Category Archives: Pastoralia

Friction

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Death by clinging

If you read the New Testament epistles or the Acts of the Apostles, you’ll be in no doubt that rows and disagreements have always been part of the fabric of church life. They still are. Sometimes they’re about what the Rector does or does not do, or what he permits or does not permit. Sometimes they’re about what the wider church organisation does or wishes to do. Sometimes they’re about something that happened years ago that we enjoy raking up, not realising that it is like a cancer, and that we are becoming more and more like Gollum in Lord of the Rings. At the root of all this, it seems to me, is lust for control. We can’t seem to let go of the illusion that the cosmos revolves around what ‘I’ want. Why do ‘I’ want it? Is it because if I don’t get it I feel as if I’ll be letting down the memory of my forefathers? Is it because I can cope only with what I am familiar with? Is it because I’m pretending that I’m still in my prime by keeping things as they were then?

We need to ask questions about our understanding of church. Is it a mystical reality, or an earthly club? Is the Church of Ireland a loose confederation of individual parishes that can do as they like, or is it part of the Church of Christ? If we are all parts of the same body, as St Paul writes, then what is the equivalent of the nervous system that coordinates activity and allows communication between the different parts and the centre? What, indeed, is the centre? And what does that mean for the way that we as individual Christians, and as Christian communities, carry out our business?

I will not exercise myself in great matters that are too high for me

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When I want your opinion, I’ll tell you it

It’s a never-ending source of wonderment to me to find that I come across so many people who are experts in everything under the sun. Indeed, sometimes I think that I must be the only person in the world who is not multitalented and omniscient. I fear that the planet will stop rotating on its axis when the curtains finally close around these gifted people. (It’s remarkable how many crematorium committals are accompanied by Frank Sinatra singing ‘and now, the end is here, and so I face the final curtain’ – or ‘Smoke gets in your eyes’). Over the last 40 years I have met such people on councils, committees, groups, and I never fail to be humbled by their expertise and their unselfish willingness to share it with the world. My life has been enriched beyond measure.

When I sang in Carlisle Cathedral choir, before mammals had evolved, I was curiously attracted to Psalm 131, and not merely because it was short. It begins: Lord, I am not high-minded: I have no proud looks. Whether or not I had or have proud looks, it’s the second verse that sticks in my mind: I will not exercise myself in great matters that are too high for me. You may not know this, but an extra verse has recently been discovered in a cave near the Dead Sea, and I’m the only person to have seen the manuscript. The additional text goes: and I wish everyone else would mind his or her own business as well.

There is an irregular verb that goes: I have principles, you are awkward, he/she/it is intransigent. Or you might prefer the more regular: I don’t know everything, you don’t know everything, he/she/it doesn’t know everything. Ludwig Wittgenstein said (something like) ‘whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent’, and ‘nothing is so difficult as not deceiving oneself.’ If we say that we know everything, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. Our own opinions are just that—opinions. Others may disagree with us, others may have had experiences that are different from ours and lead them to different conclusions. I know I harp on about this, but the fact is that one day we’ll be dead, and then our opinions won’t matter two hoots.

We would do well to listen to others and try to see where they are coming from. We would do well to accord to others the same ‘air time’ as we expect them to accord to us. We would do well to turn off the ‘transmit’ button, and turn on ‘receive’. We would do well to love our neighbour as ourselves—not better than, mark you, but as well as.

Hiding behind titles

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Pompous, proud and prelatical

In my former parishes, I was often called Fr Stanley. I liked this, since I am a father, and at least in Derbyshire there was affection in it. But I understand that this is de trop in the Church of Ireland. Here, the tradition seems to be to call me Rev Stanley. I don’t feel particularly reverend, and anyway Rev is properly used with Christian name or initial and surname. My own preference is to be called, at least to my face, Stanley. Or Irreverend Stanley.

Institutions are obsessed with titles and rank. The church, which should know better, is riddled with them. Reverend, Venerable, Canon, Very Reverend, Right Reverend, Most Reverend, Frightfully Reverend, Your Grace. When Michael Parkinson interviewed Robert Runcie, about to become Archbishop and change from being Right Reverend to Most Reverend, Runcie with characteristic wit suggested that his title at that moment was Increasingly Reverend. One of Runcie’s predecessors, Cosmo Gordon Lang complained that his new portrait made him look pompous, proud and prelatical, to which one of his colleagues, the acerbic Bishop Henson, is said to have asked: “To which of those epithets does Your Grace take exception?” All this hierarchical nonsense is a sign of an institution in trouble. It signals a delusional and inward-looking club. Who, outside the club, cares? And if any organisation should care about those outside it, it’s the church.

