Techno-Clergy
This past week there was a guest at the convent where I am staying, a very tall (about 6'5"), gentle, attractive man, probably in his late 70s, the sort of person whose very being speaks of unassuming holiness. The way his body moved, his courteous and genuine warmth towards everyone, especially the most elderly and debilitated, tore at the heartstrings. I was privileged to sit with him at a meal, and have an additional conversation yesterday.
He was entirely without bitterness, but was lamenting his uselessness, having been forced to retire from his parish because he had reached the mandatory age. He had deliberately chosen parish life over other kinds of ministry (he clearly could have been a dean or a bishop). He pointed out that there is a large number of clergy like himself who are sitting idle while the career types are servicing (the word 'care' would not be appropriate for what is inflicted on the churches) multiple parishes, chained to and isolated by their computers, while the pastoral care of presence is entirely neglected—not that anyone would really want to have one of these career clerics get too close. The sick, elderly, and imprisoned are not visited, but the incumbents are too threatened by holiness and competence to put these retired clergy (or anyone else—certainly not a layperson) to work.
There are examples everywhere. One parish that has been sequestered for nearly 100 years has a 'house for duty' priest. Until recently, this group of churches had a long line of clergy filling this post who well and graciously understood the necessity of the vicar's being integrated into the life of the villages. For several generations there was a chain of such people, an incumbent vicar spotting a likely candidate for the next-but-one opening. This chain was abruptly broken two years ago when the incumbent suddenly died without any warning. The new vicar is 'a perfectly acceptable C of E priest' who takes the services but is strict about doing no more than absolutely necessary, which means no visiting—and this rural parish badly needs pastoral care for its elderly, its sick, families in crisis and people seeking God.
There is another vicar close by who is a perfectly nice person, an adequate administrator as long as he is calling all the shots but incompetent in every other aspect of the job from liturgy to human relations. A friend of mine is on a committee that supposedly evaluates clergy, but when I asked her if there was any mechanism for critique she said, no, this group was only for support of clergy; there was no mechanism in the diocese for any but the most anodyne approach. Again, it will be two years before this man retires, and by then, once again, it will be much, much too late.
Why can't the powers that be wake up to the fact that services are worthless without service? That throwing forms and paperwork at the problem only makes it worse? And if the clergy can't be bothered or are not competent to do the pastoral care, why can't others be appointed (and paid) to do it? They wouldn't have to be ordained; in fact, the type of lovely (ordained) man described at the beginning of this post has always been the rare exception, and is getting rarer.
The diocese of Exeter has suggested that the villages choose people to be ordained. But ordination is not the answer: who in their right mind would want to be ordained into the present system to become one of the self-absorbed, self-certifying elite, separated from the rest of us, not to mention their own humanity? Why not train and license local lay people to preside at the Eucharist and do pastoral care?
The vicar at the 14th century village church I attended on Christmas Eve not only treated the small, mixed congregation of country people, scholars and toffs like idiots, perfunctory even in his bonhommie; he wouldn't even allow a local to read the lesson. Instead it was read by his officious wife—one of those people who might otherwise be perfectly nice, but who insists on inflicting their "ministry" on others. When she "helps out" at parishes when her husband isn't present she insists on doing everything: conducting the service, playing the organ, reading the lessons—the lot. Not only does such bouncing around destroy any sense of liturgical flow, it is the sign of a person desperately in need of attracting attention to herself while disenfranchising everyone else—and now this paragon is going to be ordained.
I mentioned to my hostess, who had been feeling unwell enough to be relieved that she didn't have to go to church that night, that I was shocked that this woman, on Christmas Eve, had pushed aside everyone local (not to mention the highly inappropriate and peremptory glances she exchanged with her husband as he presided and she sat alone in cassock and cotta in the tiny choir). My hostess sighed and replied that no one had the energy to speak up and that in any event, it was pointless: no one would listen.
I asked how much longer before he retires: she said, two years . . .much, much too long.
More and more I turn to Diarmaid McCulloch's felicitous phrase: 'I am not a Christian but a candid friend of Christianity.' Who could identify themselves as "Christian" in the present institutional climate? Why does it give stones when the people ask for bread? programmes and questionnaires when they seek a vision? management instead of compassion? clerics instead of human beings? I do not know the way forward for Christianity. Everywhere I turn there seems to be another religious entrepreneur trying to establish a brand by spouting tired phrases and seeking to exploit loneliness, pain and broken hearts.
While I am no traditionalist in the political sense of the word, I am a radical in reaching back to the roots. We have lost Christianity; it is doubtful if it can be recovered. It consisted not only of buildings and liturgies and manuscripts but ways of thinking, perceiving and, above all, reading and contemplating, alone and in community, with humility and respect, living the compassion that grows out of contemplation by the simple act of accepting the privilege of being-with others in joy and sorrow, trouble, sickness and death.
