The Royal Wedding

Blessed are you, O Lord our God,

for you have created joy and gladness,

pleasure and delight, love, peace and fellowship.

Pour out the abundance of your blessing

upon William and Catherine in their new life together.

Let their love for each other be a seal upon their hearts,

and a crown upon their heads.

Bless them in their work and in their companionship;

awake and asleep,

in joy and in sorrow,

in life and in death.

Finally, in your mercy, bring them to that banquet

where your saints feast for ever in your heavenly home.

We ask this through Jesus Christ your Son, our Lord,

who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,

one God, now and for ever.

Amen.

Taken from CW 2000 Pastoral Services

Where Two or Three (or Four) ...

...groups of children are gathered together in my name, says the Lord, there I am in the midst of them

Yesterday was a remarkable day. For most of you it was incontrovertibly Tuesday, and for me too - but it was not just any Tuesday - is was 'school production Tuesday'. Those of you who read this blog more often than I do may remember the fondness I have for such events. 

During the course of the day, it was my pleasure to witness no less than four schools perform productions, sing songs, play musical instruments, act, narrate, yell incomprehensibly into a microphone and tell stories - including the Passion, death and Resurrection of Our Lord. For the Early Years at St. Mary's CE School, it was the day when they gave us Red Riding Hood, and for the older kids from St. Mary's, the even bigger kids from Mandeville Secondary School, the tiny-weenies from St. Joseph's RC Infant School and the moderately pint-sizeds from Tilehurst Combined School, they all came to the church to read and sing 'Resurrection Rock' (or, as one youngster had written on a flyer that he had designed in class - 'Resuscitation Rock'). They sang their hearts out and read perfectly (and in an 800 year old barn that makes the Tate Modern seem like a garden shed is an achievement in itself for little ones). I should note that this would not have happened at all save for the vision and skill of the excellent Brian Dipple.

I do not care what anyone says about the world, the state of the church, the erosion of respect in the young - where children are able to come together and sing their hearts out, play such wonderful music, read the difficult account of a murder and a miracle - then for my money the world is a happy and hopeful place. Dear readers, it was stunning. Three-hundred children from the ages of 5 to 19, singing with one voice, with passion - that is about as good as it gets for me. The smallest and least inhibited children engaged with the sentiments of the story, and even pulled instinctive sneers at the cries of 'Crucify Him'. The look of joy in their faces in the final reprise when singing 'He's Alive' was enough to move me near to tears, and again as I recall it now. I have said it before; children embody such perfect freedom of worship. They convey emotion in a way I wish that I could by simply the light in their faces. 

I could leave it there, but a couple of things amused me yesterday. The first is the innate comedy timing that the tiniest of children have. The little lad playing the wolf in Red Riding Hood hammed it up perfectly. He had us in stitches. He had no inhibition, and just played to the crowd. I believe that he is still just 4 years old. Secondly, a lesson for us Anglicans when inviting our Roman Catholic friends in - remember their Lord's Prayer is not the same as ours. I lead the prayers for Resurrection Rock, and as is my custom, asked that they be concluded with the Lord's Prayer. The tiny-weenies from St. Joseph's are clearly drilled in this prayer so it was like flicking a switch. 'Our ... Father ... who ... art ... in ... heaven ... hallowed ... be ... thy ... name ... thy ... kingdom ... come ...', and so on. Except they don't do the bit at the end, do they. No embolism for them. Just as I was about to utter (with microphone and ceremonial dignity) 'For thine is the Kingdom', eighty tiny-weenies, as one, yelped their 'Amen' and cut me dead. How I didn't corpse, I shall not know, but it amused the gathering no end. 

Such a wonderful, hopeful, enjoyable day. Watching the creative talents of over 400 kids, and the faces of their parents and supporters - nothing is better than that. Nothing at all. 

Temporary Tattoos and Promises

Today, my wonderful friends, is Ash Wednesday. You may be reading this regretting the last eight pancakes yesterday (and after all, twenty is plenty). If you are like me, you will already be building a jolly chunky sense of guilt for not having made clear decisions about the forthcoming observance of Lent. 