It’s easy for us clergy to become institutionalized, and to imagine that our little clubby rules are important. I read church publications in which nothing controversial is ever reported and wonder what sort of la-la land they are talking about. How do they relate to real life? If you read the documents that parishes produce when they are looking for new clergy, you quickly learn to read between the lines (see attachment). I wonder how much the blurb for the post I’ve recently left will reflect the job that I knew …

We need to wake up to the fact that people see through this tripe. People see beyond this spin and hypocrisy. Yes, I know it’s easy for me to talk having ‘enjoyed’ rank and title in a former career, but we must try to see that our being obsessed with the churchy club flies in the face of incarnational reality for the world’s population.

Guide_to_church_speak

Nappies, nurture, nets

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Casting a net on the Sea of Galilee

Permission? – don’t wait

I’ve heard it said that the best mark of a group leader is how well the group has been prepared to prosper without one. In church terms, a good indicator of a successful incumbency is how well the churches can manage in an interregnum. If the departing priest was someone who insisted on making all the decisions, allowing nobody else to do or say anything that threatened the priest’s power, then the church community is unlikely to be well prepared to manage in a vacancy. It will be fractured and fractious, like naughty children when the teacher leaves the room. If, on the other hand, the priest encourages others to have a hand in the administration, the liturgy, and the generation of ideas and plans for the future, and is prepared to let people have responsibility, then things may well run pretty smoothly in a vacancy. I don’t wish to be a priest of the first category—I would like to be one of the second. So I’m delighted to see people volunteering—or being volunteered—to enrich the life of our churches and communities. I remember our children finding out that helping themselves to sweets and then telling us (or not), was ‘better’ than asking first and being told ‘no’. Better, surely, to ask forgiveness than seek permission.

Growing up

Did you see on TV recently the programme about English teenagers living with the Amish? One was pampered (smothered?) by parents; one was sponging off benefits. They grew up pretty quickly. Ministers who keep their congregations in nappies stunt their growth, and congregations who expect the minister to do everything for them will never grow up. Taking responsibility for oneself is one of the Gospel messages, and it is a real healing act. If we expect healing to mean medical cure, as if biological processes can and should be reversed by the odd prayer here or there, then we live in a fool’s paradise. Jesus the healer helping people come to terms with the situations they are in. Healing as acceptance of reality. Healing as preparation for future development. Healing as salvation, liberation.

Stress for fun

Muscles and bones grow by being stressed and challenged. Healthy immune systems work when challenged (we’re too clean). Some people imagine that life should be stress-free. This is self-indulgent piffle. Without stress, we don’t grow and learn. We remain in a rut, ignorant of the big wide world with all its opportunities. We let our unchallenged prejudices corrupt us. We become like those who (Psalm 17) ‘are inclosed in their own fat, and their mouth speaketh proud things.’ Gospel messages again: let’s take responsibility for ourselves, let’s take stock of where we are, let’s take risks, let’s push at boundaries, let’s put out into the deep, let’s cast our nets on the other side—the side we’ve never tried before.

Memory and delight

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Eyes that see do not grow old

Looking back

November is a very looking-back sort of month with All Souls at the beginning, then Remembrance Sunday. We will say prayers in churches and at memorials. We will remember names of those killed trying to maintain peace. But what use are these prayers unless they result in changing our human behaviour? It is easy to see how others need to change their behaviour, but the truth is that we all need to look into a mirror and start with our own behaviour before even beginning to think about telling other people what to do. Playground fights become wars. Interpersonal slights grow through resentments into bitternesses and feuds. The trouble is that when you harbour a grudge, and plot revenge, you are harming yourself more than anyone else. And then you die. So let us use the November season to resolve that when that day comes when we shuffle off this mortal coil, we leave behind as few resentments and as little unfinished business as possible. Let’s start now by being honest with one another, by getting things out in the open. An abscess needs to be lanced with a knife, not covered by an elastoplast.