He was entirely without bitterness, but was lamenting his uselessness, having been forced to retire from his parish because he had reached the mandatory age. He had deliberately chosen parish life over other kinds of ministry (he clearly could have been a dean or a bishop). He pointed out that there is a large number of clergy like himself who are sitting idle while the career types are servicing (the word 'care' would not be appropriate for what is inflicted on the churches) multiple parishes, chained to and isolated by their computers, while the pastoral care of presence is entirely neglected—not that anyone would really want to have one of these career clerics get too close. The sick, elderly, and imprisoned are not visited, but the incumbents are too threatened by holiness and competence to put these retired clergy (or anyone else—certainly not a layperson) to work.
There are examples everywhere. One parish that has been sequestered for nearly 100 years has a 'house for duty' priest. Until recently, this group of churches had a long line of clergy filling this post who well and graciously understood the necessity of the vicar's being integrated into the life of the villages. For several generations there was a chain of such people, an incumbent vicar spotting a likely candidate for the next-but-one opening. This chain was abruptly broken two years ago when the incumbent suddenly died without any warning. The new vicar is 'a perfectly acceptable C of E priest' who takes the services but is strict about doing no more than absolutely necessary, which means no visiting—and this rural parish badly needs pastoral care for its elderly, its sick, families in crisis and people seeking God.
There is another vicar close by who is a perfectly nice person, an adequate administrator as long as he is calling all the shots but incompetent in every other aspect of the job from liturgy to human relations. A friend of mine is on a committee that supposedly evaluates clergy, but when I asked her if there was any mechanism for critique she said, no, this group was only for support of clergy; there was no mechanism in the diocese for any but the most anodyne approach. Again, it will be two years before this man retires, and by then, once again, it will be much, much too late.
Why can't the powers that be wake up to the fact that services are worthless without service? That throwing forms and paperwork at the problem only makes it worse? And if the clergy can't be bothered or are not competent to do the pastoral care, why can't others be appointed (and paid) to do it? They wouldn't have to be ordained; in fact, the type of lovely (ordained) man described at the beginning of this post has always been the rare exception, and is getting rarer.
The diocese of Exeter has suggested that the villages choose people to be ordained. But ordination is not the answer: who in their right mind would want to be ordained into the present system to become one of the self-absorbed, self-certifying elite, separated from the rest of us, not to mention their own humanity? Why not train and license local lay people to preside at the Eucharist and do pastoral care?
The vicar at the 14th century village church I attended on Christmas Eve not only treated the small, mixed congregation of country people, scholars and toffs like idiots, perfunctory even in his bonhommie; he wouldn't even allow a local to read the lesson. Instead it was read by his officious wife—one of those people who might otherwise be perfectly nice, but who insists on inflicting their "ministry" on others. When she "helps out" at parishes when her husband isn't present she insists on doing everything: conducting the service, playing the organ, reading the lessons—the lot. Not only does such bouncing around destroy any sense of liturgical flow, it is the sign of a person desperately in need of attracting attention to herself while disenfranchising everyone else—and now this paragon is going to be ordained.
I mentioned to my hostess, who had been feeling unwell enough to be relieved that she didn't have to go to church that night, that I was shocked that this woman, on Christmas Eve, had pushed aside everyone local (not to mention the highly inappropriate and peremptory glances she exchanged with her husband as he presided and she sat alone in cassock and cotta in the tiny choir). My hostess sighed and replied that no one had the energy to speak up and that in any event, it was pointless: no one would listen.
I asked how much longer before he retires: she said, two years . . .much, much too long.
More and more I turn to Diarmaid McCulloch's felicitous phrase: 'I am not a Christian but a candid friend of Christianity.' Who could identify themselves as "Christian" in the present institutional climate? Why does it give stones when the people ask for bread? programmes and questionnaires when they seek a vision? management instead of compassion? clerics instead of human beings? I do not know the way forward for Christianity. Everywhere I turn there seems to be another religious entrepreneur trying to establish a brand by spouting tired phrases and seeking to exploit loneliness, pain and broken hearts.
While I am no traditionalist in the political sense of the word, I am a radical in reaching back to the roots. We have lost Christianity; it is doubtful if it can be recovered. It consisted not only of buildings and liturgies and manuscripts but ways of thinking, perceiving and, above all, reading and contemplating, alone and in community, with humility and respect, living the compassion that grows out of contemplation by the simple act of accepting the privilege of being-with others in joy and sorrow, trouble, sickness and death.
posted by Maggie Ross at 9:33 am
3 Comments:
amen
You wrote:"We have lost Christianity; it is doubtful if it can be recovered."
By human effort and scheming--never!!
But God is present, and will do things unheard of, even unsuspected.
Maranatha!!
J. A. Frazer Crocker, Jr.
You wrote:"We have lost Christianity; it is doubtful if it can be recovered."
By human effort and scheming--never!!
But God is present, and will do things unheard of, even unsuspected.
Maranatha!!
J. A. Frazer Crocker, Jr.
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