Well, time to do something about it. Tonight/today sees the Ashing services (for those of us who do things properly that way), and those slightly amusing moments when we all travel home afterwards with our temporary tattoos of varying sizes. For me, I am a great believer in the ash-cross being nothing less than the burn of a branding iron that we carry upon our heads, not willingly or even gladly, but because we must share in the shadow of Christ's own crucifixion. We will only remember that we have a dark charcoal splodge on our bonces after we return home, wondering why the people we have passed in the street looked at us strangely. Good that they did though. They will have noticed our faith in a world where we often have call to conceal it. 

For us in our part of Aylesbury, we will be welcoming our Archdeacon, Karen Gorham, to talk to us on the theme of the anniversary of the King James Bible. She blogs too - and is doing so for Lent. Read her. And so the great observance of Lent commences. For many it will feel like a period of reflective self-chastisement, and for others an opportunity. Lent is perfectly placed in spring that it may be a beautifully hopeful, positive season, not so much the sackcloth-and-ashes-only festival that some would have us adopt. For some it is about giving things up, and that is good. Sacrifice is good. For me, I am one who feels that I should take something new on for the Lenten season, as I will have to make the sacrifice of time elsewhere to make space for it. I am going to read a book [see link below] that an atheist put in my hand (they received it in error in a book delivery - how spooky is that). More reading is a struggle and will demand that I stop for more time in the day. I will also commit to writing two pieces of work that contribute towards my professional development. Laborare est orare, after all. There will be more liturgy of course and the prayerful build up to the Triduum, a matter of some professional pride for us of a catholic disposition. So much to do, such hope for Lent. 

So, you may be giving up the booze, or maybe chocolate. You may be working towards the Tear Fund carbon project or putting time aside. You may still have no plans save for a small awareness that Lent looms. Whatever you are doing or not doing, you will have my prayers. Entered in the right frame of mind, Lent really does have the potential to be the most amazing time for Christians. Good-o!

Endlessly Possible

I am the process of entering into a process that will initiate the process by which I will process elsewhere. In the end, I will have to start to apply myself that I may, myself, apply for the next stage in this minsitry that God seems willing to grant me.

I take my first tentative step down this path, and I am struck by how endlessly possible everything is.

I am, by style, a positive kind of man. I am a glass-half-full sort of person (even in instances where the glass is manifestly empty, cracked, mottled with algae - but that is no reason to lose hope). I am fairly straightforward I think  - though not simple, I hope. I can usually get on with everyone whom I meet and with most situations in which I find myself, and that is blessing to me.

This process to which I refer will demand that I put words on paper to frame this out. Saying 'I am a nice geezer who gets on with people' will not cut it, and neither should it. It may not be true, other than in my own head, but people seem to echo this sentiment, which is kind of them.

My perspective is simple: everything is endlessly possible. Even in the realm of the impossible, there are things that are still very positive, and so it is with every encounter with every person of any age in any context. This endless possible-ness is a sacrament. It is God given. It is as wonderful a gift as that first daubed splodge picture from ones own children, that gift that says just about everything that needs to be said about what really is possible.

Even in days where the 'possible' seems elusive, it never actually goes. The gift of the next opportunity, the next day, the next chance - all these things invite the joy of possibilities. some of things will work and some will not - an occupational hazard of possibilities (no certainties, you see). As I look to the brow of a hill which as yet conceals from my view of the other side, I know that I needn't worry. Everything is endlessly possible.

WiWa and KaMi To Marry

I started the day with some mixed feelings about the now heavily publicised news that Prince William and Kate Middleton are to marry. We all knew that they would, and have known that for years - so it is not a surprise to any of us. The ring thing is, I grant you, a surprise. Using the engagement ring that Dad gave Mum - one can only assume that the royal PR people were behind that. For me, it is not what I would have done, and the headlines in all this morning's bile-sheets had his mother's name all over them without exception, and not always Kate's. 

Anyway ...

