Marching into the Unknown

By close of play this evening, my Little Church will have undergone not one, not even two, but three significant changes. Each is distinct from the other, each bold, each apt to cause a few problems - but each being the right changes to make.

In my opinion.

The first is the (re) introduction of Evensong

Second is the church being open during daylight hours

Third is the first meeting of a newly formed Communications Group

I am the sort of Christian who has eyes to the future, with a heart rooted in the historic and tested, and with a desire to share what and who we are with the wider world. This seems to be covered well by the changes of this day. 

During my relatively short ministry (which is to say, short enough not to have found the need to write a column for Rupert Murdoch) I have lamented the ever increasing numbers of closed churches, and church communities that exist (with their life-saving good news) behind a shroud of mystifying unknowing. Who really knows what goes on in a church except those who have managed to find the doors open? The answer is simple - very few. 

We live in an age that is fearful of crime, hungry for sustenance and spiritual nourishment, and amply blessed with cheap devices that communicate. Why, then, do we ignore two at the peril of one? My church doors are open at this very moment, and the chances are even that it is empty of regulars. Will the lecturn get snaffled? Maybe. That said, if they wish to steal our brass budgie, it is the PCC who are in greatest peril - from a personal injury claim from the Muppet who tried to lift the thing. Seriously - I weigh the probabilities of theft in one hand with the possibility of a stranger finding God by coming into doors that are open - and there is no real contest. I can buy a new lecturn. 

But why all the secrecy? The funky-monkey churches are all genned up with their Comms - and they grow by virtue of it. Us of a more vested and sacramental bent conceal our life and triumphs under a doily of decency or the antimacassar of polite self-deference. 

Not no longer. 

This church in West London is open for business. We are going to shout about it. We have something that everyone needs and it is our absolute duty to ensure that as many as possible are given the chance to access it. We are going to take a mature, informed, market approach to what we are and what we do and we will not apologise for it. 

And yes, a good Evensong is a fine way to close off a spring Sunday. 

Appendix:

Our Insurers, Ecclesiastical, when asked how we may open our church and remain insured said:

Ecclesiastical does not object to the Church building being left open during daylight hours provided:-

 1.         All valuables are locked away.

2.         The altar is furnished with wooden replica's in place of your silver communion items.

3.         The Church must be locked during the hours of darkness.

4.         Ideally, a person responsible to the Church would check in at intervals during the day to ensure there are no problems. 

If the Church being left open appears to increase the likelihood of claims being made, we may need to review the situation.

 It is not recommended that the building be left open during the night, any Church wishing to be unlocked during the night will be subject to a loaded premium.

Social Media and the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity

It's a funny thing. I am sitting in the coffee shop of a national chain of gymnasia, wheezing, and rather than exercising, am preparing a sermon for a service in church tonight. I am also 'riding' Twitter (as one does) following the hashtag #wpcu2012 . For those who don't speak the Masoretic language of Twitter, it is a label that connects all thoughts on the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. 

And it's my day off! 

As I ponder this idea of Christian Unity, especially on a day when we commemorate the life of an Egyptian monk (St. Antony) and the life of an Oxford academic who was part of the Tractarian Movement (Charles Gore), it is clear that for as many Christian who have lived and breathed on this earth, there are as many variables of this living faith of ours. Yes, we conglomerate into denominations, and those denominations have some similarities, but in the end, the great joy of holding a faith in Christ is that we can all be different. 

The theme for the Week of Prayer this year is that of 'change'. Let me get this straight: we are all different, seek unity, while at the same time aspiring to change. Sounds like a game of ecclesiastical Twister to me, but like all challenges to our faith, is one that commits not just our efforts but those of the God we adore in common. I wonder if the change that is called for is simply that we embrace our differences in the comfort of the overwheleming matters that we hold in common. 

This brings me to social media, and a drum I bang often. Among my Twitter friends, and those whose blogs I read or who are kind enough to read mine, are Christians of every flavour and pursuasion. I am a Christian of a specific brand, and those who know me know my preferences in worship, in ecclesial attire, in hymnody, in theological nuance. In the gander scheme, none of those things are important, and simply choices that appeal to me. Social media doesn't really care for any of that, yet accommodates all of it. Twitter and Facebook care not a jot that I am a contemporary breed of Anglo Catholic, and in many ways that is good. I share thoughts and debate with many Christians (and those who have no faith) and most of the time, the labels are simply of no importance. 

