Wednesday, 29 April 2020
Rooks and bees
A fresh nest on the statue of St Michael, high on the east front of St Michael's, Haworth, and the nest-building debris below it.
Our favourite bush at the Rector entrance, with the flowers which face the sun coming into bloom first, and one of its early visitors.
Monday, 20 April 2020
Friday, 17 April 2020
The Church of England might look different
Almost exactly
thirteen years ago, I attempted to help the Deanery (or ‘Mission Area’ as it
was briefly fashionable to call it at the time) of which I was Rural Dean to recognise
the level of change which we faced, and I was sufficiently impressed with myself
both a year later to reproduce much of it as the second post I put up on this
Blog and now to want to return to it again.
The physical landscape around us
changes gradually until it becomes unrecognisable. Some change we hardly notice, such as the
slow erosion caused by a river. Some
change is observable over a few years, such as the retreat of a cliff. Some change is instant, such as the result of
a levies breaking or land slipping.
In the past, change in the Church
of England has been of the first sort.
In the 150 years before I was confirmed in 1974 the pattern of clergy deployment,
relating to society, theology and worship... changed fundamentally without any
of the individual increments being revolutionary.
In the present, change in the
Church of England is of the second sort.
The Alterative Service Book 1980 came and went in just twenty years, and
the number of clergy deployed... [here] today
is half the number in the Pastoral Plan of the early 1990s.
What is hardly grasped by anyone
involved is that change in the Church of England immediate future will be of
the third sort. The ground beneath us is
moving. The pressures created by the
demography of our congregations and the tightening our finances (as well as
shifts in society) have been building inexorably.
The demography of our
congregations is such that the presence of those who were formed as present and
future members of the Church of England in the 1920s, 30s, 40s and 50s has
masked the startlingly smaller number so formed in the 1960s, 70s, 80s and 90s,
but as they begin to die the huge gap is exposed.
The tightening of our finances
has reached the point when we need to subscribe... over £100 a day to deploy a
stipendiary clergyperson, before we even begin to finance our church activities
and buildings; this will continue to increase in real terms....
... on a specific day in the not
too distant future the combination of these pressures will mean that we
suddenly cease to be able to operate as we are.
Some people of all ages will
continue to make Christian commitment, and many people will continue to look to
the established church for varieties of Christian ministry, but the numbers of
those committed will not be able to sustain anything like our present provision
of buildings or stipendiary ministry.
Some small parts of the Mission
Area continue to operate as if change is still very gradual... [so] change doesn’t have to be faced at the
moment at all.
But the majority of the Mission
Area operates as if rapid change is enough; ... places where ten years ago a
priest lived next door a church which was his or her sole responsibility have
all ceased to operate in this way; systematic development of authorised lay
ministry and alternative worship is common.
Hardly anyone operates as if the
major crisis is coming, and the ugly experiences of our Methodist neighbours
when seeking to bring together three small churches in the centre of our
Mission Area is one indication of why we have shied away from seeking to
propose anything bold...
... we know (as the Methodists
do) that the personal investment of most of us in the particular congregation
of which we are part means that coming to a common mind about which places to
identify and then willingly ceasing regular worship in the others is a task
which may well be beyond us.
So are we more likely to wait
until the levies break or the land slips, until further specific congregations
become unviable or until the provision of stipendiary ministry across
particular parts of the Mission Area becomes impossible, and make emergency
plans in the new landscape only when we can see it?
Since then a
complementary evolutionary (rather than geological) image has come to mind, remembering
that the mechanism of evolution often appears to have been sudden steps rather
than imperceptible increments.
A disaster (of
climate or flood or famine), perhaps even a near extinction event, happens. In happening it creates a pinch point such
that only a fraction of a species survives, and new born members of this
species will descend from those survivors alone. Whether it was the unusual length of a
foraging snout or the accidental camouflage provided by a minority fur colour
or some other suddenly advantageous dexterity or stamina, those without it will
have no children.
So, it is
not a surprise to find that the sudden closing down of much of our economy put straight
out of business some firms which were already precarious, and now threatens to
do so for a significant proportion of other previously flourishing small and
medium sized businesses as well.
And it is not
surprising that serious worries arise about the viability of the business models
on which our dioceses and parishes are operating. Is this the breaking of levies, the slipping
of land, the near extinction event, the evolutionary pinch point? If it is, what will the landscape look like when
we set out of isolation?
On
Wednesday, the latest in the Bishop of Leeds’ e-mails to his clergy named this
fear.