Looking forward

Learn from the past to live in the present to lay foundations for the future. This brings me to Advent on the four Sundays of which we remember patriarchs, prophets, John Baptist and Mary—the past being renewed in preparation for a transformed future. Advent for me the best time of year: cool, sunny (one hopes), fresh, crisp, invigorating. Images of waiting, preparing, cleansing. And yet, with Christmas carols already as shop muzak, we seem to have lost the art of waiting. I’m one of the world’s most impatient people, but a bit of waiting, however painful, increases the joy. And it’s waiting that the four weeks before Christmas are all about: Latin ad venire meaning ‘coming towards’. We wait for a guest, an eagerly expected visitor. As at home, preparation for such events usually means a bit of tidying up, getting stuff ready, and relaxing before the arrival. Unfortunately, this sense of waiting with mounting excitement has been all but lost to us in what the media call the ‘run up to Christmas’ – planning presents, trees, food, booze, frenetic activity, much of it fuelled by the children’s media and the evil advertising industry that incites us to greed and avarice. Even the church in so many places is caught up in this as Carol Services are held well before Christmas. Advent is obliterated. And I am complicit: although I complain, I do not like Carol Services after Christmas, so must have them before! I encourage you, if possible, to take some time out in December, maybe just a minute or two here and there, for stocktaking and refreshment. For waiting, in fact. For relaxing. At Christmas we celebrate having been shown the way to live as the Divine comes to us: ‘God became what we are, in order that we may become what God is.’ The glory of God is a human life lived to the full, when our deep joy meets the world’s deep need. If, like me, you long for a bit of peace and quiet before Christmas, don’t feel bad about taking time out. And if you want to be stimulated, come to our Advent discussions on Wednesdays at the Rectory at 8 pm. These might be just the things to revive your drooping spirit before the onslaught of family arguments and frayed nerves. Relax into being yourself. Get rid of the ‘shoulds’ and ‘oughts’ (too much butter leads to hardening of the arteries, and too many ‘oughts’ leads to hardening of the ‘oughteries’), and be yourself, bringing as much delight as you can into the world.

Money

I have a simplistic view of money, and doubtless old fashioned. I do not see how people can spend what they do not have. I have always been better at spending than at earning, and I look back with horror at the ways in which I have been a poor husband of my resources. The retrospectoscope is a wonderful thing. But: the churches need your money. This is not a good time to ask for it, but needs must. First among our financial obligations come the diocesan assessment (clergy stipends, pensions, advisers, administration etc), upkeep of the buildings, and the maintenance of our liturgical and pastoral activities. There are those who bemoan the fact that historic buildings can be a millstone around our necks, but they are a fact of life, and it would be irresponsible for us wilfully to neglect them. Anyway, buildings are mission tools—they can bring people to church, and there they might just find something worth staying for. Some churches have large reserves. Maybe we should ask ourselves: what are these for? It’s difficult to persuade people to give to an organisation that is wealthy. In the Jewish Scriptures, much is made of tithing—giving a tenth of your income to support the work of the Jewish priesthood. Christian Scriptures make no mention of tithing (though since the early Christians were Jews they may have assumed it), but they do (see Acts especially) talk openly about the maintenance of ministry and the obligations of those that have more than they need to support those that have not. This does not mean that sponging off others is permissible or even allowed—we are all responsible for ourselves ultimately. But I encourage you to dig deep into your pockets to support the work of the church and its ministry in order to safeguard the future. 

Thankfulness

Despite my profligacy, I am alive. I wake up each morning and think, good—I’m not dead yet. I’m of an age when some of the people I was at school and university with are no longer breathing. If you are reading this, be glad.

Back to Ireland

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A Rector knows his place - between a rock and a hard place

Greetings and thanks

You have worked hard on the Rectory and the garden. One of you only narrowly escaped amputation of a foot—an act that takes selflessness to new levels. The garden, greenhouse, new path, patio and fence look very good. The Rectory—and please call in when you are passing—looks lovely. Painting all interior walls magnolia has worked a treat to give the place a sense of light and cheer. Our visitors from England were impressed by Portlaoise, Ballyfin and the Rock, and by your friendliness to them. The institution service was a real delight and great fun, and the refreshments afterwards were magnificent. It is dangerous to mention names, so I won’t—but thank you to wardens, musicians, flower arrangers, cleaners, bakers and caterers, bringers-up, readers, gardeners, craftsmen and craftswomen—we thank you all for your industry and welcome. You could not have been more welcoming.