I don't think a week of prayer for Christian Unity is, or should be, about us all being the same. Life would be turgid and dull if we were. A week of prayer for unity is a week to celebrate what we hold in union and that we carry in hands each pair distinct from the next. I don't want to be a Roman Catholic and I am sure that my Catholic friends have no desire to be Anglican. We are who we are and we are as the Lord has called us. Imagine an orchestra if every one of the gifted musicians played the same instrument. Yes, there would be music, but the repertoire would be rather limited.

Incumbency and Vases of Flowers

A wise man once told me to be careful when moving vases of flowers. It is not that vases of flowers shouldn't be moved from time to time, or even removed and refreshed. Of course they should, when the time is right and the need apparent. 

For "vase of flowers" read "what we have always done", and for "always" read "more than three times". I speak, of course, about change, and more particularly those changes that take place within a church. The unique factor of church vases of church flowers, is that beneath each one is a trip switch which causes an explosion upon the removal of it, like a landmine. Boom. 

I am fast discovering that curates are broadly immune to the effects of the explosion (largely through the protective layer provided by the training incumbent). The Vicar is not similarly protected, and so it is that the vicar's giblets and gizzards are at perpetual risk from all movements of the proverbial Meissen Monster. 

It endlessly fascinates me, and troubles me, the effect that change has (in large or very small measure) on some people. Some Christians, it seems, are pathologically afraid of change in many ways, and I have never fully come to terms with why. Even change born of a careful process of thought, prayer and consultation (and to make something safe and available for all) seems to cause an adverse reaction, often aggressively delivered. And so it is that I am learning to toughen my already world-hardened hide to cope with the fall-out from the Floral Relocation. 

Part of the job of Vicar, as leader in many ways, is to articulate the present. Once the present is seen and acknowledged (not as easy as that may sound), it is needful to make changes from time to time. As seasons change in all walks of life, things change - and in church life at least, the Vicar (or equivalent) is often the one who 'represents' the change tothe wider community, whoever may have been involved in the process leading to it. This is not always easy, as I am fast learning. 

Change is part of living, I believe. If I didn't change, Mrs Acular would be wiping my bottom and blowing my nose for me. If churches didn't change, they would still be convening solely in mud huts in the Middle East. I wonder sometimes if change is not viewed through the same lens as death - as wholly inevitable, but an unsavoury truth best hidden from thought.

I have many vases in the church where I work. The church is beautified by them all and they are receptacles for some stunning blooms. Yet I cannot say, hand on heart, that they will all stay where they are! Someone pass me my Flack Jacket ...

Changes to This Blog

This is just a quick post to tell you that I am going to tweak this old site a little. As a former retailer, I embrace the effects of a little  re-merchandising.

So, gone is the map telling me where you are from. You know where you live and you don't need me to tell you. Gone is the Twitter box because if you were interested, you would have an account of your own and don't need to eavesdrop here. Gone is the Wordle thing, because it was boring and I am not here to bore you (much).

I have added my Vernacular Video Bar, which I will use to house a new video clip from time to time. It will be what has caught my eye or interests me, or of bits of music that I love. I think it add a dynamism to a site that is characterised by stillness of image. Take it or leave it, of course - but I will keep it mixed and will tell you more about me than most of my words.

Also, as an aside, I thought that I would advocate the place of Apture in this blog. From time to time you will see little symbols besides words. They will be links and the symbol, if you hold your mouse over it, will open a new dialogue box with some extra material in. It means that you don't need to keep flitting. I hate flitting. Do you hate flitting? An example would be Sacrament for links to text or King's College Choir for video (it takes the video symbol a little while to appear after posting, I ought to say)

I am interest to know what you think. Please say if there is anything you would like to see added or removed (any comments that have the word 'delete' will not be treated kindly and there will be tears before bedtime). I am among you as one who serves, after all. 

Too Full To Think

It's a funny time, is this. No; that's not right. It is a very arduous time that I find myself in, and which my beloved family find themselves in. The reason for this is we are, in many ways, in another 'airport departure lounge' - but this one is the long wait for the flight out of Aylesbury. 

Leaving is a strange thing I am fast discovering. The kids know that things are on the brink of complete change but do not fully understand or grasp that this home of theirs will soon become part of their past. To be honest, they have turned into little monsters of late, and I blame the impending move and its effects on Jo and I. 

The thing about airport lounges, is that you are in no hurry to conclude your holiday, but you are in a hurry to get home. It's a funny paradoxical place that forces you to confront the need to leave one place and arrive at another. No-one enjoys that 'airport' experience very much, either. 

