Learning Things Too Late

I should have known that. People who are genuinely honest with themselves will say this more often than they put up a fight to defend their ignorance. It is an attitude that takes joy in discovery. I commend it. Here are two things I learned too late in my ministerial career.

Hearing Lady Hale on Desert Island Discs reminded me of her most splendid piece of teaching. In dealing with the massive matter of whether it had been against the law to prorogue Parliament she read a verdict which broke this complexity down to four simple questions:

1. Is this a matter on which we are able to rule?

2. What is the relevant law?

3. Has it been broken?

4. What should be the remedy.

For the last few years I have adapted and applied this to almost every meeting I have been responsible for when setting an agenda and leading a discussion to a conclusion:

1. Is this anything to do with us?

2. What are the parameters of our discussion?

3. What do we need to put right or improve?

4. What needs to happen now?

The second is like, namely this. I met a wise old priest who taught me to avoid the self-importance that comes with assuming that when someone shares something with you it is down to you, and you alone, to deal with it.

Given that pastoral problems normally lead to talking he used to reply, when confronted with such, by saying something along the lines of, 'That must be really difficult for you. Do you have someone you can talk to about it?' On many occasions the answer turned out to be 'yes' at which point he would pray for the relationship and commend it with thanks.

In effect he was praising the sharer for the good judgement they had made so far. This also sorted out the folk only he could help.

I tried it a few times. It worked and was well received.

First Three Questions

When you get too busy which, let's face it, can happen to all of us who have jobs that involve a certain amount of reacting to circumstances, what gives?

I want to share three questions to ask yourself at the beginning of the day during a busy time. You probably do these things on autopilot most of the time but, when you are busy reacting, they can be forgotten. Not attending to them can cause harm. When you are a fire-fighter the fire you don't put out may spread. When you are a vicar it is the hurt you accidentally begin that may do that.

So, for a vicar, these are often Monday morning questions. It's Monday and I've been busy for four days. Here are the questions:

1. Who should I thank?

Thanking people often slips when you are busy. Send them a card. Drop them an email. Give them a call.

2. Who should I get straight with?

Did you say a word out of turn which you now regret. Roll it back before it festers. Most times it won't have hurt anyone but be in the habit of making sure it didn't.

3. Who should I tell?

Did you learn something that somebody else should know? I share leadership of a deanery with another person. We need to both know the same stuff.

I think these are useful.

Adventures in a Dog Collar Part 347

This is a true story. It reminds me again that the only way anyone can become a half-decent writer (I make no claims) is to go to places alone.

A few days ago I was advised to allow extra time to get from Nailsea to Wells because of the Glastonbury traffic. So I did and arrived an hour early. I opted for a sandwich and a pint at my favourite Wells haunt, The Crown. It's my favourite because they have a knack, not available at many pubs, of fast-tracking the sandwich queue.

At the bar I was asked for a table number. This is not easy for a single diner because you need to leave a possession unguarded at a table in order to reserve a seat. I found a seat where a couple were just leaving and left my bag with them.

Having ordered I went to the table and the occupants asked if I wanted to separate two tables which they had put together. I said no and then the man noticed my dog collar and told me he understood that as I was a clergyman I was gregarious (friends, keep your chuckles down, please).

Then, having told me I was gregarious, he told me the story of how the Master of Divinity at his College suggested that as he knew a good port and could sing he ought to consider ordination and put him in touch with the Professor of Theology at Exeter, where my story-teller now was, who would ask him for dinner. Some more junior members of whichever faculty he was at were, apparently, miffed that he queue jumped the dinner list at such dinner. On arrival he was asked 'Have you met the family' and when he said he had not he was given a huge scotch and told me would need it.

This may seem garbled because I got all this in a stream of consciousness and the idea of being stopped for clarification didn't seem to occur to my speaker.

He was then asked if he wanted to join a Hebrew, Latin or Greek supper club. The story sort of ran out without a punchline (the man was not ordained, then or ever). Surprisingly he then asked me who I was and where I came from. I got as far as 'ordination weekend' when he continued with a string of how he was going to the deaconing on Sunday. I also answered the question with the single word 'Nailsea' and hit a poor joke about a chiropodist. His companion left in the middle of all this (with a resigned expression on my behalf).

Someone in the story was called Robert Mortimer I think.

Sometimes I can only be a pastor if I remember I am also a writer. I can listen because I can anonymise, retell and hopefully entertain. Do with all this what you want.

Remembering Names

In the whole 'les choses est contre nous' thing here is a tale which is true but shouldn't be. I will change some names.

In a certain church there is a certain vicar who manages to keep his head above water with names but, if the truth be told, isn't as good at remembering them as it sometimes looks.

Lets call two of the men, both married and both of similar ages, Len Brown and Pete Jones. And because they are both short and simple names he sometimes, when they are together, has to work hard to call Len Len and Pete Pete.

He makes a new pastoral contact, someone who will clearly be taking his time up for a while to come, who is also called Len. No problem.

Until he gets an email from new Len and discovers that Len's surname is Jones. He now knows three men of similar age and background called Len Brown, Pete Jones and Len Jones.