Moving is exhausting

Moving to Ireland the second time is easier than the first in 1988: not only familiarity, but also this time no house-hunting or worries about schools for children etc. However, we are 23 years older. On Irish TV when we arrived is Rose of Tralee, which was on when we first came house hunting in 1987. Some things never change.

Knowing me, knowing you. It will take time for me to get to know you, and you me. It will take a while for me to be able to put faces to names and names to faces. Please bear with me, and don’t be offended if you have to correct or remind me: no insult is intended. The poet T S Eliot wrote:
What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
and:
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

One of the messages of these two snippets is that through exploration we begin to know ourselves. We make decisions about ourselves partly on the basis of what we sense around us—the environment—and in order to do this we need to explore. We grow through exploration. The Church in Europe needs to interact more with the environment in which it finds itself. It needs to become involved with (engage with, though I dislike that management jargon) contemporary culture, with physics, with biology—with what it means to be human. If it does not, it will surely die. You might think it’s already dying. Maybe that’s a good thing since death precedes resurrection. Archbishop Michael Ramsey said ‘it may be the will of God that our Church should have its heart broken, and if that were to happen it wouldn’t mean that we were heading for the world’s misery but quite likely pointing the way to the deepest joy.’

It’s inevitable that there will be frustrations and friction as we step onwards, trying to adapt to the world as it is, rather than as it used to be or as we wish it could be. Our Lord’s ministry was always concerned with getting people to come to terms with the situation they were in, rather than the situation they wished they were in. That is what healing means—it is not about cure, but about acceptance. And that is a big part of salvation. Think about the word: save, salve, heal – all part of shalom, peace—and peace does not mean suppressing anger, but rather is a process in which the causes of anger are exposed so that they can be addressed. If you have a festering abscess, sticking an elastoplast on it is useless. You need to open it and clean out the pus. Christianity is not about being nice. I hope no one will ever call me nice. (No one yet has. I’ll know you’re trying to insult me if you do.) Irritations and robust discussion are the grit around which real pearls may form. The pearl we seek is eternal life—nothing to do with life after death, but everything to do with life here and now. Quality of life, not quantity. Eternal, out of time, in the present. Instant by instant. ‘Thy kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven’ is about state of mind. It’s about how we see ourselves. I’m certain that Christians on the whole do not spend enough time looking into themselves: get yourself straightened out first, like on the aeroplane where you are exhorted in an emergency to put your own mask on before bothering about anyone else’s. A man that looks on glass [mirror], on it may stay his eye, or, if he pleaseth, through it pass, and then the heavens espy. For too long church people have been concerned about telling others what to do, rather than looking into their own innards.

So what is the point of being a Christian? For me, it is this: I came that all may have life and have it in abundance. And: that all may have power to become sons and daughters of God. We do this by letting go of attachments. If you want to know more, come to church.

Things you need to know

My right ear hears better than my left. I do not find hearing aids much use because they magnify all the background. It is often an advantage to be hard of hearing, especially at meetings. Susan wears her hearing aid more often than I wear mine. Vision in my left eye is restricted (retinal detachment in 2006). I like tea strong, with milk in second. Please sing loud: enthusiasm is more important than accuracy. Please say the spoken parts of the service with enthusiasm. If you don’t we will repeat them until I think they are loud enough (seen the film Groundhog Day?). Whatever we do in church says something about our humanity so let it be with verve. Let go of inhibitions. To be fully human is to approach the divine. Let delight be our watchword: desire and delight, prayer and parties. Remember this: without joy and delight, we are in hell. That indeed was St Isaac’s definition of hell.

Engaging gear

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More tea, Vicar?