This last week and the weeks to come have been and are characterised by 'goodbye'. We were treated to a party last week, I made my last assembly to the kids at school, today sees their Leaver's Service and Sunday the last time I shall visit one of the churches in the Team. So much 'goodbye', and to tell you the truth, I hate it. I am not good at 'byes'. People will see me weepy and messy for the first time. 

Of course, this isn't to say that I am not deeply excited about the new place, because I am. The problem I have is that my head is just too full to think any more. I lay on the settee in the evening and stare vacantly at the TV, or fiddle with my new gadget. I have no space in my head to think about the new place, hard as I try. 

How do I begin to say goodbye to all these wonderful people, into whose lives I have gently insinuated myself? How do I say goodbye to hundreds of children? I just don't know. I have to trust that the words will come and I will not make too much of a fool myself. What I do know is that all this notwithstanding, I want to climb on the 'plane' with my family and fly away. It's time to go and I want it over with. 

All Change

This is partly a test post and partly an observation ...

... but Blogger went and changed tonight. Every jolly thing is different 'behind the scenes' and that is a little bewildering to say the least. Needless to say, I will work through all of the apparent changes and work out what is what, but first dabbles suggest a stylising, not a tectonic shift in the software. 

What is clear is that there are options available to me that weren't an hour ago, so I will play around with them. If anything untoward happens in this blog, please just bear with me. 

It raises an interesting point though. The joy of blogging is that is accessible to people who may be entirely new to computing, and the 'dashboard' was very user friendly. Big changes in layout at the very least could very well frighten off some, and that would be a shame. Whilst I think the 'back room' of Blogger is a pretty place compared to before, it is new and unfamiliar. Warning or notes would have been good!

The Coming of Going

Yesterday, an insightful woman asked my what my inspiration was, quite uninvited. Here is my answer.

Yesterday was a day which I recognise as one that will take place with a regularity for which I should not be surprised. It was a day when the fragrant Mrs Acular and I sat before those who had had the the care of our children for the much of the last three years. Yesterday was their 'Report Day' as they start to make the transition from nursery to school.

Three years ago, we delivered to Aylesbury Day Nursery two nine-month old infants. They had just mastered crawling but not walking, could grasp and hold but not much more. They had yet to acquire their trademark curls or the spirit of partnership which characterises their existence. Then, two fairly immobile blobs spent their first day in 'The Setting' and yesterday we learned something of what the professionals think of our little girls. We sat in near-tearful amazement when we heard of their reasoning, creative and artistic skills. We reveled in their ability to count, to form recognisable letters, to problem-solve, to relate to others, to respond appropriately to strangers, to be warm tender human beings, and most importantly, in them being who they have grown into. Our babies are now little girls, inquisitive, vital, polite, generous, considerate and compassionate. I thank God for the life they have been able to lead so far. 

But things are going to change. Shortly, they will go to school and an entire phase of life changes. This mirrors that changes that are affecting their parents, as I bring to a conclusion something which has been as rich and forming as nursery life has been for them. Mrs Acular, sadly, has to bring something wonderful to an end - her present job. That things end is so hard, and part of all of us senses a slight resistance to the overwhelming changes that await us just around the corner. 

Wider afield, the world of social media is awash with those blessed with new ordained ministries, or the development of an existing one. I send my blessings and prayers to them - and a gentle reminder that they are some of the luckiest people alive. As a reader of this blog said elsewhere over the last few days, there is nothing that amplifies ones own sense of calling more than the affirmation of the callings of others through ordinations. 

So, my nursery days are drawing to their conclusion. There await some wonderful events where my family and I can say our 'goodbyes', and the hardest thing of all to contemplate - my last service in Aylesbury. I need to prepare a sermon for that and I am not sure quite where to start, or if I can ever hope to finish. So much to say, so little time. My wife and I chatted a little about how life is for me now when compared to life before ordination. The world is possible to me in a way that it never was before, and I know in absolute terms that I am doing what I am meant to be doing with my apportioned years. 

So, @Goannatree (the lady from Twitter who asked what had inspired me yesterday), my girls and the grace and excitement with which they are facing their transition - that is my inspiration. It's all in a day's work for them, this life-changing change stuff. I don't want to leave one place and yet I can't wait to start in another. It's a funny old time and so little of it makes sense on an emotional level. 

