Fortune Rota Volvitur

A couple of weeks ago I visited Professor Fireface in her beautiful cottage, home not just to her but two King Charles spaniels, three cats, and a pair of rabbits; I didn’t meet the horse, he lives elsewhere. She showed me her OBE and the Golden Yeti given to her as Cryptozoologist of the Year a while ago for her role in analysing some alleged Yeti hair (spoilers: they turned out not to be). The same day she heard about the award from the Palace (the OBE, not the Yeti, they don’t deal with that), she had another letter telling her the university she’d worked at for more than twenty years was making her post redundant. She found another job fairly quickly, but it’s not what she wants, especially as it’s based a hundred miles away via a particularly awkward and trying route whether you do it by car or train. They don’t expect her in very often, but the previous time she’d made the journey it took a round trip of seven hours, cost nearly £200 in travel, accommodation, and animal-sitting charges, and two of the three meetings she was supposed to attend moved online anyway. She thinks it isn’t sustainable in the long run and is applying for another job at a university closer to home.

Of course I want her to get it. It would cost her dearly to move away from where she is. I tell the Lord this, to the extent that I’m sure he’s a bit fed up with being informed about the situation. Surely none of the other three candidates can need that position as much as my friend does? They will just be making a career choice, rather than avoiding a broken heart and a worn-out resolve. But, so far as prayer goes, this is uncomfortably a zero-sum game: if Professor Fireface gets appointed, three others won’t be. It’s that even more directly than the ‘Dear God, please find me a parking space’ situation (there might be more than one, and cars move in and out of a car park all the time), or praying for someone who needs a kidney transplant, which my friend the Heresiarch used to argue was immoral – essentially seeking the death of someone else, even if you don’t know who they are and aren’t positively willing the circumstances which would lead to an organ coming available. Here, there is only one job, and only one way of getting my friend into it.

And what would I like the Lord to do, exactly? Make sure that she keeps her head and has done the right prep (she’s been advised to talk about ‘neo-Lamarckian genomics’ when an opportunity comes up)? Clear the traffic so she’s on time? Less charitably, obstruct the efforts of the other candidates in some way? Surely not that.

I can’t remember where I read that most prayer was just a matter of saying, ‘Lord, please clean up the mess’. In the end, as I always advise people, I’m just telling him what I feel strongly about in the knowledge that he knows what’s going on better than I do, and will act, and has already acted long in the past, for the final good of his creation. That reads a bit limp, if I’m honest, but it’s the best I can do.

Bishop Down

Ironically, as it was pointed out to us at Deanery Chapter today, this coming Sunday is designated Safeguarding Sunday in the Church of England. Some of my colleagues wanted some kind of diocesan statement to be made about the resignation of the Archbishop of Canterbury that they could share, but although I might allude to it in what I say in any sermons I won't be making any declaration to the parish or even the church as such. Other incumbents found themselves dispirited and concerned for the effect on parish relationships, but my experience is that in so far as people in local communities have any attitude to the Church at all they detach the immediate manifestation of it, the clergy and individuals they know, from anything that might be going on more widely. Haters gonna hate, but everyone else carries on. This generosity is, of course, exactly the phenomenon that benefits abusers - nobody believes the person they know could be wicked - but the rest of us can be thankful for it for now. I will very much let the whole thing lie unless anyone mentions it. 

In general, I wish I could be anything more than wearied and unsurprised by the outcome. It's not that I have no sympathy: were someone to tell me an issue had been referred to the police, I might well assume the police were dealing with it, and move on to the next thing (and there is always a Next Thing onto which to move). It wouldn't make it right, though. If I say that Justin Welby's decision to resign could well turn out to be his best day's work during his tenure at Lambeth Palace, I do so not to be mean or sarcastic, but because I genuinely think the Church will ultimately benefit. It's exactly the dramatic, galvanizing event required to blow the whole thing open, to tip the balance away from power, display, and inertia, and it would not be beyond possibility that Archbishop Justin's will not be the only pointy hat rolling in the dust before too long.

Strain in All Directions

Curiously – or perhaps not – while I am away on holiday pastoral issues often seem to blow up in the parish. That happened this October, and eventually I found myself sitting with a church volunteer hearing a series of complaints about events which occurred in my absence. I investigated, and found that, in all conscience, I couldn’t do what the person concerned wanted me to, whereon they resigned their role.

I don’t handle these things well. This particular situation comes at the end of a long series of strains and difficulties, and, though I strive not to, I find myself rehearsing angry speeches about the rights and wrongs of the matter. Then, when faced by someone who's behaving reasonably and calmly, at least when I’m talking to them, I have to exert a different effort to try and remember the times when they weren’t reasonable and calm, either with me or others.

Not only will the person you’re dealing with probably frame events with an entirely different narrative, and, were they confronted with yours, sit and blink uncomprehendingly (assuming they didn’t fly off the handle with rage), it’s a rare history which contains nothing positive, no matter how hard the end has been. The particular person concerned in this one has done many helpful and worthwhile things in the church’s life, and has been diligent and hardworking to a fault. They could point to the efforts they’ve made and the sacrifices they’ve undergone on the church’s behalf absolutely justly. For those tasks, they were the right person at the right time. As a pastor you have to acknowledge this, while keeping your sight on the actual situation in hand and what you simply must do about it.

The ambiguity and contradictions inherent in such events means that none of this feels good, even if you work to detach yourself from your own individual feelings.

I always pray for the church when I’m on leave. Imagine what would happen if I didn’t.