Is a Change Really as Good as a Rest?

 "Are you going to reflect and blog on your recent move to a new parish?" asked a Facebook friend of mine recently, adding somewhat optimistically, "It will be good to read". Well, I have certainly been doing plenty of reflecting over the last few weeks, but I hadn't planned to blog. However, the seed is now sown, so here goes.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that clergy, even when not actively considering a move, are strangely fascinated by the 'Job Vacancies' pages of the 'Church Times' (a.k.a. 'Jezebel's Trumpet'). I'm not sure why this should be, but I suspect it is a form of clerical voyeurism. There's something decidedly titillating about reading about other parishes, so much so that this particular voyeur (amongst many others, I'm sure) has been known on occasion to move beyond the advertisement on the printed page to the 'Parish Profile' which is now usually all too readily available on line. Much of the fun of reading a Parish Profile lies in interpreting such ambiguous phrases as, "We have a lively PCC" or "We try hard to embrace a wide range of theological perspectives", and playing 'Spot the euphemism'.  

Such activity is usually quite harmless and ends with a wry smile as I think to myself how lucky a successful candidate might be to go to a certain post, or how foolish one would have to be to apply for certain others.  There is, however, an element of danger in all of this. God moves in mysterious ways, even through the pages of 'The Church Times'. So it was that, one day, when nonchalantly thumbing through that august journal over morning coffee, I happened across the advertisement for my current post. What was it that first attracted me? I honestly can't remember, but when I went on line to read the Parish Profile, I was strangely intrigued and excited. 

This particular profile seemed to have a real authenticity; it felt refreshingly honest and unpretentious. The parish itself would be a major contrast to my existing post - a single 1960s parish church built in the 'Brutalist' style as opposed to a benefice of two parishes with three churches - two medieval buildings and one Victorian - roughly half the population and, initially at least, no stipendiary clergy colleagues as opposed to an Associate Vicar and two Curates. 

Intriguing though this was, I initially dismissed any thought of applying. I wasn't looking for a move, nor would I want the upheaval that it would entail; but something nagged at me. It was scarily reminiscent of the initial nag that I had felt decades earlier when the possibility of ordination first reared its head. As I pondered all of this, I realised that like many other people, I had used the Covid Lockdown as an opportunity to reflect on my ministry. I had been in post for just over seven years. There had been many challenges - and rewards - during that time, but there was still much work to be done. Frustratingly, Lockdown had come at a time when things were progressing and new possibilities were opening up, but it was becoming clear that much of the groundwork for these would have to be revisited, and as my thoughts began to crystalize, I had to ask myself whether I had the stamina for this or whether it was perhaps time for someone else to take up the reins. Retirement was on the horizon, but far enough away not to be a major factor at this point. So, could it be that God was calling me - and indeed the benefice that I would be leaving - to something new? If so, at this particular stage of my life it had to be now or never.

I talked to my Spiritual Director and to several friends who know me well, but who also happened to know quite alot about the potential new parish and diocese.  One of them asked, "Why would you give up the role you have for a single church parish with no clergy team?". To be honest, this was something that simply hadn't occurred to me. When I was in secular employment I could be ambitious and I welcomed promotion, but I have never perceived my priesthood as a 'career' nor had ambitions to be anything other than a parish priest. To me, in the context of ministry, talk of 'upward' 'downward' and 'sideways' moves is anathema. Surely for a priest all that matters is serving the people of God in the place to which God calls him/her? 

And there was the rub. Was God calling me or not? 

As the discernment process unfolded, I hoped that the conclusion would be that I should stay put. The Status Quo is, after all, often the easiest option; 'Better the devil you know' and all that; but this wasn't to be. The nagging simply got worse, and by the time one priest friend took me on a discreet tour of the parish - and later, when I attended a very helpful pre-interview Familiarisation Day - I was hooked. My ongoing approach, however, was based firmly on the Gamaliel Principle - if this thing were of God, it would flourish; it if were just about me it would fail. This meant that I was able to approach the interview in a fairly relaxed way. My only concern was that the interview would provide opportunity for me to be myself. If the panel wanted me, that would be great, but if not, then I wasn't the right person for the job, and that would also be fine. In the event, I felt that the interview was characterised by the same openness and frankness as the Parish Profile, and when I was offered the job, it felt absolutely right, and I was delighted to accept, albeit inevitably with some sadness at what I would be leaving behind, and a degree of apprehension at the prospect of starting all over again in a new context. 

Then came the worst part - that awful period of 'limbo' between being provisionally offered the post, and  the complex and sometimes lengthy administrative process that then has to take place before the appointment can be confirmed and made public.  The dilemma for the priest is how to keep it all secret and how to navigate difficult conversations with parishioners about the future without giving the game away. As it happens, I was taking a group of parishioners to a weekend pilgrimage at the Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham. We had a lovely time, and of course it was an opportunity to spend time socially with some of the flock, and to deepen the bonds of friendship. This was quite painful, and it got tricky when several of our pilgrims said, "You will be bringing us back again next year won't you, Father?". I discovered later that my reply, which was something like, "I'm sure there'll be an opportunity to come again next year", alerted some of the more perceptive to what was about to happen.  

When the announcement was finally made, reactions were inevitably mixed. Some members of the congregation were surprised as they had anticipated that I would stay in post up until retirement (and they had previously been accustomed to long incumbencies). Others had seen the writing on the wall. As one would expect, some were more sorry to see me go than others, but I was genuinely surprised at some of the people who expressed sorrow. For my part, it was all made easier by the fact that I had three excellent clergy colleagues who would continue to run things after my departure. I knew that the benefice would be in very capable hands, and that the Churchwardens would be spared many of the challenges of a vacancy in a single priest parish. I therefore felt less guilty than I might otherwise have done.

Since arriving in my new parish I'm going through the process of getting to know the people, finding my way around, getting to know the dynamics of the PCC and (just as important) the vagaries of the heating controls and the knack of locking or unlocking certain doors.  Two of the biggest changes to which I need to adjust are having all the church 'plant' under one roof and having a church that was specifically designed for the newer liturgies. As a definite post-Vatican II Anglo-Catholic, there's something rather wonderful and liberating about worshipping in a space specifically designed to bring people around the altar. Celebrating Mass with the congregation effectively on three sides, all with a good view of me and vice-versa feels so much more natural than standing behind an east end altar perched precariously at the front of the top sanctuary step, staring down the tunnel of a largely empty chancel to a nave where at least half the congregation have no sight-line to the altar. So, no more angst about the merits of Versus Populum and Ad Orientem or the need to re-order the building. 

The other major change to which I need to adapt is the local culture. It has never ceased to amaze me how the general demeanour and attitude of communities can vary, even over a distance of forty miles or so. Of course people speak differently (and I'll have no knocking of the Brummie accent please because actually I've always loved it), but they also think and work differently, and so far I'm very much enjoying the process of familiarisation. 

So, is a change as good as a rest? The process of making the change certainly hasn't been particularly restful. To be honest it has been at times exhausting, but responding to the new challenges and opportunities that I now face does feel invigorating and life-giving and I'm even discovering that there are sometimes other pages worth reading in the Church Times!