there just for the cake. No - to go to selection means that through prayer, conversation and all of the above, a 'yes' seems the only desirable and equitable outcome. 

It is fair to say that from the perspective of us mortal frailings God can send out mixed messages. Why me God? Why now? I thought you meant ... and so on. And so it is that there are people who have to confront a decision that states that discernment finds against their prayerfully and diligently expected pathway to ordination. I am blessed because I received the approval of the selection panel in 2006, but what of those who did not and those who do not as each month passes? The response back at home is likely to be that God 'obviously didn't call you to ordination, so let's consider alternatives'. When it is the person who shared the view with you that ordination was right, and the person who sent you off to have that view affirmed who says that - it must seem impossibly hard to accept. When the process of discernment up to the selection panel can amount to years, I can only imagine how hard it is to be told that the house you felt was built on rock was in fact built on balsa wood. 

I accept that there are many wounded men and women who, in this season of ordination, will feel like God led them up the garden path. At this time, I pray for them - I cannot imagine how I would have coped with a view that suggested that I couldn't be ordained as I believed that I was born for it - as these men and women did before their 'no'. My prayers go to them for some sense of a clearer signal from God so that they may just do the work that He calls them to, whatever it ends up being.


This post is dedicated to my friend Ernie at a difficult time. Peace be with you, brother. 

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. 

Resolutions, Women, Church and Choices

In regard to church life, there are two stances that I take 

1. I support the calling of all people to all ministries within the church if they are God-given and demonstrable (ie the same marker that I was asked to stand by). 

2. I defend the right of anyone to disagree with the above, and believe that a family should be strong enough to accommodate both/other/all points of view

The tension in holding these two views brings with them some consequences for me. I was looking at the Resolutions as they stand at the moment, and given that they are not much published on the web, include them here: 

Below are the texts of Resolutions A and B, and the provision for Alternative Episcopal Oversight, commonly known as Resolution C, as they apply to parishes. They should be read in the context of the legislation that put them in place – i.e., The Priests (Ordination of Women) Measure 1992 (Resolutions A and B) and the Episcopal Ministry Act of Synod 1993 (Resolution C). 

Resolution A

That this Parochial Church Council would not accept a woman as the minister who presides at or celebrates the Holy Communion or pronounces the Absolution in the parish.

Resolution B

That this parochial church council would not accept a woman as the incumbent or Priest-in-Charge of the benefice or as a Team Vicar for the benefice.

Resolution C

Where the Parochial Church Council of any parish has passed one or both of the resolutions set out in Schedule 1 to the Measure, a decision may be taken jointly by the minister and the council to petition the diocesan bishop concerned to the effect that appropriate episcopal duties in the parish should be carried out in accordance with this Act of Synod

I will start looking at parishes soon as I move to incumbency, so rather than making blanket-presumptions, thought it best to examine the Resolutions. My churchmanship means that I am more likely to come across them. For my part, I believe that I could minister in a parish community that has A and B in place. It is not my role, I believe, to agree with a parish community - but rather to defend the rights of others to hold their views with integrity. I am, of course, in favour of the ordination and consecration of woman - and not even that - anyone whom God calls, whatever their 'label'. I would also hope that a confessing community would also allow me the same dignity. Mutual challenge in those situations can only be healthy if undertaken with absolute respect and openness. I cannot minister to a parish with Res. C in place for the following reason: I cook for my kids, and if they decide that they don't like my cooking we will talk about it, but they will not be allowed to invite another dad in to do it for them. Simple. 

The inverse of all of this is that some would remove all ability for dissenters to dissent, will force issues in some circumstances, and in those moments, people get hurt and become more entrenched in their political and theological perspective. Dialogue dies with prematurity. Churchmouse brought to my attention today a Paper tabled by Frank Field MP that seeks, to my eyes, to force hands. To force legislation in favour of anything renders it forced. Force removes compromise, silences voices, removes choice. The Church of England may stop being an adverse place for some, but it will surely become adverse for others instead - and I do not believe that any of us really want 'the other side' of any argument to suffer the pain that we ourselves may have suffered (and I acknowledge the endless pain in so much of this). Measures like the Resolutions that allow people integrity of choice are, to me, helpful things. We cannot all agree all of the time, and neither should we. We can listen though. 

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

Friends Old and New - plus Ghosts

Vernacular, Mrs Acular and the Twins Aculae are now back from happy holidays.

We are at that happy stage in life where we can go on our jollies without being robbed by the tour operators and the hotels 'simply because it happens to be a school holiday'! Glady, we can toddle off just before the greatest volumes of red-scorched white man-flesh goes on display, the myriad snot-and-ice cream kids dig their endless sandy holes and the plethora of organised mums and their 'packing lists' descend on every coastal haunt known to civilised humanity. We went to Newquay where we avoided the other visitors and spent our time in a wonderful hotel  - the Sands Resort - that caters for families like us: parents with toddlers. Granted, to be a guest at this hotel you have to be earning squillions a year (or bag a really neat offer which is how we managed it), but it was a great place away from the naked navels and blond tresses of the Newquay surfing set. 

Part of the reason for the choice of timing was the Ordination to the Priesthood of my bezzy mate, Fr Simon A. Bone and his First Mass (about eight minutes after we left the wonderful Truro Cathedral). Five hours of good liturgy in one day - marvellous (isn't Jesus awesome?). Even the Twins Aculae sat through every minute happily, such is the quality of their up-bringing and the resilience of their excellent mother! Both services were emotional and finely done, and I pray that Simon has as good a ministry ahead of him as he clearly deserves. If you want to meet a good man, look this guy up. It was my pleasure, at the ordinations to sit next to a wonderful Australian bloke who liked wandering around taking pictures during the service (not just me who likes to do that then). He had a wicked sense of humour and we had a right good laugh. That he was the Archbishop of Wales' Chaplain made this interesting - but finally, another collar wearer a bit like me in terms of outlook - bloody marvellous! Nice to meet you, Chris!

Well, my face and arms burned as they do; my gut is somewhat larger that the week prior; I am bankrupt; I am happy. We had a wonderful time, I did lots of good pondering, I successfully won the World Cup (iTouch App version) and ploughed through most of a hitherto unread Mario Puzo novel. I got to watch the world-class 'Rev.'  in my hotel room (oh my word, how I identify). The kids were happy, Mrs. Acular was happy - we didn't divorce despite the close proximity that we enjoyed for a whole week. And I thought of ten (yes, ten) blog posts - not including this one - that I can scribble down in the days ahead!

Then a funny thing happened. A ghost, an apparition emerged - one that was born of my former retailing days. In carpet retail of a particular brand, it was the habit of the Inquisition to visit the store of a given manager during his holiday - to dig the dirt, the discover evidence, the build a case. I knew many managers who were relived of their livings two days after coming back to work (I merely attracted a demotion in the mid-90s for a policy oversight) - so in the later hours of yesterday, the old paranoia re-emerged. It wasn't very nice - and wholly irrational, but a surprise nontheless. In the end, Monday morning was the same as all Monday mornings (mostly), and so it is that The Vernacular Curate remains.