A silly time to start a job

As I write in early October, it’s six weeks since I started this job. I’ve come to the conclusion that Autumn is a daft time to begin. Almost immediately, I was plunged into preparations for the most important liturgical solemnity of the year (no, no, no, not Christmas, let alone Easter, but Harvest, of course). Since I did not know the Irish tradition of inviting suckers from other parishes to come and preach, I’ve ended up being a sucker several times over, preaching not only in my own churches but in two of more savvy neighbours as well. One lives and learns. Or not. After the Harvests, the clergy conference. In the diocese of Derby, clergy conference was optional, and with over 150 stipendiary clergy, nobody bothered whether one went or not. Here it is different, so let me say without further ado how much I enjoy conferences. Nothing gives me greater pleasure. In academic life, conferences are marked by spite and invective thinly veiled as insincere politeness. Beware the question that begins ‘a most interesting presentation—I have one tiny question’. You are about to be disembowelled. My joy at Derby diocesan conferences was to open a book on which member of the clergy would speak (a) first, and (b) most often. After the conference comes the synod. I remember my days on the Diocesan Synod of Dublin and Glendalough, so have some idea of what joy is in store. After Synod comes Advent, by far the best time of the liturgical year though sadly now merely the ‘run up to Christmas’, and then Christmas itself. Jesus’ sweet head, the heresy of ‘veiled in flesh’, and … I’d better stop now. In amongst all this come prisons, hospitals, civic things, visiting the firm and infirm, being berated for not remembering someone’s name, and—the thing that theological colleges spend most time preparing one for—the drawing up of rotas.

Are you settling in?

This is the question that has tickled my acoustic apparatus (such as it is) several times daily for the last six weeks. You have all been most solicitous, and Susan and I thank you for your generosity and warmth. Monsignor John Byrne and his colleagues at SS Peter and Paul have been wonderfully hospitable, and when I represented the Church of Ireland Portlaoise Group at the memorial mass for UN veterans I was acclaimed most warmly. For the purposes of this discussion, though, please note that we are now settled. It is questionable whether one should ever feel too settled. There is no evidence that Our Lord was settled, or that he felt any terrestrial ties. He was certainly ambivalent about family. Family ties can indeed be invigorating and life-enhancing, but so too they can be stifling and repressive. Not doing things because so-and-so might disapprove. Being inhibited by some self-appointed and often rather stupid guardian of family morality. Jesus’ message was one of freedom from all this. He is on record as having urged people to distance themselves from (‘hate’ is the translation one most often hears) family. This is yet another call to detachment. We are all parts of the one body, but we are all detached. The liver and right kidney are parts of the same body, but are separate from each other. (Sorry—too much information for some of you, but you ain’t heart nuthin yet: wait till Mary’s uterus comes along). If over-attachment (obsessions, addictions, hatreds, etc), is the cause of most of life’s ills, and I am certain that it is, then detachment is at least part of the answer. Let it go. Be wary of being settled, because then you won’t cope with change. It’s worth remembering that mankind was originally nomadic, a lifestyle that became more difficult when we stopped being hunter-gatherers and became farmers.

A spot of bother

Those of you who follow church politics in the press, or on t’interweb (and, boys and girls, who doesn’t?), will have seen that our Bishop has been in what P G Wodehouse might have called a spot of bother. At the root of this bother is the matter of how we interpret Holy Scripture. How do we interpret Greek words of dubious meaning? How do we in the 21st century interpret Scripture written for a particular mindset and culture 2000 years ago and more? We accept that the Biblical flat earth and watery heavens are mistaken. We accept that the slavery, polygamy and incest that occur in the Bible are unacceptable. We do things that Holy Scripture tells us are forbidden: we eat pork, we wear polycotton, we ignore Levitical rules about farming. For people to get hot under the ‘choler’ about some rules and not others displays an arrogance and irrationality that is breathtaking. We must be honest about our own animal nature. The Church of Ireland bishops have announced that there will be a conference in 2012 to explore sexuality. This is good: we need to have this discussion, and we need to be seen to be having it, no matter what the result might be. The Bishops write that ‘biblical, theological and legal issues’ will be explored. This is not enough. They have omitted human issues, animal issues. How can they consider human actions and behaviour without considering the fact that we are animals, governed by instincts and hormones that are God-given. Come on Bishops, wake up!

Maybe we need to remember that alongside the two great commandments to love God, and neighbour as self, Our Lord gave us what is perhaps the third great commandment, to love our enemies. That is the work we have to get on with.

Farewell to Derbyshire

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I’ve been planning this address for some time. Then this last week, things happened that overturned my plans. The UK riots. I simply cannot ignore them. I do not see in them anything that has not been seen before in recent history. To give a few examples: In the 18th century civil chaos was such that people ventured out of doors at night at their peril; look at Paris in revolutionary times; student riots and Brixton riots in my living memory. In January 1848 Abraham Lincoln said: “Any people anywhere, being inclined and having the power, have the right to rise up and shake off the existing government, and form a new one that suits them better.” I’ve no doubt that the riots were fuelled by evil, by boredom, by a lack of respect for other people, by young people brought up with a lack of tough love, by the psychology of the mob, by an education system that promotes rights over responsibilities and is increasingly feminized. But also a sense of powerlessness. And while it’s right that the perpetrators are made to face the consequences of their actions. I just wish the same applied to bankers.

