Dramatis Personae:
In order to work your way around my blog: Welcome to the World of Doorman-Priest, it might be helpful to meet the cast.
Hannah, my wife: Deserving of canonising for her long-suffering, patient, support and love; a lifelong Anglican and clergy daughter; one of life’s lovely people.
In order to work your way around my blog: Welcome to the World of Doorman-Priest, it might be helpful to meet the cast.
Hannah, my wife: Deserving of canonising for her long-suffering, patient, support and love; a lifelong Anglican and clergy daughter; one of life’s lovely people.
Leo, son and heir: Tall, handsome, charming, self-effacing and talented; the straightest gay man you will ever meet. Long since flown the nest and pursuing a career in music; lives with Tom in London.
Katherine, elder daughter: Tall, slim and elegant; a recent school leaver and fashionista; warm and affectionate with occasional flaky moments.
Louise, younger daughter: A bit of a Goth/Emo thing going on here; sharp and funny; headstrong and independent; a vegetarian who doesn’t like fruit or vegetables; terminally argumentative: “I’m just giving you another perspective, that’s all.”
I am a lucky man to have significant male friendships which are characterised by emotional intelligence. ie: we don’t just talk about football, sex and the route we took to by car to meet up.
Revd. Martin: Anglican; married with no children; a little distant, prophetic, ascetic, challenging, radical, sometimes a bit uncomfortable to be with; passionate about the social gospel and Christian/ Muslim dialogue.
Pastor Steve: Lutheran; father of three about to leave the nest; a former Doorman who looks like a biker, shaven head, goatee beard and a real humanity and warmth. You want him at your back in a crisis; a mature faith that’s been seriously tested: radiates his Love of God.
Revd. Jim: Anglican, young, father of two at pre-school stage, approachable and cheeky; former Doorman, rugby player, shaven headed; Evangelical, nowhere near as conservative as he thinks he is and refreshingly unaware of his charisma. Has all the building blocks to be insufferably arrogant but isn’t; humble – a showman but humble none-the-less.
Revd. Dan: Anglican; father of four at primary and secondary schools; unconventional, reflective, wise; mystic; called to serve God in the club scene; looks for God in the everyday and ordinary; has a grungy, alternative sartorial style and doesn’t fit a traditional clergy image.
Ugly Mick: A colleague and mad scientist; straight and single; an atheist; loud, crass, loyal, Kind and generous of spirit; believes his life is characterised by the Reverse Midas effect. “Everything I touch turns to shit.” Exhausting but rewarding company.
Jez: A choir chum with two at primary school; an agnostic and recovering Roman Catholic; 80% me but with added anxiety; warm, witty, wise, articulate, acerbic, affirming and insightful. Probably the easiest companion imaginable.
Dave: Also from choir; serial monogamist and commitment-phobe; atheist, social worker, still managing to smoke; sharp, funny and well read. Has the gift of intelligent humour.
Scene 1 - The Churches:
St. Small’s Lutheran Congregation: A struggling group of wonderfully eclectic people from all over the world, living an ecclesiastical hand to mouth existence. It is my privilege to serve here. Doesn’t do anything particularly well. That it survives at all is a modern miracle.
St. Atrophy’s Anglican Congregation: A large, well resourced evangelical Anglican congregation where the daughters attend and I go once a month. Does the mother’s milk of spirituality and youth work well enough but has a limited menu for those needing to mature in the faith. I have yet to be intellectually or theologically challenged. Does the Joy thing well. A tad happy-clappy.
St. Angst’s Anglican Congregation: A medium sized radical Anglican congregation where my wife attends. Very big on lay participation and very much the Last Chance Saloon for those failed by the church. Excellent at hearing the voices of the marginalised. Does the struggle thing well. A lot of weeping.
Scene 2 – The school:
The Yorkshire College for the Under-parented. “A good and improving school” OFSTED. Ha!
There is a significant minority of students who are well behaved, studious, socially able and academically ambitious. There is a significant minority of students who are disaffected, defiant, resistant to learning and generally awkward, confrontational and unpleasant. Of the rest many are generally pleasant but hard to motivate and have little sense of initiative. There is little culture of the value of education or of the concept of revision or self-study. Increasing numbers of parents support their children against the school.
There is anecdotal evidence of a lot of underage drinking and sex. There is an outbreak of STD’s which won’t go away because those infected won’t take tablets that you aren’t allowed to have with alcohol. They’d rather drink and shag than worry about infection. Safe sex? That’s for gays.
There is little overt racism but there are some very unpleasant homophobic and sexist attitudes. I am constantly shocked at the number of boys who accept the idea, if not the personal practice, of casual violence towards women.
My colleagues are wonderful and the staffroom is a haven of mutual support and laughter.
It is in this environment that I teach Religious Education and Citizenship. “Its crap, this. Why do we have to do it? It won’t get you a job. This is boring”
Oh Joy!
What most of my colleagues and pupils have not sussed is that my infinitely calm, patient and reasonable approach is an act and masks an altogether different alter-ego. For instance when I say: “Excuse me, I’m not asking you to do anything unreasonable and I still need you to get on with your work without arguing. Thank you.” What I hear in my head is something quite different. Every morning I pray that I might see God in those I meet and that that they might see God in me. You can see my struggle here.
Scene 3 – The door:
I work at weekends as a relief doorman, serving pubs and clubs in the city centre, although not so much these days as I get older and as I need to make time for my extra studies.
The club scene in my city is well regulated with its licensed Doorman scheme and is about as safe an environment for young clubbers and drinkers as it is possible to make it given the culture of binge drinking that often leads to very public displays of lack of self-control. There are a lot of good natured, if loud drunks spilling out all over the pavements and roads in large single-sex groups but there is also potential for violence and inappropriate sexual behaviour. The Doorman’s job is to spot a situation in the making and calm it down; to spot the deliberate trouble maker or the drunk who’s irritating others and to remove them quickly and discretely, if possible, from the scene before any harm is done. This isn’t as much about muscle, although there is enough of that in any team, as it is about social skills and proactive damage limitation.
To see the state that some of the revellers leave the clubs in; to recognise some of the poor and possibly dangerous choices they have made for themselves during the evening, or are clearly about to make, can be quite disturbing. To have a Christian presence at this time, albeit discrete, seems to me to be vital. I play my part as policeman, drugs and alcohol counsellor, relationship counsellor, peacemaker and mediator in disputes, taxi-hailer for single and vulnerable women, philosopher and imparter of wisdom to the drunk, occasional heavy, and general chaplain to my transient congregation.
The story so far
June 2003: I have decided to leave St. Angst’s. This has not been an easy decision. I have worshipped there for twenty five years, twenty of those as a Lay Minister.
I am not completely sure why I am leaving; only that I need a change and time to think and reflect about what God is doing, or trying to do in my life.
Hannah and I went to Prague and on our return discovered that Revd. Martin had signed up the congregation to the “Stop the War Campaign”. I am not an apologist for war, but I am not a pacifist either and I feel strangely wrong footed by this move, not being completely sure where I stand on either the war in Iraq or the practice of unilaterally signing up the whole congregation without a proper meeting or process of consultation.
Hannah, Martin and I meet in an attempt to resolve our differences and to find a way forward but there is not a meeting of minds and we all feel frustrated by this turn of events.
Nevertheless, I have been unsettled for some time and with feelings running high, this may be a good time for a reappraisal and period of reflection. I shall take a sabbatical and dip in and out of worship anonymously in other churches in the city until I get an answer. The problem is I am unsure of the question. I may well include St. Small’s Lutheran congregation, where I was baptised, at some stage in this sojourn. I may look to a change to an evening congregation to allow for a more effective doorman’s ministry on a Saturday night.
Sept 2003: I have acted. This morning I went to St. Atrophy’s on the basis that this is where I rehearse every week with The Philharmonic Chorus so I know where it is and that there is parking. Lazy criteria, I know but I have to start somewhere. I haven’t done Evangelicalism for a long time, but it was all very familiar, if disturbingly unchanged. I was knocked out by the worship and the impressive music group. I may come back.
December 2003: I think I have to acknowledge that I am now a member of St. Atrophy’s having been nowhere else since leaving St. Angst’s. It is not very challenging theologically but I am making friends and feel too spiritually tired to make the effort to follow my original plan.
I have received a pastoral visit from Revd. Charity, a woman of little intelligence and less charm. She would like me to join a house group. My deep resistance irritates her. I tell her I have other calls on my time. She tells me it is a matter of priorities. I am, however, signed up for the morning worship group which pleases me.
I have been disturbed that my license as Lay Minister is not understood here or welcomed. I am left in no doubt by Charity that this Diocesan initiative is not to be encouraged at St. Atrophy’s. Well, perhaps no surprise: this is a church with three full time clergy. Although there are many members of the laity playing significant roles, it is not shared ministry, it is supervised ministry. Why would they want to relinquish significant responsibility to the laity? Also, this is evangelicalism and therefore rather controlling.
Jan 2004: I have managed to irritate Charity even more than usual. I seem to achieve this on a regular basis simply by being me. On this occasion I asked her what St. Atrophy’s position on the Gay issue was. It seemed a perfectly reasonable question considering what appears to be brewing in the worldwide Anglican Communion.
