A Signed Holy Communion

This is one of the British Sign Language signs for "communion" (there are others, but with any language, there are dialects and variances - even in a language that has no spoken word).

Yesterday saw a 'first' for me, and that was presiding at a simple Holy Communion for the deaf Christian community of my town. They are a distinct and faithful congregation, normally served by a excellent chaplain who is currently on sabbatical. I said I would help out. 

Now, I may have Stage 2 BSL, but as the saying goes, if you don't use it, you lose it - and I haven't so I almost completely have. In fact, it struck me yesterday that for the people gathered in that church, my signing must have seemed like the Norman Collier microphone sketch to us who are blessed with hearing. Fortunately, the chaplaincy provided a communication worker to sign for me. 

I have wanted to do this for years now - and that notwithstanding, I was scared half to death about doing it. Even with my relative comfort with the needs of the deaf community and my feeble inability to meet them, I was a nervous priest as I robed. I needn't have been. 

For a bombastic man like me, who fills a 'large space', this was the most beautiful, pure and emotional Eucharist I have ever witnessed, let alone lead - and yet with a very small gathering of witnesses. Every word needed speaking deliberately and slowly, and the Manual Acts became a very special liturgical sign-language all of its own. In a hearing service, the actions form part of the great dance of the Eucharist, but in this very specific context, they were the most alive I have ever experienced. I was reminded how specialist the language of our communion services is, as I had to prepare the service by explaining what certain terms meant to the interpreter. There were a couple of times when I lost my place because I became entranced by the signing of Jesus' words at the Last Supper. Then there was the sermon - which by necessity had to be an overwhelming visual affair in terms of its language and conceptualisation. There were several valuable lessons in that alone.

I think that the most amazing thing was the grace with which this gathered community tolerated and even appreciated this lump-hammer liturgist. I know I was clumsy, but they were glad. It is probably unusual for them to see the priest's Manual Acts because normally their chaplain signs for himself. They certainly watched me and not the interpreter at those points.

Never in my life have I felt more like I was in the Upper Room. Worshipping God and praising Christ are the best of things - but pale into insignificance next to the opportunity to reach out and touch them, with my own clumsy hands. 

Sensory Impairment

I may be at risk of becoming the blogger equivalent of a stalker, but I feel inclined to comment upon yet another episode of my favourite 'Giblets Drama'!

This evening was sufficiently complicated that I had to watch intently to keep up. The reason was, I think, the fact that a couple of substantial story-lines were converging, one for this evening, and one that will carry on into future episodes.

My comments concern the story-line of a deaf teenager. I write this with a particular care and concern for the deaf community in my part of world, and as one who represents them in some small part in my local diocese. Representations or portrayals of deaf/deafened/hard of hearing people is a matter of interest to me, and the episode of Casualty that we were treated to tonight approached this particular sensory impairment with considerable skill and insight. 

Experience has taught me that deaf people are represented in television drama as elderly more often than not. Those representations have often been fairly patronising affairs with a 'there-there' sub-text. Not tonight. The character tonight was a lad of mid to upper teenage years. He wasn't played as a tank-top wearing nerdy type (I seen that elsewhere), but as a fairly typical surly youth with all the requisite attitude and front. He signed as teenagers speak, with all the vernacular and creativity one would expect. That was the first bit of good news. He was a normal kid but had an issue with hearing - as opposed to a deaf person who happened to be younger than sixty. 

We were also given some insight to the experience of the profoundly deaf in the filming of his perspective. Shots with the noise of the hearing world were skillfully interspersed with the silence of this lad's own world. It was done in such a way as brought to life the very likely bewilderment that a deaf teenager, in clear danger of imminent abuse, may experience of the world. The camera work was, to my untrained eyes, brilliant in its evocation of that bewilderment. 

In general terms, it was the portrayal of this young man as all-but-normal (as all-but-normal as any of us) that was most positive. It avoided stereotypes, judgement and his deafness didn't feel spurious or gratuitous. In a world that still largely fails to understand deaf culture, the experience of deaf people in a hearing society, or the very simple fact that - aside from a sensory impairment - deaf people are normal and subject to the same difficulties and tragedies as the rest of us. 

I will watch with interest the unfolding story-line that appears to be wanting to wrestle with Muslim culture. I hope that the makers of this programme approach that with the same sense and balance as they did the issue of deafness tonight. 