Announcement

By the time that I publish this post, four or five announcements will have been made, all of the same substance. On this occasion, those announcements will concern me and the next stage of my ministry.

In simple terms, I have been appointed as Vicar of the Parish of Ss. Philip & James in Whitton, Twickenham. It has been an interesting little voyage; first the usual things like adverts, forms and interviews; but then news that the appointment must be made (or at least confirmed) by the Archbishop of Canterbury. His office wrote to me, I wrote back - deal is sealed. Such are the wonders of the Church of England!

This is a wonderful moment for me. Those of us who are called to public ministry are not called to theological college, or indeed to curacy particularly, but to what lays beyond. For some of my friends, that has been a sector or armed-service chaplaincy, for others like me, incumbency. That said, the ministry of curacy is life-forming, whole and complete - it just has the freedom of the 'trainee'. 

This post becomes an interesting one. I have pondered whether this might become the death-knell of the Vernacular Curate. Should an incumbent blog? Should a vicar blog as a the Vernacular Curate? I wonder if the Vernacular Vicar can catch on? The great joy and privilege of a good curacy (and I have had the best that there can ever be), is that we Assistant Curates (our proper titles) have chance to expound on the imponderables of life in some freedom. The life, ministry and expectations of the priest with whom the 'buck stops' is necessarily very different, and I now need to consider long and hard the appropriateness of what I write in the new 'job'. 

Another reason that this post becomes an interesting one is that it may well be the first thing that the good folk of Whitton read. We live in a world of Google-search, and I expect that one or two will do that thing which I always do! If you are from Whitton, welcome to my blog. Have a good read, you'll get a feel for me soon enough! I look forward to getting to know you soon.

Then, of course, there is the prospect of leaving something good, whole and wonderful. Whilst my move to Whitton is a source of absolute joy, the prospect of leaving my beloved Aylesbury currently weighs heavily on my heart. Curacies have to end. The good ones are always too short, the harder ones endlessly long. Mine has lasted but a moment, a snip of time. However, all good books have their separate chapters, and this one is about to move to Chapter II. 

Please pray for my beloved Jo, Jessica and Rebekah. This change is not just mine. 

Old Expressions of a Fresh Church

I am just back from a visit to Lincoln and the cathedral which I took with the crowd from the parish. We had a wonderful time, welcomed as we were by so many people, including the Diocesan Bishop who just happened to be wandering past us when we were in the great Edifice. 

As I had a little spare time and didn't feel inclined to bankrupt my family in the cathedral shop, I paused a while and reflected on all that Lincoln Cathedral represents in a Christian context that is fast changing (or fast developing the appetite to change). Change is good, don't get me wrong, but not wholesale change. Whilst I consider it laudable that we have churches that seek to be messy, one-size-fits-all nuture courses for the 'un-churched' masses, play that is Godly, I wonder where the past and all that we have as a rich heritage fits into the funked-up world of the twenty-first century church of Christ. 

Lincoln Cathedral's offering to the worshipping people was this:

 - Simple structured liturgy done well

 - Beautiful music sung ably

 - Pastoral flourishes done with an open heart and outstretched arms

 - Dignified worship that wasn't self-centred but a vehicle for the adoration of God

 - A proper acknowledgement of the rich inheritance of the past that we enjoy (and take for granted) today.

 - ...and all done to be inconspicuous so that we all may gaze on the Cross of Christ

Informality and its companions are good, but are only part of the story. If all of Christendom were funky and spontaneous I think it would all become uniform and mute. We would quickly become immune. There are those who condemn the worship at the catholic  'end' as 'old hat', 'disconnected', 'boring', and 'irrelevant'. I suspect that they have never been to a cathedral to witness its worship because to see it is to know that it is still very profound, connecting and wholly relevant. And yes, worshipping the Lord in the same place that a millenium's congregations have poured our their hearts and souls to Christ is itself a humbling and wonderful thing. The stones are like sponges; you can hear the music in the place many hours after the last soprano leaves the building; you can feel the prayer ricocheting around like so many atoms. The Spirit is palpable in such places.

Amen to the future; amen to moving forward; amen to new advances and new intiatives in worship. However, I can't help thinking that when the messy church is finally tidied, the godly play comes of age and the one-size-fits-all nurture course is found to be terminally restrictive - at that point I sense that Lincoln Cathedral will still be doing simple  structured liturgy well, singing beautiful music ably and with a pastoral heart and arms. To move forward without regard and respect to the past inheritance feels a little like the antics of the Prodigal Son!