Category: Blog Entry

I think that, after umpteen student Halls of Residence and flats positioned at various points on the cleanliness-squalor index, we were beginning to think that we had reached the end of helping our children to sort out new places to live.  But no.  Out came the Marigolds and various sprays and potions as yet another pad was given a light dusting today.  And, to be fair, I have to say that the standard is rising.

Still – it’s hard not to think back fondly of happy times repairing kitchen cupboards and shower curtains in all sorts of places – and removing unspeakable objects from the neglected corners of fridges.  Best of all was the first floor flat in the west end of Glasgow.  As Mark moved out, Anna became aware from the reactions of some passers-by that there had been a fire on the second floor and that the roof was just not there any more.   It’s always good to know these things, isn’t it?  Particularly when you are moving out.

That used to be the mantra in Northern Irish elections where the main parties were adept at getting the vote out.  That meant that the dead would vote with democratic zeal – and it was wise for the ordinary punter to get out and vote early before somebody else took your vote.  The voting process was interesting too – polling stations heavily guarded and heavily manned by representatives of the political parties.  ‘Use your vote well, dear’ Isobel on her crutch would say to me as I entered the polling station.  She knew perfectly well that, in her terms, I would do no such thing.  Indeed in all my long voting history I have never voted for the winning candidate in any election.

So it was strange to wander into the Village Hall in Burrelton – no security and no harassment from the political parties – and cast a vote on issues about which I feel peculiarly unpassionate.  One of those [increasingly rare] moments when I feel like a stranger in a strange land.

When you spend much of your life in the engine room, it’s good to be allowed to take a turn on the promenade deck and have a chance of admiring the view. In fact there have been a couple of moments this week when glimpses of an brave and interesting future for our church have come into view. I had a meeting this evening with a group of people all aged under 45 – only in a church would that be classified as young – and they came from a wide range of backgrounds. We talked about how they came to belong and why – about faith and belonging and welcome and membership. And we looked at the future – about how worship which involves people has links to all the other dimensions of life and ministry. I suppose that what was most encouraging was how positive they were – and how little interest they had in defending or protecting anything. As if the very act of moving forward is in itself what builds and sustains Christian community. Hopeful.

Meanwhile, Irish politics never disappoints – particularly the desire to establish an Irish connection for all American politicians.  The Irish Times today reports that ‘Research has revealed that Barack Obama, an Illinois senator and Democrat hopeful for the 2008 presidential elections, is descended from a shoemaker in Moneygall, Co Offaly.’  So that’s all right then.  Normal service sustained.

We’re a small diocese.  But at present we have two of our charges vacant and two more to come over the summer.  The days when the bishop would arrive and say, ‘I have just the person .. ‘ are gone.  Nowadays we devise quite sophisticated ways of making a choice – while not forgetting to leave a window of opportunity for the Spirit.  It’s demanding and labour intensive.  But Vestry members seem very willing to take it seriously.  And I think that everybody learns a lot about clergy, their ministry and what are reasonable expectations.  That in turn matters more and more now that clergy ’employment’ is gradually becoming more like other employment.

All this takes place in this huge safari park in which we live.  I went over what I think was the body of a small deer on the M90 near Kinross tonight.  It dislodged a panel underneath the car – lucky not to do more.  Poppy caught a mouse outside today and lost it again.  It was seen flaunting itself on the patio later on.

‘So is it very different from being a parish priest?’  Well, yes.  Surprisingly so.  And only some of that is good news.  After all, they aren’t likely to send for you for a pleasant chat when everything is going swimmingly.

One thing I think I wasn’t quite prepared for is how far ahead my diary runs.  I catch myself obsessing about a date six months away as if it was next week.  And since everyone is trying to fit more in than there is space for, the dates keep shifting a bit.  And new things appear which have to be accommodated.  I used to think that wise virgins wishing to travel by Easyjet would book early to save money.  But actually I have come to the conclusion that they should book a bit later in the day so that they don’t have to make changes!

So the Spirit placed me this morning in the pulpit at St Andrews, St Andrews attempting to  proclaim the resurrection – when all around me they were dealing with the ‘little death’ of their Rector Bob Gillies’ election as Bishop of Aberdeen.  It reminded me so much of my own departure from Seagoe – where one recognised the twin realities of these moments: ‘they want me to be their bishop’ and ‘I’m going to have to clear the attic after all.’