Part of me didn't think I cared. Then the other part 'had a word' and now I have a different perspective on things. I think that the 'Widdleton' machine will now chug to full pelt with conventions for this, precedents for that, titles here, processes there. The lovely couple assure us that they will try to be 'hands-on' with their marriage service, but I remain as yet unconvinced. There will be little old geezers, who had nothing to do for years because their jobs as Madge Splicers have not been called upon for a while. They will have hidden in cupboards until the next wave of royal loin-fruits made their momentous decisions, and will now stir into a fury of activity and constitutional correctness. It is all very quirky, very quaint, and very very English.

...A little like the Church. We are certainly quirky, entirely quaint, and awash with wonderful individuals who have their jobs to do (and do them well).

Ours is a very cynical society in so many ways. Its cynicism is part of the reason why faith in all its forms struggles. Cynicism is the reason why the Royal Family have not enjoyed good times recently. We assess usefullness along lines that institutions like monarchies and churches find hard to make the grade. This is also partly why society doesn't seem to favour weddings or often commitment in any form - because we just don't see the need or the point.

I am delighted that the institution of marriage is recieving such a boost. The bandwagon classes will start to book their nuptials like mad in the next few months so that they too can have a 'Widdleton' style bash. But I am glad. I am glad that we now have a chance to see the monarchy in ascendency again because I believe it will have a positive effect on the church. Cynicism might be lulled by quirky fairy-stories once again, as we were all raised hearing tales of princes and princesses. Once again we will all be given permission to have a little faith in things beyond ourselves, and for that I am glad. 

For my part, I wish Prince William and Ms Middleton a long and happy marriage; one that is fruitful and one where they may be allowed space to preserve themselves and the family I pray they are granted. They have given us all a little hope ... and that is a great gift to a nation.

Come Back!

I have just returned from officiating at the funeral of one of those rare diamonds - a man who caused no-one to utter an untruth at the service, someone who will be missed because he represented goodness, warmth and light for so many people.

Officiating at funerals, as a Christian, is an odd thing. In our own humanity, we feel the pain of the mourning friends and relatives. We have probably all lost a close family member too, but rightly, we have a job to do and we must do it.

There is a danger however in how we do our work. We can either underplay our part or overplay it - and either is wrong. As a Christian, I have a belief in the defeat of death by the life of Christ. I belief that death is not an ending, just a changing, a movement from one place to another. To many others, death is the end - irretrievably. Then there are the large numbers, the considerable majority, who exist in the middle of that continuum who just want their loved-one to simply come back!

If we underplay our hand, we commemorate the death, the one moment at the end of many countless moments. If we overplay our hand we forget it almost altogether. Somehow, we must celebrate the life, acknowledge its end, and give comfort in the hope of heaven. It's hard. It's hard because the people sat before me don't really want to be told that the person who has passed from their sight is at peace on a distant shore. It's hard because no-one wants to be there doing that thing at that time (except in some notable and tragic cases). It's hard because I bring hope, and wonderful as that is for me, it is not welcome, not today, not really - because none of it should have happened. It's hard because when I stand up before a gathering of bereaved people, I am the confirmation that the most terrible thing really did happen. Hope is a funny thing. It is great to think we all have hope, but hope seems such a hard thing to accept when your loved-one is gone and isn't coming back. Hope is hard when this is not a dream from which they will emerge. Hope is hard when the screaming agonised voice inside the widow stood before me is 'Come back!'

Paint Your [Band]Wagon Red

What I am about to write is not based upon a negative view of the matter at hand, and not of a positive one either. My reaction to the Anglican Covenent bandwagon that so many have hopped on to in their blogs is simply this: there is another pile of 'No' in the frame. 

I frame all of my work from the point of view of the 'shop-floor'. I lack doctorates, professorial seats, a place on General Synod - what I have (thank God) is a ministry among normal people, who conveniently for this exercise at least, are culturally and internationally diverse. I am guessing, but I think I can accurately predict a scenario were I to instigate it on Sunday in my church:

Would all of you raise your arm, please? Thank you. Please lower your arm if you have not heard of the Anglican Covenant. Of the five that remain raised, please lower your arm if you a member of the clergy. To the one person left, would you please lower your arm if you either understand the Anglican Covenant or think it will make a difference to us in this place.