It was I have to acknowledge, a somewhat disingenuous question as I already know what Conservative Evangelicals believe about Human Sexuality. Nevertheless, it seems to be being discussed everywhere but at St. Atrophy’s, where, God forbid that the sermon programme should be interrupted to acknowledge events in the real world.
“There is a statement from The Evangelical Alliance on Human Sexuality which represents our view.”
“Where is it and how many members of this congregation can you be confident have a) read it and b) agree with it? It’s my observation that a great many members of this congregation are off message on this one.”
I have one of those once-in-a-lifetime situations this week as a doorman which sees me conducting a baptism. (See Blog: A Doorman's Journal)
Feb 2004: I have put together a paper on an alternative view of Human Sexuality to that of the Evangelical Alliance. I finally got their statement from the internet, having failed to find a copy at St. Atrophy’s. My paper is both theological and Biblical. I circulated it amongst a small group of friends within the church to considerable positive feedback.
I am now not to be allowed to take my turn on the intercessions rota for having promoted views which do not accord with the mind of the church.
I am going to need to move on again.
April 2004: Unaccountably I am still here and miserable. I have compounded my transgression by enquiring when the issue of peace and conflict is to be discussed in the sermon slot seeing as the war in Iraq shows no sign of an early resolution.
“There is a Bishop’s statement in the Narthex” said a pursed lipped Charity. (Cat’s arse lips are not a good look on a woman of indeterminate middle age).
“You wouldn’t like to minimise the risk of people not reading it by sharing it with us during a service and us possibly exploring our individual or congregational responses?”
Seemingly not. It strikes me again how close to the line which demarks true from inauthentic religion some evangelicals are. Inauthentic religion treats its followers like children and keeps them in an infantile relationship with God while inhibiting spiritual development.
I am now growing closer to Martin’s view on the war in Iraq but am pleased not to have been bounced into a stance before I had thought it through. I am looking at Aquinas’ conditions for the Just War.
June 2004: I am definitely on the verge of departing when we hear that Charity and the Rector are moving on. Change is in the air. I shall hang about a bit longer. My mood has lifted. There are people in this congregation I really like, relate to and hold in high regard and I would miss them.
December 2004: The new Rector arrives before the departure of Charity. I am invited to meet with him one to one in his study. This is a pleasant and friendly meeting but it is not a meeting of minds. Reflecting on it afterwards I am, I feel, a dangerous radical who is not to be trusted with the intercessions microphone. My friends in the congregation are surprised at how difficult I am finding it to get on the intercessions rota: they are doubly surprised to find that I have a personal prohibition from the clergy.
Time to step back and reflect. Twenty years as an Anglican Lay Minister. I have, in that role, led intercessions countless times. I have read the scriptures in public worship. I have preached more times than I can remember. I have assisted with the Eucharist. I have laid on hands and prayed for healing. In two interregnums I have been the visible leadership of the church. What on earth am I doing here?
Is it my increasingly uncomfortable relationship with the clergy (never the laity) of St. Atrophy’s which is the problem? Come on God: what do you want of me? Or for me?
Back on good terms with Martin I relate this situation. He expresses considerable anger.
“You can always come back here you know.”
I do know, but what I also know is that something is happening for me that I don’t fully understand but which does not involve returning to St. Angst’s. That would seem a backward step.
March 2005: By now both Katherine and Louise are worshipping at St. Atrophy’s. I have no problem with this. Youth work is good here and they are surrounded by youngsters of their own age, (even if some of them aren’t allowed to read Harry Potter.)
Anyway youth work at St. Angst’s, where Hannah continues to worship, has always been hampered by a lack of sufficient youth to run anything age appropriate and there are only so many services where young teenagers should witness adults in deep distress.
I am invited to the Rectory where the Rector and I have a frank discussion on the theology of Human sexuality. He is a nice man and he genuinely tries to be conciliatory which I appreciate. He tells me that he is soon to preach in the evening service on this topic. He hopes that the matter of my desire to lead intercessions will soon be resolved. This confuses me. How can it be? While I have appreciated his reaching out to me, it is a dialogue of the deaf in terms of either one of us changing our views.
June 2005: Revd. Jim has arrived. He is a breath of fresh air and immensely talented and charismatic. He is also a transparently nice guy. I am instantly drawn to him. I am also aware that I am likely to have little opportunity in the normal course of events to get to know him as he is given responsibility for the evening service and I attend in the morning. I see nothing to be gained by contriving contact.
I have rationalised my failure to attend worship elsewhere on the basis that there is no such thing as a perfect church and I must simply make the best of my situation. Giving up and going elsewhere is not the answer.
I conclude that it may be my calling to be a thorn in the side of conservative evangelicalism, and heartened by that realisation, I feel better about being at St. Atrophy’s.
Nov 2005: The Rector preaches on Human Sexuality. I do not go: the prospect of my having to walk out or worse, to stand up and argue in public, makes it impossible. He sends me the sermon as an e-mail attachment which is a courteous thing to do. It is well structured, thoughtful and well argued. To my mind, though, it is also totally predictable in terms of its evangelical stance and I can not agree with its theology or its use of scripture.
What is an appropriate response? I begin to play around with it and after an hour or so I am able to return the compliment in the shape of an alternative perspective, theologically argued and Biblical. I have, in effect, deconstructed his sermon.
This is never discussed between us. I have a problem: I like the man, although I sense he is as wary of me as I am of him; he is my parish priest and therefore I am under authority. I know this in my head but I can’t feel it in my heart.
I am now experiencing odd dreams. This is unusual, I rarely remember my dreams. The main dream is based around a stained glass window which I do not recognise. It is very distinctive. The dream comes in a number of variants: sometimes I am standing in front of it, sometimes my old Lutheran Pastor is standing in front of it and sometimes we both are.
I share this dream with Jez on the coach back from the BBC’s Manchester studios where we had been rehearsing for Britten’s War Requiem. He listens attentively.
“Have you gone back to the Lutheran Church?”
I resolve to.
Jan 2006: I continue to visit the prayer ministry area after Communion, increasingly confused about the whole issue of God’s guidance which I feel totally unable to discern. I am convinced God wants more for me than this but I can not make progress with it. The care and pastoral support I receive there from members of the prayer team is both moving and humbling. Often these times are followed up by perceptive and caring conversations. I begin to be selective about who I go forward for prayer with.
I consider whether I am in danger of becoming depressed over this issue.
Feb 2006: I make e-mail contact with St. Small’s but unaccountably bottle out of going. I share my confusion with Revd. Dan over a beer (or three). I am Dan’s Diocesan appointed Work Consultant and we meet up fairly regularly. Dan refuses to give advice but asks pertinent questions.
I experience a new dream. I can see a computer drop-down menu. It displays the word “Anglican”. It changes. It now displays the word “Lutheran”. This is destabilising: I don’t give credibility to the idea of dreams having a significant literal meaning, although I understand there are a variety of psychological interpretations. Is this an anxiety dream?
March 2006: Revd. Jim preaches a sermon in the morning service. It is based on the Parable of the Talents. It speaks to my heart and agitates me deeply. It taps into my paranoia about my sense of a lack of God’s guidance.
I make an appointment to meet my old Lutheran Pastor. He is now the Bishop. The meeting is warm and welcoming. We talk about God’s calling and begin to explore what I understand about vocation. He admits that he perceived God’s calling to Ordained Ministry in me when I had first attended his congregation half a lifetime ago.
He shows me around the new church building. This is a heart stopping moment: there is the stained glass window of my earlier dreams.
I attend the next morning worship at St. Small’s.
I cold-call e-mail Jim about the impact his sermon has had on me. We arrange to meet and my initial impressions of him were not wrong. Our conversation is warm and wide ranging. There is mutual respect and we laugh as we share our experiences of our Christian journeys. I discover that Jim is a former doorman and we share more common ground. We talk deeply and I begin to see a way forward. I leave having made a friend.
I have the beginnings of resolve based on the very scary notion that I may have a calling to ordained ministry. I discuss this with Hannah for the first time and am amazed by her calm acceptance of my burgeoning sense of vocation.
On Friday evening, returning in the early hours following a quiet night on the door, I find myself involved in dealing with a fire in a neighbour’s garage. (See Blog: Fire)
I am informed that I may now join the intercessions rota at St. Atrophy’s. I no longer care much as my head is elsewhere but accept with as good a grace as I can muster. I prepare my intercessions with care and when I stand behind the microphone I see in the congregation a young Asian woman wearing a traditional Muslim head covering. This must surely be a first for St. Atrophy’s. I have a moment of mild panic as my intercessions concentrate heavily on terrorism and the importance of good relationships between Christians and our Muslim Neighbours. She is nodding enthusiastically. I mention “…..the followers of Jesus and the followers of Muhammad” and add as a courtesy to her the traditional Muslim salutation after mention of the name Muhammad, “Peace be upon him.”