And then we moved on to have a congregational meeting about the sexuality issue and its impact on world anglicanism.  It was fascinating – not least because that congregation in a university town is itself world anglicanism in microcosm.  I learned a lot.

On the way home, Alison and I had a cycle in Tentsmuir Forest – which lies between Tayport and Leuchars.  Very beautiful and very deserted – we met a fox having a Sunday afternoon stroll.

Well today’s significant moment – once I got home from Confirming 41 [that’s forty-one] young people at Glenalmond – was the election of Bob Gillies as Bishop of Aberdeen. Bob’s friends and colleagues here will be delighted. He has the most extraordinary level of integrity and commitment.  All over this church, there are people whom he has nurtured in vocation and ministry and difficult situations to which he has brought a healing touch.

But there was a sort of inevitability about this election – Bob’s reading of the licence at Institutions in his role as Dean [23 days today since his installation] was acquiring a cult following.  Sadly, I felt that last night’s performance at the Institution in St John’s Perth had a sort of ‘fin de siecle’ air to it. It was so over the top – addressing almost empty galleries left and right, sternly admonishing clergy and bringing to the use of the word ‘and’ a menacingly nasal quality which was positively intimidating – that it really left him nowhere to go but upwards. I shall have to choose a new Dean who will not upstage me.

Ecclesiastical appointments and elections are strange and personally painful things. Three people were not elected today and will do as most of us have done many times – accept the movement of the spirit and go into church tomorrow morning to carry on with ministry.  My thoughts are with them.  I’ve been there.  Life was so simple as a curate before I tripped over the bottom of the ecclesiastical greasy pole. I should have stuck to reading Trollope rather than acting it out.

Rather a breathless rush today.  We did a 7 am start to drive to Keswick for the Memorial Service for Penny.  Penny was the wife of my cousin John and a remarkable person – an artist and a supreme enricher of the lives of her family.  As John told the congregation, ‘Not many people would receive a terminal diagnosis and move on to conduct a bible study on heaven.’

Back to Perth in time for Patrick’s Institution at St John’s, our church in the city centre of Perth.  It’s a great moment for the congregation and for us as a diocese – as we receive another bright, active and experienced young priest.  The Vestry and congregation did everything possible to make Patrick and his family welcome.  I felt a bit wistful and sentimental as I watched Patrick and Alison and their two young children making the commitment to the kind of long term ministry which will give their children stability as they grow up – and I thought about 1986 when Alison and I made exactly the same kind of commitment to Seagoe Parish with our young children.  Parochial ministry is almost never easy.  But it is the richest background imaginable against which to work out your family life and child rearing.  At least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I’ve been travelling around a bit today – up to the beautiful house which the diocese owns and lets to clergy and others at Croftcarnoch.  It’s up on a wonderfully alpine hill above the A9 between Pitlochry and Blair Atholl and there are highland cattle on the road up to it.  Why didn’t I bring my camera?  Strange about the election – which is actually quite intense.  But in Ireland, either North or South, there would be three election posters on every lampost.  Here – almost nothing.

The house martens are back – swooping and diving on Poppy as if they had never been away.

I had my appraisal today.  Since it’s becoming the norm for clergy to have some form of appraisal or ministerial review, it’s important for me to do the same.  Why important?  Because however much clergy move towards the world of Job Descriptions, etc., there is so much of ministry which has to be worked out as you go along – so much that is creative, self-starting – so much that is rooted in personal make-up and talents as well as defined by task – so much space for the development of obsession, neurosis and the ability to go quietly and decently mad.

Anyway within the privacy of the blog, I can tell you that we didn’t discuss: the length of my sermons; any of the criteria for bishops set out by the Papal Nuncio and recorded by the Irish Times just after Easter – physical appearance, hereditary diseases, love of celibacy, affection for convential ecclesiastical attire.  Nor did we discuss that set of concerns about busyness which I have mentioned before and which is, I think, attributable to the late Robert Runcie.  That is the difference between being obviously busy/not obviously busy/obviously not busy.

But in the unsuccessful attempt to find where that quote came from, I discovered that the late Tom Driberg – Labour MP, gay man, spy – used to put together obscene crosswords for Private Eye with clues like enema and erection.  One of the winners was recorded as Mrs Rosalind Runcie – a remarkable lady who stayed with us once when she was giving a charity concert in Portadown.