Hugh's Views

I was cycling back from town the other day on the characterless road that leads past the supermarket onto our Housing Estate. As I rode past a mum pushing a buggy with a baby and with  2 older children in tow I heard one of them say, ‘Hey- I know you.’ As we are new on this estate it seemed unlikely to be .any of its residents, so I stopped the bike and let them catch up. ‘So who am I?’ I asked. You’re Rev Hugh- I know you from x Primary  School. (About 10 miles away, in a town I served as Vicar until 3 months ago. ‘You’re right,’ I said, ‘I live here now. What brings you to these parts?’ Mum explained how she liked to shop at Asda, and was happy to travel in on the bus for its bargains,

She then added, ‘And I know you too.’ You’re Father Hugh. You were the Vicar who came to Y Middle School.’ (In another town, 8 miles away, where I served for 20 years).  ‘Wow! I answered, that must have been about 25 years ago. ‘What are the chances of that? Happy Days! I am retired now, but coming into schools was one of the best parts of my Ministry.’

I rode back to our nice new home on this anonymous estate with a broad smile on my lips. As I start a new life and chart a new path beyond parochial ministry, I realise how much of the past and its people I hold inside me and how much it has framed the person I am today. In the words of the great Michel Quoist, French parish priest,

But, Lord, I am not alone.

I am a crowd, Lord,

for people live within me.

I have met them,

they have come in,

they have settled down,

Part of what I am is what 36 years of parish life has made me. All the characters I have known, from regular churchgoers to children sitting in my School Assemblies over those years, to couples I have ‘married’ or whose babies I baptised- they’re all part of me.

 That boy remembered me, and noticed me even when heavily wrapped up against the cold, under a helmet and whizzing past them on my bike. Do they remember what I taught them about God and Jesus? Probably not, (though who knows?), but I think they know that the church cared for them and was interested in their lives.. In the two poor areas in which Mum has lived, and where I ministered, people are statistically less likely to seek out the church in other ways, such as through baptism, than in more middle class areas. Ministry in schools becomes therefore more important, and I pray that this would have had an effect in their lives beyond saying ‘hey- I know you.’

In addition this incident highlighted something else about  my change of life, that is the move from being well-known in an area to being almost a ‘complete unknown.’ So, in Dylan’s words, ‘how does that feel?’ Whenever I have done psychometric tests like Myers-Briggs and the Enneagram I come out as E (extrovert) or 7, or variations thereupon. My wife (an introvert) is constantly amazed by my desire to sing and play guitar in pubs, parks and churches  and- indeed-  by this very exercise (of blogging).  As a Vicar or parish priest I had to stand up in front of congregations, school pupils or community groups. In my last parish I could hardly walk down the high street without bumping into, and having a chat with someone I knew. In the parish before that, a class in the local Primary school would be taken on an annual ‘community walk’ which featured a stop at the Vicarage. I remember the first time this happened looking up from my study desk and seeing about 20 young children waving and shouting ‘Father Hugh!’ In other words I could lay claim to being a minor celebrity in the last 31 years.

From this it might be assumed that I am a natural extravert and would be quite depressed by my present state, but this is not the case. My brother related, as my best man,  to  everyone on my wedding day the incident when, as a child,  I was invited to a party. ‘The beasts!’ I shouted, apparently, on hearing this news. ‘How could they?’ I was a shy child, teenager and young adult. It was only as a young teacher that I started to change. ‘Basically, old chap,’ said an experienced teacher to me when I was struggling with discipline, ‘it’s one big act. When you stand up in front of 30 boys in class (or 800 in Assembly) it’s sink or swim. You either take charge or you’re lost. All teachers are failed actors.’ After that, no congregation or school gathering held much terror for me, and I ended up generally enjoying the limelight.

But I’ve found out, in the last three months, that I can take it or leave it. I’ve never been a Myers-Briggs fundamentalist and believe it’s quite possible (and helpful)  to be both introverted and extraverted as circumstances demand. Apparently most clergy are introverted, which shouldn’t come a surprise when you think that most of us get ordained in response to a call from God perceived in the quiet of our hearts. I am enjoying the relative anonymity of my present circumstance and relish the fact that, when the phone rings, it will be a member of the family or the few others that know the number.

So, how does it feel…to be a complete unknown? At the moment, OK. That doesn’t mean that when I come away from Midnight Mass tonight, I won’t have missed the handshakes and ‘Happy Christmas’ greetings and the sense of being at the heart of the community. But it’ll do for now.