In one of my earliest blog posts on this site ‘’Hey I know you,’ I mused on the experience of meeting a mother and her son who knew me from two of my former parishes as I was riding my bike on the streets of the estate where I live now in retirement. I described the enjoyment of being noticed, after feeling like a ‘complete unknown’ on this estate.. At the time I was quite enjoying our new found anonymity, after years of being well known in the parish. (‘It’ll do for now’) Nearly three years on I want to reflect on how things have changed.
Underlying a few of my early posts there is a sense of loss, not just of being recognized, but of losing identity. The refrain I have repeated so many times over the last there years- ‘You give up being a Vicar (of a parish) , but not a priest!’ is true, but perhaps too glib. This takes time to appreciate, especially for someone whose priesthood has been intimately bound up with being a Vicar for so long. So what is it to be a priest without a parish?
This isn’t going to be a theological paper on the meaning of priesthood (You’ll be relieved to hear!) The classic definition of priesthood given by Michael Ramsey – ‘being “with God with the people on your heart, and being with the people with God on your heart’ (‘The Christian Priest Today’) has always meant to lot to me, though Ramsey writes those words when describing the priest at prayer in his parish church. Take a priest out of their parish, and the understanding of the word must change and evolve.
At first (after the initial enjoyment of of getting up late , reading a book and strumming the guitar) I felt rather at sea. This, I think, is an important stage every retired person has to go through and not be dodged. The Church of England, in its wisdom, will not usually grant a retired priest ‘Permission to Officiate’ (lead church worship) for at least six months, in my case eight.
Depending on the priest that means either discovering what Lionel Richie meant by ‘easy like Sunday morning’ featuring a lie-in, a long breakfast with the papers, a walk, OR going to different churches, having the salutary experience of being totally ignored and sitting on one’s hands while inwardly shrieking at the priest or worship leader ‘why, man, why are you doing/not doing/saying/ not saying that???’ In my early retirement months I enjoyed ‘Walking church’ where a group of Christians meet at a beautiful location (many to choose from where I live) and follow a pre-planned itinerary, stopping for prayers on the way, That was good and inspiring, but I missed the sacrament and hymns and holy building which anyone could walk into without being ‘in the know.’ So I went back to church.
Yet a priest’s life is more than Sunday, so what about the rest of the week? It’s wonderful to have evenings free of meetings but I did quickly miss being useful to people, including the non-churchgoing parishioners that made up such a large part of my ministry . Whilst all priests are different, with some very introverted and longing for solitude after years of enforced sociability, I would guess that more are extravert ‘helper’ types. A visit to the local volunteer bureau presented a range of options, and I plumped for Citizens Advice, for whom I volunteer one day a week. Whilst there is a great deal of facts and laws to learn, much it available from colleagues and from online resources, I have found my pastoral skills of listening without judgment to be very useful. Sometimes, when people come in or phone up, there are so many problems in their life that they just need to be listened to and, at the end of half an hour, when I ask ‘what do you want me to get down?’ they say ‘ Nothing. I feel better now – it’s OK’. That’s quite satisfying.
I also play in a local guitar club where men of a certain age (and the odd woman) get together weekly to practise classic rock songs, performing them in a pub at a monthly open mic. There have been definite moments of tension between members and quite a few times in the last 3 years when the club could have fallen apart. The club has no leader as such, but on quite a few occasions I have found myself seeking reconciliation between members as I have in parishes over the years and, although the membership has changed, we still produce good music. Baby boomer members would be most annoyed if they had felt I was ‘playing the Vicar’ , but, as far as I’m concerned, transferrable skills were being used.
Regarding church, I did settle down fairly quickly and commit myself to the local parish church, which was well staffed at the time, despite being in vacancy (ie lacking a Vicar) . I enjoyed just taking my place in the congregation, and even joined the choir! (See ‘Sweet Singing in the choir’) . After a year we were blessed with our wonderful new young Vicar keen to involve me as a priest, which he has done. A year later, two of the team have now left, the Vicar was made Area Dean, then almost immediately acting Archdeacon and I find myself needed on a regular basis. I’m so glad, however, that I had the time to establish myself in the congregation and be seen as ‘one of us’ rather than flying in from outside.
At the same time as this, I’ve been getting to know the estate where we live. The physicality of the parishes where I served- its streets, fields, shops and pre-eminently the (non-churchgoing) people- was always important to me as a parish priest, as well as the church building and its worshippers. That spiritual, pastoral and legal tie between me , the territory and people has gone, but an attitude remains. I often call in at the local community centre serving this poor neighbourhood, taking foodbank items and recently involving myself in a community litter-pick. I particularly enjoy my daily walk around the park, avoiding some of the more savage-looking dogs, and trying to smile at people (not always returned). Bob Dylan writes www.bobdylan.com/songs/three-angels ) in a beautiful song celebrating the sacrament of the present moment , observing how angels are often ignored: ‘the driver peeks out trying to find one face in this concrete (in my case brick) world full of souls,’
The faces my wife and I have found have come both from near at hand and far away. Our neighbours in the two houses to our right are recent immigrants – from the so-called ‘Boriswave’ of 2022 onwards, one family from Ukraine, seeking sanctuary in the UK and the other on limited-term visas as care / NHS workers. They have offered that friendly face which has not always been present in other neighbours, though most have been pleasant enough. They have also shared of themselves, and their joys and sorrows, the Ukrainians about the plans and hopes of setting up a new coffee and bakeshop, only for it to fold after a few months. This was very hard for them and has left them in some difficulty.
The other family (husband, wife, delightful 18 month old son +visiting in-laws who squeeze themselves into this tiny house) come from Ghana. One Saturday morning we hadn’t quite got up yet when the front door bell rang. It was our neighbour, in some distress. He told us his mother had just died in his home Ghanaian village. He came in and shared his grief and we prayed with him. He also told us how elaborate and costly Ghanaian funerals can be, involving the whole village. I knew this to be true for it took me back to a relationship I had with a Ghanaian priest when I was a Vicar of a parish which had a link in the early 2000s . I hope he felt supported but I know I felt affirmed as a priest and connected to my community in a way that I haven’t in the past three years. Since then, the whole family has been round and we are establishing a friendship.
‘The driver looks out to find One Face in this (concrete/ brick) world full of souls.’ When, in the Bible, Jacob met his brother Esau (whom he’d seriously wronged, cheating him out of his birthright, but who now offered his brother forgiveness) Jacob said ‘truly to see your face is like seeing the face of God. (Genesis 33:10) Seeing one welcoming face can transform the way we see all faces. Three years on from my ‘mother and child reunion’ I give thanks to God for my continuing priestly calling and all who have, wittingly or unwittingly, affirmed it.