That afternoon the Rector calls round to check on my theology of the salvation of other faiths. Hannah is quietly incensed, but mellowed by the best part of a bottle of wine consumed at the family Sunday lunch with Dan’s family; I resist the temptation to become argumentative. He lives literally five minutes walk from my house, he calls very infrequently and I don’t feel pastorally cared for. Yet it seems that as soon as he suspects I am off message (again) he is round like a shot. This makes me realise that prior to Jim’s arrival I have never felt pastorally cared for at St. Atrophy’s. It is one thing to be on civilised terms, to talk, discuss and debate, but I have felt vulnerable and marginalised for most of the time I have been there as a result of taking what I believe to have been principled theological stances. The Rector leaves and I swear. Quietly. In Braille, in fact.
November 2006: I am now splitting my time between St. Atrophy’s and St. Small’s, less at the former, more at the latter where I feel more welcomed and valued. The Bishop suggests I meet Pastor Steve. He is a non-stipendiary Pastor and serving Doorman. There seems to be a theme developing here.
I ring Steve and there is an instant rapport. We arrange to meet.
“You’ll recognise him.” I’m told “He looks like one of the Mitchell brothers from Eastenders.”
I meet Steve for coffee at the end of one of his shifts on security at a city centre jewellers in the run up to Christmas. I am in awe of him. I can’t imagine that anyone would mess with him. Well, not twice anyway. Steve cuts straight to the chase. “The Bishop says you are seeking ordination.” And possibly for the first time I acknowledge that I am. Steve and I subsequently develop the regular routine of the pastoral curry.
I have a dream. (Who do I think I am? Martin Luther-King?) I am in a liturgical procession with Steve and the Bishop. We pass a woman who speaks to me.
“Why aren’t you wearing a dog-collar?”
“I am not ordained”
“Why not?”
I still refuse to openly acknowledge that these dreams are anything more than my overtired mind depositing things in its recycle bin, but my evangelical friends become very excited when I relate the details of my dreams. I still can not rationalise the dreams about the stained glass windows.
Dec 2006: I go for one of my regular half-term lunches with Ugly Mick. When we have finished moaning about our pupils I tell him what I am thinking. He is quiet for a moment, (unusual in itself), and then says “I think you should.” We have been friends for over twenty years and I am touched that he is genuinely pleased for me. “I still won’t come to church, though.”
April 2007: The Bishop and I agree that I shall be formally licensed as a Lay Minister, probably at the end of the summer. “We recognise your Anglican experience.” I refrain from pointing out that there hasn’t been too much of that at St. Atrophy’s.
I don’t see much of Jim but I am able to keep him updated by regular e-mail contact and am encouraged by his support. Dan still refuses to be drawn on whether this is a good idea. “This is between you and the Holy Spirit. Well, and the selection panel - and that’s the problem. The church regularly makes mistakes over selection in both directions” Is he trying to tell me something?
The Philharmonic chorus visits Bratislava, Vienna and Budapest. As ever I share a room with Jez. Once again I am touched by the quality of friendship we have as I struggle to put into words where I am with it all.
Dave and I go exploring old Town Bratislava looking for the English speaking Lutheran congregation. It is shut. It is Easter Saturday and every other church in the city is open but not the Lutheran church. How pathetic is that? Dave seems quite happy to trek the back streets of the Old Town on this fruitless task and eventually asks why it matters so much. I explain about my sense of Vocation. “Wow. That’s great. I’ve never believed in God, but I think that’s great. I’d almost think about coming to church if you were a priest.” Dave has spent a significant amount of time in various churches performing in liturgical services with choirs. At no stage does he seem to have absorbed any religious teaching or wider awareness about what is going on. I tease him about this a lot. “Yeah, great isn’t it?” he always replies.
In Budapest Jez and I have a quiet beer. (Well quite a few actually). I realise that I have expressed a lot of frustration about the institutional church in my conversations with him over some time. I sense in Jez an understated spirituality and, coming from a Roman Catholic background - although now lapsed, I know he understands what I am talking about and his responses are perceptive and well informed. I feel I should redress the balance. “Instead of moaning about the church, I feel, perhaps, I should have been telling you about the joy of having Jesus in your life” I say, tongue very firmly in cheek. “You’d be talking to yourself, then, because I’d be over there with Dave and the others.”
May 2007: The Bishop tells me to be available to meet with the Examination Committee in July in London.
I spend some time with Martin who is very supportive. We discuss my work as a Doorman and the precarious position of St. Small’s and its viability as a congregation.
“Have you considered that you might have a ministry on the margins?”
Martin and Jim continue to be supportive. Steve already sees it as a done deal. Mick, Jez and Dave are pleased for me but understandably don’t feel qualified to offer advice. Hannah and Leo think it is the right thing and Katherine and Louise are happy about it because everyone else is happy about it.
Dan continues to resist discussing ministry and vocation in anything but the most general terms.
Pastor Carol has no doubts. My arrival on the scene at St. Small’s is a clear indication to her of God’s provident timing and an answer to prayer. She has been suffering from ill health and has decided to retire in October.
June 2007: The Bishop tells me that I will need to undertake a parish placement. Steve tells me that he went to the USA for six weeks. I know I will be self-funding and that sounds very expensive so I begin to wonder about the English speaking congregation in Bratislava. I find a web-site and e-mail them.
“You do realise that when you have the dog-collar you’ll be propositioned a lot for sex?” says Steve over his Chicken Madras. This doesn’t surprise me. I already know it is a fact that authority figures in uniform – usually police or fire-fighters, but also doormen of course, have regular sexual advances made to them and far more so than when they are in civvies. So why not priests? How disturbing!
“Now about college. I don’t want you to be disappointed but I think you need to know that the course won’t teach you anything about the craft of being a priest. It thinks it does, but it doesn’t. It’ll give you a lot of theology that you don’t need because you’ve already covered it.”
I go home with Steve’s words playing on my mind.
I begin to tell my friends at St. Atrophy’s about what I am undertaking. Their response is overwhelmingly positive and supportive.
I attend an induction evening for the ecumenical course at the theological college. I go straight from school and the journey by car is about ten minutes. It really couldn’t be much more convenient. Every Wednesday evening for two years – two years because I am already a theology graduate, one week’s residential each Easter, seven residential weekends a year and fifteen hours of study a week. Am I completely mad? (I will probably have to give up being a doorman which will be sad but at the same time I’m not getting any younger so it may be the right time.)
It is a cold rainy evening when I arrive at the theological college, not what we had been hoping for at this stage in the summer, and my spirits are low through lack of warmth and sunshine and as a result of a long hard term.
I have a fairly perfunctory interview and am told that the course is pretty much for Anglicans and Methodists so it will be good to have my perspective.
I fill in an application form and I am then taken to the student’s common room where all three year groups are gathering before the sessions start. I am left there without introduction but am rescued by a very pleasant couple of final year students who put me at my ease. We all go into a large room for notices and prayer and then split into groups. The first year’s study of interpretation and use of scripture, and the second year’s study of Christian tradition do not appeal much and I go with the final year students to their session on pastoral and practical theology. They are looking at counselling skills and how to give bad news. There is roll play and discussion and analysis. As a qualified counsellor I feel on familiar ground. After half an hour I have lost the will to live and I mentally berate myself for this negativity.
We break for coffee, the point at which it was agreed that I would leave. I seek out the session leader, thank him and give my apologies.
“Good, we are a bit short of seats.”
I go home deeply depressed.
That weekend Hannah and I are processing what happened and my feelings about it. We look at the course syllabus. Steve’s words were indeed prophetic.
“I think my problem” I say to Hannah “is that I have no great desire to duplicate theological study or skill and experience development that I have already covered. At the same time I don’t want to appear like a know-all who thinks he doesn’t need to undertake further study.”
One of the big advantages of being married to a university careers advisor is that at times like these Hannah is very proactive. She gets a generic clergy job description from work and we go through that and the syllabus in a systematic way. It is as Steve predicted and I feared. They want me to do things I feel I have already covered and had certificated and they will not be teaching me to be a priest.
Something crystallises in my mind that had been bothering me since my interview. I had been told that I would only be required to take two years of the course in recognition of my theology degree. I could miss out either year one or year three. If I could drop either, what does that say about the nature of the content of both years – and indeed year two – in relation to my existing academic qualifications?
July 2007: I stand down as chairman of the Philharmonic Chorus which is part of my strategy to release time for study. The other three Officers agree to keep my reasons confidential as nothing is yet certain. At a subsequent rehearsal I am approached by a number of people wishing me well for my future career in the church.
I also stand down from St. Atrophy’s morning worship group as my attendance pattern makes putting me on the rota very difficult.
I receive a response from Bratislava saying no. I ponder on this for a while.
O.K: plan B.
When the Philharmonic Chorus had toured the Baltic States and Finland I had been very taken with Tallinn, capital of Estonia. I contact Kaja who had helped to organise the tour from her end and had also organised a short placement in an Estonian school for me after the chorus had come home.
“Yes, we have an English language Lutheran congregation in Tallinn. I will get you the contact details.”
Two day’s later, I have contacted Pastor Gustav and it’s a done deal. The Bishop is happy with this arrangement. I can do this as a teacher by using school holidays. How do others cope?
“A parish placement in Tallinn?” says Jim “I’m in the wrong church. You jammy bugger!”
Leo pays a flying visit. We go for a walk and I tell him what has been playing on my mind and occupying my personal prayers about the course.