But we would do well not to point the finger at others. We—all of us in the west—take more than we need. We all do risky things expecting someone else to mend us when the risks don’t pay off. We live in a welfare state that seems to encourage people not to take responsibility for their actions. We envy what other people have, and the evil advertising industry incites us to grab it. We do things to seek approval from other people, and this leads to lying – diplomacy we call it – to obfuscation – pastoral sensitivity we call it, and to the adulation of the masses for so-called celebrities who, in truth, are ordinary human beings quivering in terror behind the masks that are made for them by menacing media moguls. And we are all complicit. We listen to the music. We pay to go to football matches. We buy the publications if only to disapprove of them.

It is not possible to live on this planet without the divine image within being maimed by what we do or don’t do. We are surrounded by things that purport to be quickfix solutions, following the latest fashions, the latest brands, the latest chic destination to visit. But the truth is, these things are not satisfying: the effects don’t last. They are like candyfloss, insubstantial, sticky and full of air. Because we set them up as idols, and we become obsessed by them, they steal our liberty: we become slaves to them. This is what St Paul called the flesh. There are lots of these wolves in sheep’s clothing that sing their siren song. They all lead us up a cul-de-sac. They don’t lead to green pastures.

These human failings – wanting more than we need, wanting what others have, and the mob psychology in which we seek the approval of others – are the failings that were identified 1700 years ago by Evagrios the Solitary as the deadliest of the seven sins. And before that, they were the temptations of Christ. I see the results of these sins daily in myself as I want this or that CD, or this or that new book, or eat something that I’m told will clog my arteries but I like the taste. I see the results of these failings every time I drive between churches and Rectory. I pass homes behind electric gates and electronic security systems. Every time I am put in mind of Psalm 17 verse 10: they are inclosed in their own fat and their mouth speaketh proud things. Like Gollum in Lord of the Rings, we want to hang on to what we think is ours and we become spiritually wizened and deformed in our obsession to do so.

We all hide behind masks, behind personalities, cosmetics of the spirit. We all mask the divine light within. We put on a pretence. We say that this is necessary for the smooth running of society, for manners, for charm. How I am suspicious of charm. I am determined that nobody should ever call me charming. No-one has! There is a notion that a façade of smoothness and perfection impresses others, that we must do all we can to hide our wounds. We put up barriers between ourselves and other people: barriers of attitudes, possessions, mental attitudes that form security systems between others and ourselves.

This pretence never works! It’s too good to be true. You know how infuriating it is to deal with bureaucrats who refuse to acknowledge that they’ve made a mistake. You know how healing it is when someone acknowledges that they got it wrong. Perhaps you’ve witnessed the effect of letting someone else see by your tears, your wounds, that you too are vulnerable. Perhaps you’ve seen how effective this can be in bringing reconciliation, forcing reassessment, resurrection that comes after death of what we thought we held dear. I’m certain that I often get things wrong, and unintentionally as a result people can be hurt. That’s the way life is.

I look around and see the church complicit in pretence. It erects barriers. I see Church of England bishops hiding behind status, behind secretaries and personal assistants and chaplains. I see the institutional church hiding behind rules and regulations. I see church councils hiding behind ‘we’ve always done it this way’ and – as was said to me three years ago with breathtaking arrogance ‘we’ll soon have you whipped into our way of thinking.’ All this is humanly understandable. It is truly pathetic. In the exchange between Jesus and the woman, today’s Gospel tells us that erecting barriers to exclude people who are different from us is never acceptable. Depending on how you read it, it shows Jesus as truly human acknowledging that his first comments had been inappropriate. Or else that he was tongue in cheek provoking the woman to justify her opinion, which he then affirmed.

We see exclusions in churches about all sorts of things: who can sit where, who can do the flowers, who can bake the scones (wars are fought over this), who can be a server, what people should wear, commenting on whether people stand or sit or kneel to pray. We see it in the way some so-called Christians reject people who disagree with them. We see it in the way that some people accept as valid only certain ways of expressing their faith. In Christ. Are you saved? Have you accepted Jesus into your life? Let the love of God into your heart. Jesus loves you (it sometimes doesn’t feel like that). That awful prayer for serenity ‘go placidly …’ or whatever. This is all gobbledegook to me – these statements are not how I express my perception of the Divine, or of the meaning of Jesus and his work.