Guess how many arms would be left up? 

The Church of England, and the wider Anglican Communion has a favourite mind-set, a favoured phrase: 'Oh no, I don't think I like that', and so we are all often fighting against anything that challenges us or goes against our own deep seated views. So we defend our point of view - often because it is easier to defend the existing than to change it. Because debate heats up, the protagonists in all camps become boxed in to the frame of reference into which they have placed themselves. The issues are, of course revolving around gender and sexuality a lot of the time, and now we have the Covenant. Now the thing about the Covenant is that it has caused even the academic liberals to say 'no', and I rarely hear a 'yes' from anyone. 

The debate about the Anglican Covenant is fascinating, and it already selling articles and ratchetting up blog hits for many. It is has many worthy things to say about something that is probably only winding up the clergy and the academic theologians. I have asked around in several towns where I know people and the word on the street among the Christians I have spoken to is: 'No idea what you are talking about'.

I don't want to hear any more 'no' factions fighting with other 'no' factions. Neither seem able to offer an alternative; compromise seems too distant. If the liberal and self-styled modernists are even saying no, there is no-one else to say 'yes'. The Christians under my love and care want 'yesses'; they want to know that everything can be alright, that there isn't yet another carcinoma threatening the life of the Church that they love and the church they worship in every week. The Christians under my love and care worry about their jobs, their health, their friends; they mourn their loved ones, they celebrate the new arrivals; they want to know that they can say their prayers and that God will hear them; they want to maintain their Christian witness with integrity. They don't care about the governance of a mist-cloud organisation that has for years had limbs who will do what they want anyway. Standing Committees and Synods - these things and so many more are so far removed from the sphere of reference of normal everyday worshipping Christians that I know - what they want to hear is a pastoral response.

To the Covenant bashers - don't yell 'no', yell 'not that but this' - replace the Covenant with something else that can seek to address the issues that assault us. Give my parishioners and the ordinary parishioners of every church in the land something that they can embrace, that will give them peace of mind in times of trouble.  Don't be another group of people who want to prohibit or remove something; be a group of people who want to put something exciting, pragmatic and workable in place. Shout 'yes' to something; make your fame and blog fortunes on a 'yes' not a 'no' - 'no' is killing us all.

My views concerning the Anglican Covenant are not represented in this blog post.

Don't Live all Your Dreams

In recent weeks, I have had cause to use the term 'living the dream' on a number of occasions. Preaching at the first Mass of a new priest is an obvious example, but in a curacy - if all goes as it should - we can readily describe ourselves as living our dream. 

In all good ways, of course, we are. Most ordained people have been labouring under the particular burden of their calling for years, and whilst it as often as difficult burden, in the end, it forms our dreams. Those dreams are realised at ordination. 

On a different tack, I once heard a lottery winner state that all their dreams had come true, that they could now fulfill every ambition and dream. That sounded marvellous, but only for a moment. 

In the cerebral world that is Coronation Street, one of its older characters stated that she still had her dreams, that she knew that they would never come true, but that they were still worth holding on to. This gave me cause to ponder over my Gin and Tonic and think how life really would be if we had no more dreams to chase after. It sounds perfectly awful to me.

Our dreams, aspirations and ambitions colour in the person that we are. We are clearly a product of 'past', and fact of the 'present' - but it is all of those things that give us our 'future' dimension. I number many people who (if they but did the thing) would give most lottery winnings away for fear that all the little (or not-so-little) things that we dream of would all ocme true and there would be no dreams left. Without our 'future' aspect, we are nothing, except flesh-bones-and-memories. 

Witnessing the ordinations of friends was bitter-sweet for me. It was sweet to see a much loved friend recieve God's Grace and Charism and to become that which they were born to be. It was slightly poignant then to realise that in fact, it is good to look forward to something (maybe or maybe not) happening. Ordination for me is now past - so now what ...?

For me, my dreams project upon my children now. I want for them and not so much for me, though I am still a man who harbours ambitions and dreams. The 'biggies' (family, priesthood) are real now, so they need to be replaced with other things. I once heard a story which I am reminded of now ...