A Relevant Church II

It was my pleasure, recently, to share an 'away day' with the diocesan council for the deaf/hard of hearing, with whom I am a trustee. I thought I knew a great deal about this ministry, but it seems that I was sadly lacking!

Once again, I ponder a blog-stream that seems to want to denigrate my Church (and how easy that is to do in private). In the context of this day away, I find myself re-visiting an earlier thought process about just how relevant our church is (see here for my earlier post).

Imagine you are deaf (if you can't imagine, turn the TV down, move to a 'signed channel' and see how you get on, and that's only half the story), and a loved one is killed. The police would visit in the middle of the night, possibly, but would have to ring the diocesan chaplain to the deaf to interpret (who may live a hundred miles away). No choice, just got to do it. It doesn't end there with tea and much sympathy. The chaplain is often the one going to the funeral director's to view coffins with the bereaved person, planning services. Then what happens? Often the chaplain delivers the bad news to many others because of the communication difficulties, and so on. That is where the church is, at the raw edges of life. 

Then you have social-services meetings regarding the issues of sensory impairment. In that room will be the church in the person of the chaplain who takes his/her place in the line of those sharing the case load. This and so many things take place without most Christians knowing about it. Our diocese is fortunate - for its three counties it has two chaplains (and a wonderful support network). They have to regard the diocese as a parish, with the home-communions, pastoral support, liturgical provision all on that scale. Let us not forget, too, that they had to learn an entire language for this work. That is our church, relevant, useful, witnessing, real, current, ministering to people where they are. 

I wonder if this why I can't get steamed up about the so-called 'big issues' in the church. I can't because they aren't, not really. What I get steamed up about is how a society where 1 in 7 people [8.7 million people in GB] experience a hearing-loss (not forgetting of course, our service men and women back from active service in some circumstances) doesn't or cannot do more. And this is but one different ability. This is before we think even about those isolated by visual impairment, etc etc. 

This isn't a post in which I want to be despondent. This is one where I want to celebrate what our Church manages to do, quite quietly, without event, without fuss. It is doing this through so many chaplaincies, and I doubt that many people know that they are there. Our church is at its best when it does this work, and not when it's attentions are fixated elsewhere. 

International Day of Persons with Disabilities

Today (December 3rd) is, as the title suggests, the International Day of Persons with Disabilities. Like so many such days, it is quite likely to miss the radar of many, so I thought I would do my little bit for the cause!

Let me start with an absolute statement: we are all 'persons with disabilities'. However, those of us (and I am often guilty of this) who regard ourselves as 'able-bodied' feel distinct from 'those people' with perhaps more apparent ability issues. Inner finger-pointing is, I think, something that we have all been guilty of at least once.

I am involved, as you may know, with the Diocesan Council who serves the deaf, deafened and hard of hearing communities. I have a fair level of British Sign Language, and an awareness of life for those communities. I think that, in the main, they do ok existing in the 'hearing world', and would likely kick me from drawing the distinction between 'them and us' (there, I did it again). It seems that for the deaf community, church life is among the greater factors of exclusion [there are 2000 deaf, deafened and HoH Christians in this diocese alone, most of whom do not and cannot go to church - and why would they?].

I know of no churches who offer interpretation for their services, even to the level of subtitling. Yes, most have Loop systems, and that is great - but not a world of use for the profoundly deaf. Looking beyond the deaf community, I think that it would be difficult to attend most of our churches without sight, without the use of limbs, let alone some of the other factors that limit ability such as behavioural conditions, and so on. 

Churches are rather lovely for the reasonably able-bodied; tickety-boo if you can see, hear and walk. Often, our old and most beautiful temples are the culprit - but that doesn't make it alright. Christians will fight tooth and nail to ensure that a Patagonian yak farmer gets a fair price for his yak-juice, but seem to miss the point when, for example, my mate Rob, a deaf man, finds it impossible to worship his God with others in the county where he lives. Perhaps a  designated day that could in fact apply to every one of us could encourage us to look with honesty and candour at the 'service' our churches offer.

...then do something about it, perhaps?

Detescofication

No, I haven't got something stuck in my throat - I have been prondering the future effects of the Comprehensive Spending Review. 

As I sat and watched Gideon unwrap his plans I wondered what the real-time results would be. I noted, with some amusement that the word 'cut' was habitually replaced with the word 'saving' - prestidigitation perhaps but a shroud to the truth nonetheless. They are savings only for the Government, but without exception cuts for the rest of us. Euphemistic speechmaking at its best!