From the Church of Ireland Gazette last week:

A great challenge is posed by moving on from a parish or a position or a place of work; that requires great strength of will and purpose. Anyone who has had experience of this will agree that suddenly the place from which one is moving has never seemed so attractive! All its advantages are glaringly obvious, in a way they had never been before. Perhaps that is also because people’s attitudes change when they know you are about to disappear from their lives. Suddenly, there is a loosening of emotions, a reaching out and willingness to articulate friendship which may not previously have been on offer. Sad, however, that it takes a move to allow this to happen – perhaps it is symptomatic of the perversity of human nature that we all do not appreciate people until it is too late.

That is absolutely my experience! I look back over three and half years and review what has happened in my churches. The churches are now more realistic about the state they are in. They are more ready to look through clear, as opposed to rose-tinted, spectacles at themselves and the challenges that lie ahead. Church councils are more business-like. There is a wider spectrum of people involved in the running of the churches—not wide enough, but better than it was three years ago when too many activities were dependent on an inner clique. Some people may not like the fact that power is slipping through their fingers. They may not like that fact that their opinion which once counted for so much now counts for no more and no less than that of everyone else. I see fewer barriers than there were. I’m proud of that. In my previous job I was described as an agent of change. I’m pleased with that, not least because that is exactly how I see Our Lord’s ministry.

I’ve provoked a handful of parishioners to begin to explore their vocation to a deeper ministry. I’ve provoked people to study Holy Scripture and see how to apply it to life today. I have, I hope, encouraged people to take the liturgy more seriously: more worship and less trivializing entertainment, and in that worship not to lose a sense of fun. I hope I’ve encouraged people to live with delight and commitment, and to enjoy their humanity. As the barriers come down, as we leave the inclosure of fat, we become more open to the delights of being fully human, fully ourselves—and that is the way to becoming divine.

Over the last month I’ve had a fair number of well-wishing cards, emails and messages, mostly from nonchurch people whose baptisms, weddings, or funerals I’ve done, and from people who read my writings. I seem to have the gift of engaging the unchurched as much as I discomfit some of the churched. Which is more important for the future of the church? Our Lord comforted the disturbed, and disturbed the comfortable. I have my priorities right.

Jesus’ own story has so many elements that strike me as true because they speak of the way people are, as I am. And it’s that honesty, that authenticity, that is attractive. It’s the sight of wounds that tell us a person is speaking from experience, with freshness and straightforwardness. It’s that lack of guile that attracts people to Jesus, makes them feel secure around him, and it’s all of that in us that gives each of us the ability to serve those in distress, to provide the safety of the sheepfold.

I can only do my work effectively if I’m honest about myself. ‘Here in honesty of preaching’: in sermons, I hope I’ve never been holier than thou. I’ve never said anything that isn’t true for me. It’s expensive because I have to go deep down inside myself, look honestly at personal issues that confront me. When we face up to and recognize our faults, then the opportunity comes for the spirit to change us. Confronting ourselves is essential, and necessary before confronting others—motes and beams. Those who are aware of their own imperfection are inevitably the most tender, compassionate, and understanding of others who are bruised or weak. It is the self-righteous who, the Gospel tells us, are not suited to God’s purpose.

T S Eliot:

  • What we call the beginning is often the end And to make and end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.
  • We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.

Since May 2008 you’ve entertained and provoked me as I have, I hope, entertained and provoked you. I thank you for the fun we have had together, the joy and delight. And remember this, without joy and delight, we are in hell. That indeed was St Isaac’s definition of hell. Joy and Charity, JC, Jesus Christ. Listen to George Herbert:

As on a window late I cast mine eye,
I saw a vine drop grapes with J and C
Anneal’d on every bunch. One standing by Ask’d what it meant. I (who am never loth
To spend my judgement) said, It seem’d to me To be the bodie and the letters both
Of Joy and Charitie; Sir, you have not miss’d, The man reply’d; It figures JESUS CHRIST

Sisters and brothers: Go raibh maith agaibh. Slán agus beannacht leat Bail ó Dhia ort.