If I, oops I mean he calls them all 'mate ' do you think they'll mind?

Someone is having a laugh.

Pastors Causing Pain

See, here's a question. For ministers of the Gospel mainly but others may join in. If you absolutely knew you would grow the church by 100 people tomorrow but 5 would be so upset at the methodology they would leave, would you do it?

Let's say all other things being equal. You are not allowed an 'it depends' answer. You have researched and your methodology is not illegal. It is good. It will lead to long-term new converts and disciples of Jesus. You cannot stop the leavers leaving and they will blame you for the rest of their lives for 'ruining their church.'

You are not allowed to say 'It's not all about numbers.' I've reduced the problem to the state where it is.

What amazes me is that some of you are now umming and arring (never written that before, is that how you spell those words?) about this. You are genuinely considering not growing your church by 100 in order to keep 5 happy.

I don't understand you (and you probably me).

We sometimes have to make decisions that may upset people but are for the greater good. Empathy and pastoral care just get right in the way.

The world divides into two types of people and you are the other type. You probably wonder how the person who gave the order to drop the first atomic bombs slept at night. My guess is that he did the maths and then slept fine. And that will sound appalling to you.

Mental Illness

I served my first curacy in a parish which included what was then known as a Mental Health Unit. Mapperley Hospital in the 1980s was much improved on the days when it had been the city asylum (it was just outside the boundary of the city of Nottingham) but it was still ghastly. There were some long-term institutionalised people there who had probably only been suffering from conditions as simple and treatable as post-natal depression when admitted years earlier.

The good people of Mapperley were well used to turning the pyjama-clad round and walking them back towards the hospital. A green young curate was once heckled, in a Sunday service, by a woman who asked 'Are you circumcised?' That is not an apocryphal tale; I was the curate.

In Leamington Spa a centre for people with extreme learning difficulties was just down the road from my house and one of the other houses in the road was occupied by a group of people with problems who were learning to live in community. All those I met, or greeted, were delightful.

I grew up with an aunt who lived with us. She had a mental age of about twelve following childhood meningitis. I remember expressing some surprise at Primary School that this was not a normal family arrangement.

So I have experience of living with those who are mentally ill and the learning disadvantaged. I know enough to know I know nothing.

The phone rang the other day and a member of one of my local congregations, who I have just got to know, asks if she can make an appointment to see me. When I enquire after the reason she explains she has a number of difficulties including some mental illness and so I politely pass and suggest her professional helpers will be better able to deal with her. I also suggest that others in the church who already know her might provide pastoral care.

The good thing about knowing a little about something is actually realising how little you know. Many clergy think they know everything about everything; I know almost nothing about everything. But I know just enough to know what I don't know and when not to get involved. Us priests like to feel we are wanted; in the face of that it is often good to check if we are needed.

Visiting

People like to see Bobbies on the beat but Bobbies reckon to solve more crime by being pro-active not reactive these days. Fewer than 10% are on the beat at any one time, so I gather.

I'm going to write a few pastoral thoughts on visiting. Usually, on feeling like writing pastoral stuff, I go and have a beer until the feeling wears off. But I have a cold Becks and am back at my desk. Gonna nail this.

This visiting thing. I was talking to a few fellow clerges the other day and was amazed at how many of them, as a matter of course, still do a pretty full, weekly case-load of visiting. Train their curates to do it too. And the thing is that it seemed to make not the slightest difference to the numbers of people who came to church.

Over the years I have encountered one or two outstanding visitors, especially in rural situations. At a pub meeting in one country village I heard about, a community leader said, 'Well the parson has visited all of us, let's visit him.' They all went to church at Christmas.

I don't especially enjoy the cake and old dears school of ministry so try to make sure it gets done by those who have a gift for it. By and large few people seem enthusiastic about having a coffee in Costa with teenagers or feeding young adults but I like doing that. So I meet with a pastoral group who help me pray for the sick, keep me in touch with other pastoral matters and tell me when a clergy visit is essential.

If people feel that a visit from a lay person is second class I have to say I give them a thorough lecture on every member ministry.

I have a second point. The guy who trained me in ministry felt that the daily round of parish visiting was essential and gave me a list. I felt a bit worried about daytime visits, always catching the women in and never the men. But I was told that I could learn so much more about people from seeing their homes.

As time has gone by I discover that a conversation is not badly lacking if it takes place at a neutral venue. I discover that many people make appointments to go and see professionals. Doctors don't stall on a diagnosis until they've seen the patient's lounge. So folk coming to me is a good use of my time. I can also demonstrate hospitality and let them see my home (people are generally nosey about clergy homes - mine has an open door).

I still do visit, but not just for the sake of a visit. I will visit those who I need to talk to about something specific. I will visit those who specifically invite me for a reason. I will visit, whenever possible, when the man of the house is in.

That country parson had a great Christmas congregation but they weren't back the following week. It made no difference in the long run.

Visiting. Not a great use of time. Better to be working to a purpose than merely 'on the beat' eh? Tell me I'm wrong if you like, but beware. I might have to come round for a chat.