“What do you think they can teach you about the practice of being a priest Dad? You’re a theology graduate and you still do theology. You are a teacher of religious studies and you train others to teach it. You’re a qualified counsellor and you have been a Lay minister for over twenty years. In what way can’t you already meet the essential skills of this calling?”
“I have never conducted a marriage or a funeral. I’ve been at them, of course, but I’ve never conducted any. Nor formal baptisms for that matter.”
“Do they teach you that on the course?”
“No”
“Then it’s not a very good course.”
“No.”
The Bishop tells me that the Examination Committee does not now want to meet with me. However it would be helpful if I submitted a copy of the training needs analysis Hannah and I had done.
“You know, I don’t think you need to do that course.” He tells me. “Not with your experience and background. You can do a correspondence programme through Westfield House, the Lutheran College in Cambridge, and we can find a tutor at the university here to meet with you from time to time. I’ll put it to the Committee”
This is the best news imaginable, especially following my talk with Leo: I’m not Jim. I’m not thirty. This is a late vocation and two years duplicated study before ordination is not a good use of my time. Nor is it good for the church with its chronic shortage of ordained ministers. I am impressed that the Lutheran Church is prepared to be so flexible in its approach to training. Certainly the Anglicans don’t do a tailor made individual programme to take the needs of each candidate into consideration.
What do they say about not counting your chickens?
I attend St. Atrophy’s for a Philharmonic rehearsal and am very early. The rector is on his way out. We both seem awkward at the encounter.
“I understand you are looking to be ordained in the Lutheran church.”
“Yes”
“That will be interesting.” He says and turns on his heel and leaves.
It seems an awkward and unsatisfactory exchange. Is it one of those situations when what is not said is more significant than what is said? Or was it simply wrong time, wrong place? The Rector knows I am confiding in Jim so perhaps he feels that his intervention would be overkill. Not for the first time I feel sad at our miscommunication.
I receive an e-mail from the man at St. Atrophy’s who co-ordinates the intercessions rota. He apologises for having left this so long but he has been away. Someone has complained to the Rector about the intercessions I had led in June.
I don’t set out to be controversial but I do set out to be challenging. I had used the word “homophobia” in a section of the prayers about casual expressions of prejudice which also included racism and sexism. As an Evangelical it is, the complainant opined, possible to be homophobic in good conscience if one believes the Bible. She was also, she informed the Rector, currently doing her laundry “in good conscience” at fifty degrees and did not take kindly to my suggestion that we have a responsibility to consider our carbon footprint and to adapt our routines accordingly. This jars with me: following my delivery of those intercessions I was engaged in more conversations over coffee with people I hardly know than I could have anticipated and every comment was positive.
The Examination Committee meets and that evening I wait by the phone for the Bishop’s call. He doesn’t ring. It must have been a long day.
The next evening I ring him.
“Hello, what can I do for you?” he says. This surprises me. Have I made a calendar mistake?
“I was wondering if you had any news about the Committee meeting.”
“Ah, yes. They found your documentation helpful and they want you to go on the course at the theological college. I argued against that but they were adamant. They want to meet you at their next meeting in November.”
“I’ll already have been on the course for two months by then.”
“Yes. They will write to you about it formally”
“Why don’t you just be a Lay Minister?” Hannah asks. Why, indeed? Is this a message from God? Am I somehow supposed to discern something from this? I mooch about for the rest of the evening.
“No. God wants me in ordained ministry. I haven’t come this far to be so easily put off.” Pretty well everyone you meet in the church is critical of its administrative ineptitude so I suppose this is just another example.
The end of the school year comes at last and the staff has a barbeque and say our farewells to those moving on. Never have I been so pleased at the arrival of a school holiday!
The Pope has declared that other denominations are not real churches. A lot of Christians I know are disturbed by this. I wonder why they waste the emotional energy. I have long since disregarded the pronouncements of the Roman Catholic Church as the expressions of inauthentic religion. A religion which condemns millions in the third world to a lingering death because it will not sanction the use of condoms in the fight against HIV/AIDS has nothing to teach me about the Christian life. A religion which condemns innumerable women to the traumas of an intolerable pregnancy because its stance on abortion claims that no conception takes place unless God wills it, which therefore must include conceptions brought on through rape and incest, has no right to claim the moral high ground in my view.
No formal letter from the Examination Committee as yet.
I am now at St. Small’s four weeks out of five. The Bishop has been encouraging me to maintain my contacts at St. Atrophy’s while my girls attend there. He has written to the Rector to explain and asking that I might be used if possible on the weeks I am there.
Two weeks before my Lutheran licensing as a Lay Minister I e-mail St. Atrophy’s office to ask if something could go in the bulletin about it. It does go in and I hear that I have been included in the intercessions. I am heartened.
It is now the morning of my licensing and I awake in a very odd mood. Leo rings to wish me good luck and Hannah, Katherine and Louise accompany me to Small’s. I am robed, which merely enhances my sense of discomfort. The Bishop, Steve and Carol are all involved in the service which goes smoothly and I am formally welcomed into the congregation. I assist at the Eucharist. It is more than distributing the elements: I have liturgical contributions to make and lead part of the responsive dialogue.
August 2007: One very relaxing family holiday in the Lake District later and I am back at home working on the course starter pack from the theological college. I now feel quite upbeat about it.
No formal letter yet from the Examination Committee and I e-mail the Bishop. That evening, as if by magic, I receive an e-mail from the secretary of the Examination Committee. She confirms that they would like to see me in November and goes on to say that they are in no position to recommend me to any course but would suggest that I did some specifically Lutheran work.
What? This is the opposite of the Bishop’s oral report.
“You have to get used to this, mate.” Says Steve “This is how it works. I could tell you a tale or two of being mucked about by various committees.”
I already know that the Bishop has contacted the college to confirm that I am a candidate for ordination sponsored by the Lutheran Church. I also know that he has secured funding for me so what on earth is going on? Is the Bishop playing me off against the Examination Committee and if so has the secretary unwittingly outed him?
A few days later I see Jim for lunch. It is an enjoyable and relaxed event. I decide not to bad-mouth the LCiGB to him.
“Has anyone warned you that people will want to sleep with you when you are ordained?”
“I think someone may have mentioned it.”
I look at Jim. Sixty percent of his huge evening congregation is made up of women between the ages of eighteen and forty. I do a comparative audit of the congregation of St. Small’s and feel reassured.
“Anyway I am old enough to be your…..uncle.”
This leads into a conversation about times of feeling spiritually vulnerable and I ask whether Jim has felt under attack at significant times in his ministry, such as just having been accepted as an ordinand, approaching ordination, changing congregations or whatever. I note his response clearly indicates his belief in Satan. I note, too, that while I also believe in Satan, my responses tend to be couched in broader and more rational terms and refer to a sense of spiritual vulnerability. I recognise again that the way I talk theologically often tends to demythologise religious ideas.
I ask Jim whether he would be prepared to be my critical friend as I approach training and he is pleased to undertake that role.
After the event I realise just how vulnerable this personable young man has been prepared to make himself to me as he talked about his ministry, his hopes, aspirations, worries and perceived weaknesses. That gratifies me immensely: I have something to contribute in support of others further along the journey than me; but then it’s not really about junior or senior partners in the dog-collar stakes is it? It is about personality, skills and experience. Why on earth shouldn’t I be able to support Jim effectively?
I now have two spiritual directors in Steve and Jim and both have expressed the view that this will be a two way process, and a two way process that they will value for my contribution and insights in support of them. I feel pleased that they are valuing me for my skills as much as I am valuing them for theirs. I am not going to allow myself to become a self-indulgent burden on them though. I don’t anticipate being high-maintenance in spiritual direction terms.
That Sunday at St. Small’s I assist in the Eucharist again. This time I take part in the full service, not just the section that kicked in after my licensing. This earlier section includes the sung responses. I have sat in the congregation and heard these hundreds of times over the years but today it is my turn to lead. I get the first one 90% right and Neil, our organist, seamlessly rescues me from the strange key change I have initiated. From then on it is plain sailing.
I drive to St. Atrophy’s to collect the girls and a lady in the congregation winds down her car window as I pass.
“We miss you, you know.” How kind. Kind but odd: over the last couple of years I have struggled with the lack the feedback I have had when I have made a contribution. It’s not that I need constantly affirming, but occasionally would have been nice. I am sure it is because I sense that the Rector views me with suspicion and therefore I have a greater need to know when I have got it right (while claiming at the same time not to care about his opinion – which is deeply inconsistent). The result has been my own determination to affirm others for the part they play in worship.
A few days later and I am surfing the internet. I clearly have too much time on my hands. I am on Lutheran sites and come across the tantalising by-line “Jesus’ Dickheads”.
Who could resist?
It turned out to be a fantastic story about Christians disrupting prayers at the U.S. Senate because they were being conducted by a Hindu chaplain. That wasn’t the fantastic bit, obviously, and the article goes on to say a variety of things like:
“At no point in The Bible does Jesus say: Be a Dick in my name.” The piece continues with the hope that such Christians would fall to their knees and say “Forgive me Lord for I have been a total Dick.” It also acknowledges, I would guess for the first time, the Christian sub-group called “Christdicks”.