There was once a man who loved to go fishing. He loved to fish and he dreamed of the  time when he could sit in his boat and fish all day. Eventually, his dream came true, and as he was rather a good fisherman, was quickly overwhelmed by his catch. He asked a friend to join him and they fished together. They too were very successful and other friends joined them. There were so many fish that they couldn't eat them or give them away as they had done so before, so they bought a little shop and sold their catch their. So popular was this fish that the man and his friends needed bigger and better boats, and then trawlers which needed a yard which needed staff which needed a bigger shop, and another and another. The man's fish business soon became the most successful and the most profitable and he and his friends became rich beyond their wildest dreams. Time passed and the man became stressed with the burdens of his business and became ill. When he went to his doctor, he was told that he needed a little hobby; something that could help him relax and reflect on the wonderful life he had. Being a man who took the advice of his doctor, he thought hard about how he could unwind after a hard day at his Corporation's Head Office.

So he went fishing on his little boat ....

Endings

I am not normally one to write blog posts whilst in an emotional state (except the misanthropic), but I need to refect on the day that I have just had.

I have spent the day at the school in Aylesbury where I serve as both chaplain and governor. It is has been a wonderful day for a panoply of reasons, among them:

1. Year Six Leaver's Assembly: Awards were given for a range of wonderful gifts and skills, most significantly for effort and good endeavour. Yes, there were cups for those who were good at sport and science, and rightly so - but the most poiganant awards went to those who bust a gut trying. It was my (painful/emotional) job to close the Assembly for them with a Blessing, painful because it is tough to let go, even to crowds of kids you don't really know very well. I reflected that in them we all have hope. I reflected on the quality of their characters in all the colours and hues they were made manifest, that grace poured out from them to us. It is my belief that if we invest in children properly, that the world might just be saved one little bit at a time.

2. The Headteacher Retired: Today was the day when the Head retired. I commented that she reminded me of the Good Shepherd: loving her flock, knowing them by name, laying down (all but) her life for them, looking for the lost sheep, and so on. I am part of that flock, a young(ish) Curate who entered her school after ordination petrified. I am now a gob on a stick thanks to her oversight and care for me. Even kids feel the pain of separation, and I can't be sure if the tears were for the leaving kids or for the leaving Head. Oh Lord, how I wish I could bottle the purity and intensity of care and connection that children have for and with others, whom they trust with just about anything.

3. Being mobbed: I have worked my socks off to be a positive clergy presence in the school. I am there with collar as often as I can be, and when I am, I am a normal human being. I don't do needless piety or waffly kid-centric theology. We have fun and we 'do theology' at the same time. At three points today, this 38 year old priest, in blacks and collar, was being chased by well over a hundred screaming kids around the school field. They loved it, and so did I - what a remarkable privilege to be a priest whom kids are not afraid of, or diffident about. Maybe I have had the the good fortune to convince some children that being a God-botherer is ok, a bit fun, acceptable even - possible maybe. These moments were among the Magic Moments of Vicarring.

4. Leaves from the Prayer Tree: Kids are so instinctively altruistic. The things they they hold in their prayers are remarkably mature and insightful. There was a simple prayer saying 'thanks for pencils', for example - that is one child who does not take the richness of the gift of their education for granted. I recieve them termly and pray over them at church so that they have a way of 'processing' them meaningfully. They pray for those in need and for loved ones, quite without prompt and in private (the tree is in the main hallway and accessible at all times). If I could pray like a child, my own flock would be the better off I think.

I nearly cried (fool that I am) at one point when addressing a full school hall. Our children are the best asset that we have as a society. They are real and pure and believable and honest in a way that adults simply are not. Perhaps childhood is wasted on the young, I don't know - but I know that I would love to be seven-year-old again. Tonight (heat and twins allowing), I will sleep safe in the knowledge that the world we live in isn't quite on the edge of peril as I had once feared.

May God bless those and all children as they start their holidays. May they find rest, live in safety and surrounded by love, and may they return safely next term. Amen