Beyond the Sacristy

A few months ago I received an A3 envelope in the post. This is a common enough event you might think. As a priest I receive many such missives. Most of these communications I scarcely look at. In this case I passed it by because its provenance seemed irrelevant. Eventually I did open it just in case. It turned to be letter and enclosures from my diocese reminding me about my retirement in two years time. It was not about my future life in a pastoral sense, but was of course about money.

For a long time, I have accepted that money and keeping on the right side of the Charity Commissioners is the main modus operandi of my diocese. Ensuring that retired priests are paid as little as possible is part of the package. My diocese promises me a minimum income of about £12k and so I maybe I should prepare myself for visits to the food bank. Like any local council or tax office they want to know about investments and property. I was once told by a senior financial official that your family were expected to pay for your funeral. That’s cheerful news for my 80-year old sister and my brother who has his own family to look after. I was a late vocation since I was 41 at my ordination. In some ways therefore. I was quite worldly wise. I had two degrees, thirteen years of government employment, several years of dabbling in politics under my belt, apart from an abortive year at a teaching college and an equally abortive couple of years with a girl whom on and off I loved. However, I was very ignorant about the Church. I did not come from a traditional Catholic background and my parents did not have any priest friends. As a university graduate I had been influenced by my chaplain, mainly because he was both humble and intelligent, but I knew nothing about the priesthood. Maybe that was a good thing because had I been more savvy about Church child abuse I would probably not have persevered. The abuse crisis had not come to the surface then, and although the seminary environment was quite camp I put it to the back of my mind. I found the IRA sympathies of some of the students more upsetting. I did not learn much academically except in scripture, but we had an enterprising religious sister who found me pastoral projects which were invaluable experiences. I worked with the homeless, ex-drug addicts and stayed on a Kenyan mission station. When I think of my ordination ceremony now, I find it a cringing experience. There were all the blessings I performed as if I was some witch doctor. The egotistical sense of narcissism I experienced was sickening. The best thing about my ordination was the cover for my order of service which was designed by my brother-in-law an established sculptor. My narcissism continued into my first appointment in an inner-city parish. I was as if I was some wonder worker who could perform acts of magic totally beyond my capabilities and reality. I suppose adulation of priesthood was quite strong then and so I got away with it.

After five years I moved to a university chaplaincy and that began to bring me down to earth a bit. On campus I was a small fish in a big pond. Our congregation was tiny and scattered. There were absurd rivalries in the chaplaincy between Catholics and non-Catholics. This is not to say that I did not meet loveable (and very clever) people who helped me develop and whose lives I shared. I spent three years there and I then asked my bishop if I could I apply to work in another diocese for family reasons. He was the soul of reason and it was easily effected, and yet I was taken aback when the vicar general told me that I was not their responsibility when I was out of the diocese. I had sworn oaths of medieval fealty to my bishop, but obviously this feudal system did not include obligations from the other side.

I had a lot of family problems and felt very isolated. I began to lose my reason. I was catapulted into a parish where the priest had done a runner in dubious circumstances. It was a lovely little church, set in beautiful grounds, with many kind and good people but when the end came, there was controversy over whether I would be replaced. I was kept out of the loop, and I left without any formal thanks from this diocese. The sabbatical I then took, came to an abrupt end, when my niece died in tragic and gruesome circumstances. I returned to my original diocese and waited around for a posting. I think it was more a cock-up than a conspiracy but at the time I felt like leaving altogether.
I went into therapy which after several years helped me readjust and led me to train as a counsellor myself. It was an eye-opening experience and revolutionised my view of the priesthood. I began to think in terms of boundaries, empathy, listening and working with women. In short, I began to think outside the ecclesiological box.

In the meantime, I had been appointed to a pleasant suburban parish with history and vitality, but which had also been neglected. I felt I was starting from scratch. My vicar general wanted me to take the post at once despite my protestation that I had just buried my mother. Maybe I should have stood up to him, but the ‘Yes Sir’ mentality is deeply rooted in the priesthood. As I approach the end game, I see that my life as a priest has not been very eventful. I have done many interesting things like writing and travelling. I used to visit Moldova for the parish and have been to the Far East, the USA and all over Europe. I wrote an autobiography (self-published) and other things. Psychotherapy has changed my religious world view. In my preaching I want to people to think for themselves rather than be taught. There is nothing ontologically special about being a priest. It’s just a job like any other. Then there is the rich tapestry of the comedie humaine of human nature which every priest must navigate. It is like some vast Shakespearian drama – or maybe it is just Holy Scripture.

I do not feel attached to my diocese which I find sclerotic. There is no debate about the future (or about anything else) and how we find new priests - regardless of gender or status. For me there are two dioceses, the one which is head office and its vast grimy cathedral, lugubrious liturgy and professionally paid staff, and the other is every parish with its daily routine and human encounters. It will be a huge upheaval to leave a parish where I have been for twenty years, but that’s another chapter. I will turn my light out sometime in the not too future. May be when there are no more priests someone will have turn the last light out in my diocese too?