“Nothing digs at the heart of a Christdick than the knowledge that someone thinks they're doing their Christianity wrong. Gets 'em all defensive and huffy, which is better than them being smug and self-righteous, in my book.”
I like this.
I send the link to Jim. He could get away with this in the evening service. It certainly has the basis for serious sermon points.
While we are on the topic of Christian behaviour that makes me want to shout “Not in my name!” I also come across a controversy concerning the High Point Church in Arlington, Texas which had refused to host a memorial service for a gay man. When this was announced to the congregation they burst into spontaneous applause.
That is not just insensitive; it is nothing short of wicked.
Were there gays in the time of Jesus? Of course there were. We know how he would have responded to them by the way he responded to other marginalised groups who he deliberately sought out to spend time with. He did this to make a point to the pious and the Pharisees. The good folk of High point are continuing the Pharisaic tradition of missing the point.
I visit Martin, who is about to go on a study sabbatical for a year. He is highly amused by the Christdick phenomenon. He tells me he has just received a reference request from the church which tells him I have expressed interest in ordained ministry.
“I thought you had been accepted.”
“So did I.” I am about to commence a two year course of study leading to ordination and the church authorities have just got round to taking up initial references. Fantastic.
I receive a letter from the theological college: “I am delighted to hear that you have been recommended for Ordination training. Many congratulations. I am therefore very pleased to admit you to the course.”
That’s good then.
It is the second time they have sent it to me.
Close to five hundred people have been blown apart in Northern Iraq this week for being the wrong sort of Muslim. This is another sign of inauthentic religion which is a dangerous tool in the hands of those who have highly destructive weapons of technology at their fingertips. Utterly convinced that they have God on their side, they may one day tear the world apart with a second Big-Bang (de-creation by our own will rather than recreation by God’s will) that could lead to the end of us all. My good, decent, pious Muslim friends are appalled.
I see the Bishop today. I am now formally to be known as Candidate-Pastor. He takes me to a liturgical outfitters where he buys me, on behalf of the congregation, a cassock-alb and from himself, a selection of clerical shirts, which I may begin to wear at once. What generous gestures.
At home I try on the alb. This is not a good time to realise that the dressing up element of priesthood doesn’t appeal. I look a nob!
The Rector of St. Atrophy’s e-mails me. Would I care to be interviewed about what is happening for me the next time I am in church? It is a nice e-mail and a conciliatory gesture. I agree to be interviewed.
I haven’t seen much of Jez over the summer what with family holidays and busy lives but today I receive an e-mail with a copy of the reference he has prepared for the examination committee. I am deeply touched by the things he has said. It strikes me, not for the first time in relation to Jez, how easy it is to fall into the routines of friendship without from time to time showing appropriate appreciation for the things which have caused us to be friends in the first place. There are so many things I would like to say to Jez but I know he would be mortified at the prospect. Perhaps I’ll write him a spoof reference. I do. Isn’t e-mail wonderful? So much easier than dealing with real emotions face to face.
The natural order of things is restored: I have managed an evening with Jez. Beer and fellowship – you can’t beat it.
June 2003: I have decided to leave St. Angst’s. This has not been an easy decision. I have worshipped there for twenty five years, twenty of those as a Lay Minister.
I am not completely sure why I am leaving; only that I need a change and time to think and reflect about what God is doing, or trying to do in my life.
Hannah and I went to Prague and on our return discovered that Revd. Martin had signed up the congregation to the “Stop the War Campaign”. I am not an apologist for war, but I am not a pacifist either and I feel strangely wrong footed by this move, not being completely sure where I stand on either the war in Iraq or the practice of unilaterally signing up the whole congregation without a proper meeting or process of consultation.
Hannah, Martin and I meet in an attempt to resolve our differences and to find a way forward but there is not a meeting of minds and we all feel frustrated by this turn of events.
Nevertheless, I have been unsettled for some time and with feelings running high, this may be a good time for a reappraisal and period of reflection. I shall take a sabbatical and dip in and out of worship anonymously in other churches in the city until I get an answer. The problem is I am unsure of the question. I may well include St. Small’s Lutheran congregation, where I was baptised, at some stage in this sojourn. I may look to a change to an evening congregation to allow for a more effective doorman’s ministry on a Saturday night.
Sept 2003: I have acted. This morning I went to St. Atrophy’s on the basis that this is where I rehearse every week with The Philharmonic Chorus so I know where it is and that there is parking. Lazy criteria, I know but I have to start somewhere. I haven’t done Evangelicalism for a long time, but it was all very familiar, if disturbingly unchanged. I was knocked out by the worship and the impressive music group. I may come back.
December 2003: I think I have to acknowledge that I am now a member of St. Atrophy’s having been nowhere else since leaving St. Angst’s. It is not very challenging theologically but I am making friends and feel too spiritually tired to make the effort to follow my original plan.
I have received a pastoral visit from Revd. Charity, a woman of little intelligence and less charm. She would like me to join a house group. My deep resistance irritates her. I tell her I have other calls on my time. She tells me it is a matter of priorities. I am, however, signed up for the morning worship group which pleases me.
I have been disturbed that my license as Lay Minister is not understood here or welcomed. I am left in no doubt by Charity that this Diocesan initiative is not to be encouraged at St. Atrophy’s. Well, perhaps no surprise: this is a church with three full time clergy. Although there are many members of the laity playing significant roles, it is not shared ministry, it is supervised ministry. Why would they want to relinquish significant responsibility to the laity? Also, this is evangelicalism and therefore rather controlling.
Jan 2004: I have managed to irritate Charity even more than usual. I seem to achieve this on a regular basis simply by being me. On this occasion I asked her what St. Atrophy’s position on the Gay issue was. It seemed a perfectly reasonable question considering what appears to be brewing in the worldwide Anglican Communion.
It was I have to acknowledge, a somewhat disingenuous question as I already know what Conservative Evangelicals believe about Human Sexuality. Nevertheless, it seems to be being discussed everywhere but at St. Atrophy’s, where, God forbid that the sermon programme should be interrupted to acknowledge events in the real world.
“There is a statement from The Evangelical Alliance on Human Sexuality which represents our view.”
“Where is it and how many members of this congregation can you be confident have a) read it and b) agree with it? It’s my observation that a great many members of this congregation are off message on this one.”
I have one of those once-in-a-lifetime situations this week as a doorman which sees me conducting a baptism. (See Blog: A Doorman's Journal)
Feb 2004: I have put together a paper on an alternative view of Human Sexuality to that of the Evangelical Alliance. I finally got their statement from the internet, having failed to find a copy at St. Atrophy’s. My paper is both theological and Biblical. I circulated it amongst a small group of friends within the church to considerable positive feedback.
I am now not to be allowed to take my turn on the intercessions rota for having promoted views which do not accord with the mind of the church.
I am going to need to move on again.
April 2004: Unaccountably I am still here and miserable. I have compounded my transgression by enquiring when the issue of peace and conflict is to be discussed in the sermon slot seeing as the war in Iraq shows no sign of an early resolution.
“There is a Bishop’s statement in the Narthex” said a pursed lipped Charity. (Cat’s arse lips are not a good look on a woman of indeterminate middle age).
“You wouldn’t like to minimise the risk of people not reading it by sharing it with us during a service and us possibly exploring our individual or congregational responses?”
Seemingly not. It strikes me again how close to the line which demarks true from inauthentic religion some evangelicals are. Inauthentic religion treats its followers like children and keeps them in an infantile relationship with God while inhibiting spiritual development.
I am now growing closer to Martin’s view on the war in Iraq but am pleased not to have been bounced into a stance before I had thought it through. I am looking at Aquinas’ conditions for the Just War.
June 2004: I am definitely on the verge of departing when we hear that Charity and the Rector are moving on. Change is in the air. I shall hang about a bit longer. My mood has lifted. There are people in this congregation I really like, relate to and hold in high regard and I would miss them.
December 2004: The new Rector arrives before the departure of Charity. I am invited to meet with him one to one in his study. This is a pleasant and friendly meeting but it is not a meeting of minds. Reflecting on it afterwards I am, I feel, a dangerous radical who is not to be trusted with the intercessions microphone. My friends in the congregation are surprised at how difficult I am finding it to get on the intercessions rota: they are doubly surprised to find that I have a personal prohibition from the clergy.
Time to step back and reflect. Twenty years as an Anglican Lay Minister. I have, in that role, led intercessions countless times. I have read the scriptures in public worship. I have preached more times than I can remember. I have assisted with the Eucharist. I have laid on hands and prayed for healing. In two interregnums I have been the visible leadership of the church. What on earth am I doing here?
Is it my increasingly uncomfortable relationship with the clergy (never the laity) of St. Atrophy’s which is the problem? Come on God: what do you want of me? Or for me?
Back on good terms with Martin I relate this situation. He expresses considerable anger.
“You can always come back here you know.”
I do know, but what I also know is that something is happening for me that I don’t fully understand but which does not involve returning to St. Angst’s. That would seem a backward step.
March 2005: By now both Katherine and Louise are worshipping at St. Atrophy’s. I have no problem with this. Youth work is good here and they are surrounded by youngsters of their own age, (even if some of them aren’t allowed to read Harry Potter.)