Anyhoo - I didn't want to become party political here so I won't. My role as priest is to watch and wait for the effects of these marvellous savings to become reality for the people among whom I work and to walk with them as they feel the pinch in their own way. 490,000 lost jobs - wow - that is two-thirds of the population of Buckinghamshire!

It seems to me that simple measures are the way forward, and this is but one example (not a comprehensive savings review) - and it surrounds the redistribution of wealth.

Using retail as an example, I turn my attention to Tesco. I am an example of Tescofied Man; a one-stop shopper, preferably online, for all my family's needs. Shame on me! I wonder what positive effect there would be on our local society if we all relied more on the local traders for our produce (lest we forget that it is still the harvest season). If I gave my bakery business to the High Street baker, my meat needs to the High Street butcher, my fruit and veg needs to the High Street greengrocers - and so on. I know Tesco employs lots of people, but employees-per-customer ratios for Tesco must be far lower than those for my local Butcher etc. Soon, many people will need jobs, and if we allow our shopping pounds to be more widely distributed, I wonder if more people will find some greater sense of security, that more jobs might be created somewhere. Maybe I am wrong, but I don't think so. 

For me, my Tescofication is a product of over-busy living, convenience and yes, laziness. I need to rethink how I live, and yes, even spend just a pound or two more on what I buy. Surely it would be better for every shopper to spend a tenner a week more on their needs and for that money to more more widely distributed not among shareholders, but among the business stakeholders in their own community. I must also commit to this on an ethical level too, and the excesses of some Fairtradeism might have to be re-thought too. 

In short, we as Christians need to support, first and foremost, our communities and neighbours. It will cost us time, cash and convenience, but in an age where the word 'saving' means 'redundancy' then we have little choice.

Lord, in your mercy ...

...hear our prayer?

I have just returned from a perfectly wonderful weekend, the Curate's Conference. Yes, you might imagine such a gathering to be loaded with angst and pathos, a struggle between arm-waving and thurifying - but no, this went like a dream. We were all holed up in All Saints' Pastoral Centre in London Colney - a wonderful building, more especially in late spring when the weather has been as beautiful as it has been this last couple of days.

The theme broadly dealt with the issue of 'difference', and in providing input, offered a Keynote Speech from Revd Vera Hunt, a profoundly deaf Priest from the Diocese. Among other stuff, there were presentations from the Army, from the new-age perspective, an offering from the former Dean of St. George's Cathedral in Jerusalem, workshops surrounding deaf-awareness and more besides. The Conference has a warmth about it that I reliably informed is unusual, and tensions born of the wide spectrum of ecclesial differences that we as Curates embody seemed to me (a resident at an end of a spectrum) to be largely absent. The whole shebang was capped off with a rather extraordinary (in a good way) Eucharist, the style and content of which was prepared by the Curates in all their variations of 'colour'. It worked, it felt right, its integrity was maintained. The Bish (as in +Alan, as in blog) Presided and delivered the finest sermon that I have heard from him - and all in all, I am feeling 'top banana'.

My ministerial interests are broad in scope, but one facet is my great love of  and for the deaf community. My Sign Language is rusty to the point of full engine stall, but I am still greatly enamoured by all that the deaf community represents of and in itself. Deaf culture provides a very poignant reminder about how we exclude members of our faith communities without wishing to. Evidently, 1 in 7 people experience a hearing loss of one level or another, so statistically, there must be 20-odd in my average Sunday gathering. I can Sign a little, but I don't. I end prayers with 'Lord in your mercy hear our prayer' habitually, I talk at the speed of light and move around too much when doing so - and so on. This weekend has reminded me once again how valuable the perspective offered by my work with the deaf is to me and my theology and practice. I said yesterday, and I say again here, that a signed Eucharist is about as beautiful a thing as you can get, liturgically. I aspire to be able to provide such a service. With input of this importance offered to Curates, I believe that there is considerable hope for all Christians - so long as those who experienced the speech offered by Vera embrace the very mandate that she made. Yes, we have a Chapliancy to the Deaf/ened Community, but we as ministers (ordained or lay) also share in that job too. 

Only one Curate commented (anonymously) on their feedback form that the whole Conference offered them  nothing relevant to their curacy. How blessed that person and their congregation must be - though I guess even robots have a right to worship somewhere!

Excellent Conference, wonderful wake-up call, food for thought, warm fellowship among those of us trying to get on in this life of ours - lucky me, I say!