Some of you will be wondering
what will happen when we re-enter and re-launch in due course. I am also aware that there is some fear about
the sustainability of the church in the light of an economic
depression/recession, loss of finance to parishes and a plunging stock
market. I just want to reassure you that
discussions are going on nationally and in the diocese about how to anticipate,
mitigate or negotiate the challenges that might confront us. I am not worried about this at all. We are a people who deal with reality and
work out how to respond faithfully to any challenges that come our way. We are getting ahead of the game in this, but
we don’t have firm data with which to work yet.
I simply want to reassure you that the thinking and scenario planning is
being done at every level. What is clear
is that the Church of England might look different in the future – even if our
core vocation does not change.
I am grateful
for his positive tone. I just wonder
what ‘might look different in the future’, now so clearly named, will actually
mean.
Before the
sudden crisis, there was already great popularity and significant strategic funding
being directed to establish franchises of (and imaginative variations on) the Holy
Trinity, Brompton approach to mission and church life. Perhaps this was already anticipated to be one
well adapted potential survivor of and parent of Church of England life.
But has
there been real evidence that this or any other model was already particularly well
adapted for often ancient parishes churches at the centre of villages of 500,
2000 or 3500 people at present lay-led and largely attended by those in their
70s and 80s whose economic viability has looked vulnerable for some time and might
now be suddenly tipped over?
And are those
stipendiary clergy most like me (as some of the last 1000 blog posts has sometimes
identified and admitted) ill-adapted parts of the present logistical and
theological vulnerability?
Meanwhile, the
picture is the Easter garden created in front of the house here.
Saturday, 11 April 2020
Waiting in darkness
Parts of the
reflections for Thursday and for Saturday from the Bronte Virtual Church blog.
There was a full moon late on
Tuesday evening.
This is not
a coincidence. There is always a Full
Moon on one of the days before Easter.
We know that
the resurrection happened very early on the first day of the week around the
feast of Passover. And we know how the
date of Passover was calculated. So the
early Christians came to celebrate the resurrection on the first Sunday after
the first Full Moon after the Spring Equinox.
This year’s
Spring Equinox was on 20 March.
We had to wait eighteen days until Tuesday’s Full Moon. We are now waiting five more days for the
next Sunday so we can celebrate Easter on its actual anniversary.
Those
without modern calendars, and without our convention that the year begins on 1
January, would have thought of it as the first day of the first new week in the
first new month (a word which relates to moons) of the fresh new year.
But it
places us in a moon-haunted darkness for a few days first. Jesus is arrested tonight (the Thursday
before Easter, Maundy Thursday). He is
executed tomorrow (the Friday before Easter, Good Friday). And all creation appears abandoned by his
absence the following day (Easter Eve, Holy Saturday).
Nothing happens on Holy Saturday
Good
Friday’s grief and drama were yesterday.
Easter Day’s surprise and celebration will be tomorrow.
The church
has an extraordinary wealth of prayers and activities for yesterday and for
tomorrow, because the death and resurrection of the Lord is the pivot on which
everything turns for us.
But it
doesn’t for today, because nothing happens today.
Many
churches use the empty day to spring clean and to deck the church out ready for
tomorrow.
But this
year the church can’t distract itself by being busy like that. We simply have to sit and wait.
Perhaps that
has always been the point. We sit, we
wait, and we long for God’s promise to become real around us.
There will
be a tiny shock of recognition for those doing so who turn the pages of our
daily service book to find a prayer composed for today and used for several
years.
It is
difficult to think it wasn’t written in the last few days for our
situation:
In the depths
of our isolation
we cry to
you, Lord God:
give light to
our darkness
and bring us
out of the prison of our despair.
So, this
year, let us not rush on too quickly to trumpet the resurrection which we
always know is very close.
Let us wait
alongside those for whom it is not yet close.
With those in isolation around
us,
with
those who cry,
with those who cry to you, Lord
God:
we pray for
the light you promise
not
seen by those now enveloped by darkness;
we pray for
the hope you promise
no
whiff of which reaches those now enmeshed in despair;
we pray for
the freedom you promise
no rumour of
which is heard by those now most confined;
we pray for
love you promise
not
savoured by those now misused;
we pray for
resurrection you promise
not
touched by those now held in doubt.
For many it
has always been true that the leap from grief to joy has not been
instantaneous. As nothing happens today,
we wait and pray alongside them.
For
ourselves, there are also things for which we long (an interesting word in
itself).
If this is
the right sort of praying to do today, it is beautiful that the Archbishops’
recent message speaks of us all at the moment “living through a prolonged Holy
Saturday”.
We will not see
an end to the present crisis any time soon.
But we will do so.
We will not
be able properly to celebrate Easter for a little while yet. But it will come.
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