Anyway youth work at St. Angst’s, where Hannah continues to worship, has always been hampered by a lack of sufficient youth to run anything age appropriate and there are only so many services where young teenagers should witness adults in deep distress.
I am invited to the Rectory where the Rector and I have a frank discussion on the theology of Human sexuality. He is a nice man and he genuinely tries to be conciliatory which I appreciate. He tells me that he is soon to preach in the evening service on this topic. He hopes that the matter of my desire to lead intercessions will soon be resolved. This confuses me. How can it be? While I have appreciated his reaching out to me, it is a dialogue of the deaf in terms of either one of us changing our views.
June 2005: Revd. Jim has arrived. He is a breath of fresh air and immensely talented and charismatic. He is also a transparently nice guy. I am instantly drawn to him. I am also aware that I am likely to have little opportunity in the normal course of events to get to know him as he is given responsibility for the evening service and I attend in the morning. I see nothing to be gained by contriving contact.
I have rationalised my failure to attend worship elsewhere on the basis that there is no such thing as a perfect church and I must simply make the best of my situation. Giving up and going elsewhere is not the answer.
I conclude that it may be my calling to be a thorn in the side of conservative evangelicalism, and heartened by that realisation, I feel better about being at St. Atrophy’s.
Nov 2005: The Rector preaches on Human Sexuality. I do not go: the prospect of my having to walk out or worse, to stand up and argue in public, makes it impossible. He sends me the sermon as an e-mail attachment which is a courteous thing to do. It is well structured, thoughtful and well argued. To my mind, though, it is also totally predictable in terms of its evangelical stance and I can not agree with its theology or its use of scripture.
What is an appropriate response? I begin to play around with it and after an hour or so I am able to return the compliment in the shape of an alternative perspective, theologically argued and Biblical. I have, in effect, deconstructed his sermon.
This is never discussed between us. I have a problem: I like the man, although I sense he is as wary of me as I am of him; he is my parish priest and therefore I am under authority. I know this in my head but I can’t feel it in my heart.
I am now experiencing odd dreams. This is unusual, I rarely remember my dreams. The main dream is based around a stained glass window which I do not recognise. It is very distinctive. The dream comes in a number of variants: sometimes I am standing in front of it, sometimes my old Lutheran Pastor is standing in front of it and sometimes we both are.
I share this dream with Jez on the coach back from the BBC’s Manchester studios where we had been rehearsing for Britten’s War Requiem. He listens attentively.
“Have you gone back to the Lutheran Church?”
I resolve to.
Jan 2006: I continue to visit the prayer ministry area after Communion, increasingly confused about the whole issue of God’s guidance which I feel totally unable to discern. I am convinced God wants more for me than this but I can not make progress with it. The care and pastoral support I receive there from members of the prayer team is both moving and humbling. Often these times are followed up by perceptive and caring conversations. I begin to be selective about who I go forward for prayer with.
I consider whether I am in danger of becoming depressed over this issue.
Feb 2006: I make e-mail contact with St. Small’s but unaccountably bottle out of going. I share my confusion with Revd. Dan over a beer (or three). I am Dan’s Diocesan appointed Work Consultant and we meet up fairly regularly. Dan refuses to give advice but asks pertinent questions.
I experience a new dream. I can see a computer drop-down menu. It displays the word “Anglican”. It changes. It now displays the word “Lutheran”. This is destabilising: I don’t give credibility to the idea of dreams having a significant literal meaning, although I understand there are a variety of psychological interpretations. Is this an anxiety dream?
March 2006: Revd. Jim preaches a sermon in the morning service. It is based on the Parable of the Talents. It speaks to my heart and agitates me deeply. It taps into my paranoia about my sense of a lack of God’s guidance.
I make an appointment to meet my old Lutheran Pastor. He is now the Bishop. The meeting is warm and welcoming. We talk about God’s calling and begin to explore what I understand about vocation. He admits that he perceived God’s calling to Ordained Ministry in me when I had first attended his congregation half a lifetime ago.
He shows me around the new church building. This is a heart stopping moment: there is the stained glass window of my earlier dreams.
I attend the next morning worship at St. Small’s.
I cold-call e-mail Jim about the impact his sermon has had on me. We arrange to meet and my initial impressions of him were not wrong. Our conversation is warm and wide ranging. There is mutual respect and we laugh as we share our experiences of our Christian journeys. I discover that Jim is a former doorman and we share more common ground. We talk deeply and I begin to see a way forward. I leave having made a friend.
I have the beginnings of resolve based on the very scary notion that I may have a calling to ordained ministry. I discuss this with Hannah for the first time and am amazed by her calm acceptance of my burgeoning sense of vocation.
On Friday evening, returning in the early hours following a quiet night on the door, I find myself involved in dealing with a fire in a neighbour’s garage. (See Blog: Fire)
I am informed that I may now join the intercessions rota at St. Atrophy’s. I no longer care much as my head is elsewhere but accept with as good a grace as I can muster. I prepare my intercessions with care and when I stand behind the microphone I see in the congregation a young Asian woman wearing a traditional Muslim head covering. This must surely be a first for St. Atrophy’s. I have a moment of mild panic as my intercessions concentrate heavily on terrorism and the importance of good relationships between Christians and our Muslim Neighbours. She is nodding enthusiastically. I mention “…..the followers of Jesus and the followers of Muhammad” and add as a courtesy to her the traditional Muslim salutation after mention of the name Muhammad, “Peace be upon him.”
That afternoon the Rector calls round to check on my theology of the salvation of other faiths. Hannah is quietly incensed, but mellowed by the best part of a bottle of wine consumed at the family Sunday lunch with Dan’s family; I resist the temptation to become argumentative. He lives literally five minutes walk from my house, he calls very infrequently and I don’t feel pastorally cared for. Yet it seems that as soon as he suspects I am off message (again) he is round like a shot. This makes me realise that prior to Jim’s arrival I have never felt pastorally cared for at St. Atrophy’s. It is one thing to be on civilised terms, to talk, discuss and debate, but I have felt vulnerable and marginalised for most of the time I have been there as a result of taking what I believe to have been principled theological stances. The Rector leaves and I swear. Quietly. In Braille, in fact.
November 2006: I am now splitting my time between St. Atrophy’s and St. Small’s, less at the former, more at the latter where I feel more welcomed and valued. The Bishop suggests I meet Pastor Steve. He is a non-stipendiary Pastor and serving Doorman. There seems to be a theme developing here.
I ring Steve and there is an instant rapport. We arrange to meet.
“You’ll recognise him.” I’m told “He looks like one of the Mitchell brothers from Eastenders.”
I meet Steve for coffee at the end of one of his shifts on security at a city centre jewellers in the run up to Christmas. I am in awe of him. I can’t imagine that anyone would mess with him. Well, not twice anyway. Steve cuts straight to the chase. “The Bishop says you are seeking ordination.” And possibly for the first time I acknowledge that I am. Steve and I subsequently develop the regular routine of the pastoral curry.
I have a dream. (Who do I think I am? Martin Luther-King?) I am in a liturgical procession with Steve and the Bishop. We pass a woman who speaks to me.
“Why aren’t you wearing a dog-collar?”
“I am not ordained”
“Why not?”
I still refuse to openly acknowledge that these dreams are anything more than my overtired mind depositing things in its recycle bin, but my evangelical friends become very excited when I relate the details of my dreams. I still can not rationalise the dreams about the stained glass windows.
Dec 2006: I go for one of my regular half-term lunches with Ugly Mick. When we have finished moaning about our pupils I tell him what I am thinking. He is quiet for a moment, (unusual in itself), and then says “I think you should.” We have been friends for over twenty years and I am touched that he is genuinely pleased for me. “I still won’t come to church, though.”
April 2007: The Bishop and I agree that I shall be formally licensed as a Lay Minister, probably at the end of the summer. “We recognise your Anglican experience.” I refrain from pointing out that there hasn’t been too much of that at St. Atrophy’s.
I don’t see much of Jim but I am able to keep him updated by regular e-mail contact and am encouraged by his support. Dan still refuses to be drawn on whether this is a good idea. “This is between you and the Holy Spirit. Well, and the selection panel - and that’s the problem. The church regularly makes mistakes over selection in both directions” Is he trying to tell me something?
The Philharmonic chorus visits Bratislava, Vienna and Budapest. As ever I share a room with Jez. Once again I am touched by the quality of friendship we have as I struggle to put into words where I am with it all.
Dave and I go exploring old Town Bratislava looking for the English speaking Lutheran congregation. It is shut. It is Easter Saturday and every other church in the city is open but not the Lutheran church. How pathetic is that? Dave seems quite happy to trek the back streets of the Old Town on this fruitless task and eventually asks why it matters so much. I explain about my sense of Vocation. “Wow. That’s great. I’ve never believed in God, but I think that’s great. I’d almost think about coming to church if you were a priest.” Dave has spent a significant amount of time in various churches performing in liturgical services with choirs. At no stage does he seem to have absorbed any religious teaching or wider awareness about what is going on. I tease him about this a lot. “Yeah, great isn’t it?” he always replies.
In Budapest Jez and I have a quiet beer. (Well quite a few actually). I realise that I have expressed a lot of frustration about the institutional church in my conversations with him over some time. I sense in Jez an understated spirituality and, coming from a Roman Catholic background - although now lapsed, I know he understands what I am talking about and his responses are perceptive and well informed. I feel I should redress the balance. “Instead of moaning about the church, I feel, perhaps, I should have been telling you about the joy of having Jesus in your life” I say, tongue very firmly in cheek. “You’d be talking to yourself, then, because I’d be over there with Dave and the others.”
May 2007: The Bishop tells me to be available to meet with the Examination Committee in July in London.
I spend some time with Martin who is very supportive. We discuss my work as a Doorman and the precarious position of St. Small’s and its viability as a congregation.
“Have you considered that you might have a ministry on the margins?”
Martin and Jim continue to be supportive. Steve already sees it as a done deal. Mick, Jez and Dave are pleased for me but understandably don’t feel qualified to offer advice. Hannah and Leo think it is the right thing and Katherine and Louise are happy about it because everyone else is happy about it.
Dan continues to resist discussing ministry and vocation in anything but the most general terms.
Pastor Carol has no doubts. My arrival on the scene at St. Small’s is a clear indication to her of God’s provident timing and an answer to prayer. She has been suffering from ill health and has decided to retire in October.
June 2007: The Bishop tells me that I will need to undertake a parish placement. Steve tells me that he went to the USA for six weeks. I know I will be self-funding and that sounds very expensive so I begin to wonder about the English speaking congregation in Bratislava. I find a web-site and e-mail them.
“You do realise that when you have the dog-collar you’ll be propositioned a lot for sex?” says Steve over his Chicken Madras. This doesn’t surprise me. I already know it is a fact that authority figures in uniform – usually police or fire-fighters, but also doormen of course, have regular sexual advances made to them and far more so than when they are in civvies. So why not priests? How disturbing!
“Now about college. I don’t want you to be disappointed but I think you need to know that the course won’t teach you anything about the craft of being a priest. It thinks it does, but it doesn’t. It’ll give you a lot of theology that you don’t need because you’ve already covered it.”
I go home with Steve’s words playing on my mind.
I begin to tell my friends at St. Atrophy’s about what I am undertaking. Their response is overwhelmingly positive and supportive.
I attend an induction evening for the ecumenical course at the theological college. I go straight from school and the journey by car is about ten minutes. It really couldn’t be much more convenient. Every Wednesday evening for two years – two years because I am already a theology graduate, one week’s residential each Easter, seven residential weekends a year and fifteen hours of study a week. Am I completely mad? (I will probably have to give up being a doorman which will be sad but at the same time I’m not getting any younger so it may be the right time.)
It is a cold rainy evening when I arrive at the theological college, not what we had been hoping for at this stage in the summer, and my spirits are low through lack of warmth and sunshine and as a result of a long hard term.
I have a fairly perfunctory interview and am told that the course is pretty much for Anglicans and Methodists so it will be good to have my perspective.
I fill in an application form and I am then taken to the student’s common room where all three year groups are gathering before the sessions start. I am left there without introduction but am rescued by a very pleasant couple of final year students who put me at my ease. We all go into a large room for notices and prayer and then split into groups. The first year’s study of interpretation and use of scripture, and the second year’s study of Christian tradition do not appeal much and I go with the final year students to their session on pastoral and practical theology. They are looking at counselling skills and how to give bad news. There is roll play and discussion and analysis. As a qualified counsellor I feel on familiar ground. After half an hour I have lost the will to live and I mentally berate myself for this negativity.
We break for coffee, the point at which it was agreed that I would leave. I seek out the session leader, thank him and give my apologies.
“Good, we are a bit short of seats.”
I go home deeply depressed.
That weekend Hannah and I are processing what happened and my feelings about it. We look at the course syllabus. Steve’s words were indeed prophetic.
“I think my problem” I say to Hannah “is that I have no great desire to duplicate theological study or skill and experience development that I have already covered. At the same time I don’t want to appear like a know-all who thinks he doesn’t need to undertake further study.”
One of the big advantages of being married to a university careers advisor is that at times like these Hannah is very proactive. She gets a generic clergy job description from work and we go through that and the syllabus in a systematic way. It is as Steve predicted and I feared. They want me to do things I feel I have already covered and had certificated and they will not be teaching me to be a priest.
Something crystallises in my mind that had been bothering me since my interview. I had been told that I would only be required to take two years of the course in recognition of my theology degree. I could miss out either year one or year three. If I could drop either, what does that say about the nature of the content of both years – and indeed year two – in relation to my existing academic qualifications?
July 2007: I stand down as chairman of the Philharmonic Chorus which is part of my strategy to release time for study. The other three Officers agree to keep my reasons confidential as nothing is yet certain. At a subsequent rehearsal I am approached by a number of people wishing me well for my future career in the church.
I also stand down from St. Atrophy’s morning worship group as my attendance pattern makes putting me on the rota very difficult.
I receive a response from Bratislava saying no. I ponder on this for a while.
O.K: plan B.
When the Philharmonic Chorus had toured the Baltic States and Finland I had been very taken with Tallinn, capital of Estonia. I contact Kaja who had helped to organise the tour from her end and had also organised a short placement in an Estonian school for me after the chorus had come home.
“Yes, we have an English language Lutheran congregation in Tallinn. I will get you the contact details.”
Two day’s later, I have contacted Pastor Gustav and it’s a done deal. The Bishop is happy with this arrangement. I can do this as a teacher by using school holidays. How do others cope?
“A parish placement in Tallinn?” says Jim “I’m in the wrong church. You jammy bugger!”
Leo pays a flying visit. We go for a walk and I tell him what has been playing on my mind and occupying my personal prayers about the course.
“What do you think they can teach you about the practice of being a priest Dad? You’re a theology graduate and you still do theology. You are a teacher of religious studies and you train others to teach it. You’re a qualified counsellor and you have been a Lay minister for over twenty years. In what way can’t you already meet the essential skills of this calling?”
“I have never conducted a marriage or a funeral. I’ve been at them, of course, but I’ve never conducted any. Nor formal baptisms for that matter.”
“Do they teach you that on the course?”
“No”
“Then it’s not a very good course.”
“No.”
The Bishop tells me that the Examination Committee does not now want to meet with me. However it would be helpful if I submitted a copy of the training needs analysis Hannah and I had done.
“You know, I don’t think you need to do that course.” He tells me. “Not with your experience and background. You can do a correspondence programme through Westfield House, the Lutheran College in Cambridge, and we can find a tutor at the university here to meet with you from time to time. I’ll put it to the Committee”
This is the best news imaginable, especially following my talk with Leo: I’m not Jim. I’m not thirty. This is a late vocation and two years duplicated study before ordination is not a good use of my time. Nor is it good for the church with its chronic shortage of ordained ministers. I am impressed that the Lutheran Church is prepared to be so flexible in its approach to training. Certainly the Anglicans don’t do a tailor made individual programme to take the needs of each candidate into consideration.
What do they say about not counting your chickens?
I attend St. Atrophy’s for a Philharmonic rehearsal and am very early. The rector is on his way out. We both seem awkward at the encounter.
“I understand you are looking to be ordained in the Lutheran church.”
“Yes”
“That will be interesting.” He says and turns on his heel and leaves.
It seems an awkward and unsatisfactory exchange. Is it one of those situations when what is not said is more significant than what is said? Or was it simply wrong time, wrong place? The Rector knows I am confiding in Jim so perhaps he feels that his intervention would be overkill. Not for the first time I feel sad at our miscommunication.
I receive an e-mail from the man at St. Atrophy’s who co-ordinates the intercessions rota. He apologises for having left this so long but he has been away. Someone has complained to the Rector about the intercessions I had led in June.
I don’t set out to be controversial but I do set out to be challenging. I had used the word “homophobia” in a section of the prayers about casual expressions of prejudice which also included racism and sexism. As an Evangelical it is, the complainant opined, possible to be homophobic in good conscience if one believes the Bible. She was also, she informed the Rector, currently doing her laundry “in good conscience” at fifty degrees and did not take kindly to my suggestion that we have a responsibility to consider our carbon footprint and to adapt our routines accordingly. This jars with me: following my delivery of those intercessions I was engaged in more conversations over coffee with people I hardly know than I could have anticipated and every comment was positive.
The Examination Committee meets and that evening I wait by the phone for the Bishop’s call. He doesn’t ring. It must have been a long day.
The next evening I ring him.
“Hello, what can I do for you?” he says. This surprises me. Have I made a calendar mistake?
“I was wondering if you had any news about the Committee meeting.”
“Ah, yes. They found your documentation helpful and they want you to go on the course at the theological college. I argued against that but they were adamant. They want to meet you at their next meeting in November.”
“I’ll already have been on the course for two months by then.”
“Yes. They will write to you about it formally”
“Why don’t you just be a Lay Minister?” Hannah asks. Why, indeed? Is this a message from God? Am I somehow supposed to discern something from this? I mooch about for the rest of the evening.
“No. God wants me in ordained ministry. I haven’t come this far to be so easily put off.” Pretty well everyone you meet in the church is critical of its administrative ineptitude so I suppose this is just another example.
The end of the school year comes at last and the staff has a barbeque and say our farewells to those moving on. Never have I been so pleased at the arrival of a school holiday!
The Pope has declared that other denominations are not real churches. A lot of Christians I know are disturbed by this. I wonder why they waste the emotional energy. I have long since disregarded the pronouncements of the Roman Catholic Church as the expressions of inauthentic religion. A religion which condemns millions in the third world to a lingering death because it will not sanction the use of condoms in the fight against HIV/AIDS has nothing to teach me about the Christian life. A religion which condemns innumerable women to the traumas of an intolerable pregnancy because its stance on abortion claims that no conception takes place unless God wills it, which therefore must include conceptions brought on through rape and incest, has no right to claim the moral high ground in my view.
No formal letter from the Examination Committee as yet.
I am now at St. Small’s four weeks out of five. The Bishop has been encouraging me to maintain my contacts at St. Atrophy’s while my girls attend there. He has written to the Rector to explain and asking that I might be used if possible on the weeks I am there.
Two weeks before my Lutheran licensing as a Lay Minister I e-mail St. Atrophy’s office to ask if something could go in the bulletin about it. It does go in and I hear that I have been included in the intercessions. I am heartened.
It is now the morning of my licensing and I awake in a very odd mood. Leo rings to wish me good luck and Hannah, Katherine and Louise accompany me to Small’s. I am robed, which merely enhances my sense of discomfort. The Bishop, Steve and Carol are all involved in the service which goes smoothly and I am formally welcomed into the congregation. I assist at the Eucharist. It is more than distributing the elements: I have liturgical contributions to make and lead part of the responsive dialogue.
August 2007: One very relaxing family holiday in the Lake District later and I am back at home working on the course starter pack from the theological college. I now feel quite upbeat about it.
No formal letter yet from the Examination Committee and I e-mail the Bishop. That evening, as if by magic, I receive an e-mail from the secretary of the Examination Committee. She confirms that they would like to see me in November and goes on to say that they are in no position to recommend me to any course but would suggest that I did some specifically Lutheran work.
What? This is the opposite of the Bishop’s oral report.
“You have to get used to this, mate.” Says Steve “This is how it works. I could tell you a tale or two of being mucked about by various committees.”
I already know that the Bishop has contacted the college to confirm that I am a candidate for ordination sponsored by the Lutheran Church. I also know that he has secured funding for me so what on earth is going on? Is the Bishop playing me off against the Examination Committee and if so has the secretary unwittingly outed him?
A few days later I see Jim for lunch. It is an enjoyable and relaxed event. I decide not to bad-mouth the LCiGB to him.
“Has anyone warned you that people will want to sleep with you when you are ordained?”
“I think someone may have mentioned it.”
I look at Jim. Sixty percent of his huge evening congregation is made up of women between the ages of eighteen and forty. I do a comparative audit of the congregation of St. Small’s and feel reassured.
“Anyway I am old enough to be your…..uncle.”
This leads into a conversation about times of feeling spiritually vulnerable and I ask whether Jim has felt under attack at significant times in his ministry, such as just having been accepted as an ordinand, approaching ordination, changing congregations or whatever. I note his response clearly indicates his belief in Satan. I note, too, that while I also believe in Satan, my responses tend to be couched in broader and more rational terms and refer to a sense of spiritual vulnerability. I recognise again that the way I talk theologically often tends to demythologise religious ideas.
I ask Jim whether he would be prepared to be my critical friend as I approach training and he is pleased to undertake that role.
After the event I realise just how vulnerable this personable young man has been prepared to make himself to me as he talked about his ministry, his hopes, aspirations, worries and perceived weaknesses. That gratifies me immensely: I have something to contribute in support of others further along the journey than me; but then it’s not really about junior or senior partners in the dog-collar stakes is it? It is about personality, skills and experience. Why on earth shouldn’t I be able to support Jim effectively?
I now have two spiritual directors in Steve and Jim and both have expressed the view that this will be a two way process, and a two way process that they will value for my contribution and insights in support of them. I feel pleased that they are valuing me for my skills as much as I am valuing them for theirs. I am not going to allow myself to become a self-indulgent burden on them though. I don’t anticipate being high-maintenance in spiritual direction terms.
That Sunday at St. Small’s I assist in the Eucharist again. This time I take part in the full service, not just the section that kicked in after my licensing. This earlier section includes the sung responses. I have sat in the congregation and heard these hundreds of times over the years but today it is my turn to lead. I get the first one 90% right and Neil, our organist, seamlessly rescues me from the strange key change I have initiated. From then on it is plain sailing.
I drive to St. Atrophy’s to collect the girls and a lady in the congregation winds down her car window as I pass.
“We miss you, you know.” How kind. Kind but odd: over the last couple of years I have struggled with the lack the feedback I have had when I have made a contribution. It’s not that I need constantly affirming, but occasionally would have been nice. I am sure it is because I sense that the Rector views me with suspicion and therefore I have a greater need to know when I have got it right (while claiming at the same time not to care about his opinion – which is deeply inconsistent). The result has been my own determination to affirm others for the part they play in worship.
A few days later and I am surfing the internet. I clearly have too much time on my hands. I am on Lutheran sites and come across the tantalising by-line “Jesus’ Dickheads”.
Who could resist?
It turned out to be a fantastic story about Christians disrupting prayers at the U.S. Senate because they were being conducted by a Hindu chaplain. That wasn’t the fantastic bit, obviously, and the article goes on to say a variety of things like:
“At no point in The Bible does Jesus say: Be a Dick in my name.” The piece continues with the hope that such Christians would fall to their knees and say “Forgive me Lord for I have been a total Dick.” It also acknowledges, I would guess for the first time, the Christian sub-group called “Christdicks”.
“Nothing digs at the heart of a Christdick than the knowledge that someone thinks they're doing their Christianity wrong. Gets 'em all defensive and huffy, which is better than them being smug and self-righteous, in my book.”
I like this.
I send the link to Jim. He could get away with this in the evening service. It certainly has the basis for serious sermon points.
While we are on the topic of Christian behaviour that makes me want to shout “Not in my name!” I also come across a controversy concerning the High Point Church in Arlington, Texas which had refused to host a memorial service for a gay man. When this was announced to the congregation they burst into spontaneous applause.
That is not just insensitive; it is nothing short of wicked.
Were there gays in the time of Jesus? Of course there were. We know how he would have responded to them by the way he responded to other marginalised groups who he deliberately sought out to spend time with. He did this to make a point to the pious and the Pharisees. The good folk of High point are continuing the Pharisaic tradition of missing the point.
I visit Martin, who is about to go on a study sabbatical for a year. He is highly amused by the Christdick phenomenon. He tells me he has just received a reference request from the church which tells him I have expressed interest in ordained ministry.
“I thought you had been accepted.”
“So did I.” I am about to commence a two year course of study leading to ordination and the church authorities have just got round to taking up initial references. Fantastic.
I receive a letter from the theological college: “I am delighted to hear that you have been recommended for Ordination training. Many congratulations. I am therefore very pleased to admit you to the course.”
That’s good then.
It is the second time they have sent it to me.
Close to five hundred people have been blown apart in Northern Iraq this week for being the wrong sort of Muslim. This is another sign of inauthentic religion which is a dangerous tool in the hands of those who have highly destructive weapons of technology at their fingertips. Utterly convinced that they have God on their side, they may one day tear the world apart with a second Big-Bang (de-creation by our own will rather than recreation by God’s will) that could lead to the end of us all. My good, decent, pious Muslim friends are appalled.
I see the Bishop today. I am now formally to be known as Candidate-Pastor. He takes me to a liturgical outfitters where he buys me, on behalf of the congregation, a cassock-alb and from himself, a selection of clerical shirts, which I may begin to wear at once. What generous gestures.
At home I try on the alb. This is not a good time to realise that the dressing up element of priesthood doesn’t appeal. I look a nob!
The Rector of St. Atrophy’s e-mails me. Would I care to be interviewed about what is happening for me the next time I am in church? It is a nice e-mail and a conciliatory gesture. I agree to be interviewed.
I haven’t seen much of Jez over the summer what with family holidays and busy lives but today I receive an e-mail with a copy of the reference he has prepared for the examination committee. I am deeply touched by the things he has said. It strikes me, not for the first time in relation to Jez, how easy it is to fall into the routines of friendship without from time to time showing appropriate appreciation for the things which have caused us to be friends in the first place. There are so many things I would like to say to Jez but I know he would be mortified at the prospect. Perhaps I’ll write him a spoof reference. I do. Isn’t e-mail wonderful? So much easier than dealing with real emotions face to face.
The natural order of things is restored: I have managed an evening with Jez. Beer and fellowship – you can’t beat it.
The rest of the story may be followed on Blog: Welcome to the World of Doorman-Priest.
2 comments:
"Beer and fellowship – you can’t beat it."
Amen, brother.
This was an extraordinary narrative. Thank you for sharing this little peek into your life with us.
You've a son called Leo! Wow - good choice.
I enjoyed reading this so much and now feel I know you. That's quite a journey.
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