Monday, 1 April 2002

Two halves that make one whole

Hopefully you will receive this magazine in time for me to wish you a Happy Easter.  If so then there will also be plenty of time for you to wish me a happy birthday – yes, I will be exactly half way to three score years and ten on 6th April 2002. 
As I have already mentioned in Church, this would seem to be a good time to have a mid-life crisis.  (I keep waking up in a cold sweat, in my dream I had my crisis when I was about seventeen-and-a-half – it reminds me of that joke about the man who went to see the Doctor: the bad news was that he had to take a tablet a day for the rest of his life; the ‘good’ news was that the doctor only gave him 7 tablets.)
To make matter worse, I recently went on one of those running machines and set it to recreate the pace at which I last ran the 800 metres when I was at school (aged about 17½); I’m sorry to say that I couldn’t begin to keep up with myself.
I suppose 70 isn’t reckoned to be that old these days, generally speaking, but (more computer generated statistics…) during the time that I have been vicar here, the average age of death for (CofE) people in the parish is only 74.  Though to put it another way, I have taken over 175 funerals since arriving in the parish and if you laid the life spans of those people end to end you would get a total of over 13,000 years!  Just think of all the accumulated experience, thought and wisdom those years contain.
Lent begins, for the enthusiasts at least, with the ash cross on the forehead and the thought provoking words “remember you are dust and to dust you shall return”.  It ends with the story of the empty tomb - the space where everyone expected a full stop
Perhaps it would be an idea if only those who had received and saved their ash cross were allowed into church on Easter Sunday.  Perhaps not!  But both are needed to sum up our lives: We are creatures of this earth, but sons and daughter of God as well.  We find ourselves constrained by time but we also belong to eternity.

Friday, 1 March 2002

Purge me with hyssop and I shall be clean
wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.
        Psalm 51.7
Having watched the adverts à la Julian Clarey I decided it was time for me to wash my danger whites!  (That would be my cassock-alb and my surplice.)  It had been made more urgent by a rain-washed burial at Worsbrough Village which left mud splashes half way up my back.  In our house it’s not a case of picking up DAZ, we use Fairy non-biological (though for some reason my skin never seems to look any younger).  Now I’m just waiting for the reaction when Beccy discovers the surplice in the ironing basket.
I write this at the start of Lent, which time is a good reason in itself to go to the laundry.  We consider our lives and get rid of the grubbiness as we prepare for the celebration of Easter.
But that raises the question - What does holiness really mean?  Is it a case of being whiter than snow (and perhaps we should be wary of the non political-correctness of such a statement) or should it something rather more dynamic.
To be holy means to be set apart for God.  Jesus was holy because he dedicated his life to God’s will.  During Lent we remember this not just in his saying NO to temptations but in his saying YES.  Yes to justice, yes to liberation, yes to the potential that was often stuck inside people and struggling to get out; and he did this despite the danger to himself.  That is why Lent is also as much a time for taking things on as for the usual tradition of giving things up. 
The whiter than white people of Jesus’ day thought he was far from being holy, which just goes to show how superficial standards can become.  Just occasionally (if only) children finish the day with their clothes slightly dirtier than they were when they put them on in the morning (hence the Fairy non-bio); and if they didn’t you would wonder what they had been doing all day.  The Christian faith calls us to be holy, but that holiness usually involves us getting stuck in and maybe getting our hands dirty.

The reminiscences of Revd SB Priston

Vicar of Worsborough Dale 1942-55

The hand written account which is reproduced here was written by Mr Priston himself for Arthur Wright and used as a source for his ‘Short History of St Thomas’ Church’.
The Revd SB Priston came to Worsboro’ Dale in 1942 after 5 years in the large and very busy London ‘working class’ parish of Walham Green – 12 years of varied experiences in many parts of South Africa, three years of further varied experiences in South America and 16 years in a typical English country parish.  He had also done much School Teaching, School Examining and School Inspection.  But, with all this varied experience, he was hardly prepared for the problems of Worsboro’ Dale in Wartime!
The earlier records of the very long incumbency of Canon Banham, and the consequent difficulties encountered by Mr Appleton will have indicated that Worsboro’ Dale with its awkward shape, strong Nonconformist tradition and rapidly increasing population could be a very hard parish in which to begin the complete reconstruction which became more and more obviously necessary as the tremendous impact of the War on Social and Religious life in the West Riding began to take effect.  Fortunately, Mr Bowden had laid a solid financial foundation and had given sound Catholic teaching, even if this were not altogether appreciated or understood by the Congregation.
In the post-war Worsboro’ Dale there was no longer a strong nucleus of fairly rich, highly educated, socially prominent, leisured and zealous Church people, to help the Vicar and Church Officials in the Parish Organisations and in support and maintenance of the Church Schools and Sunday Schools.  It became necessary for the whole body of Church members to make new plans and schemes in many directions.  And there were now very few helpers with the leisure, technical knowledge, and financial ability to implement these schemes.
The financial situation rapidly deteriorated, firstly because although rather more actual money was being raised, the income needed in post-war inflation was more than three times in actual cash what would have been sufficient when the pound sterling still had its pre-war value.  Conditions were made even harder because really all the Church and Parish Investments presented by former parishioners or accumulated in more prosperous times, had unfortunately been invested either in Railway Stock or War Loan.  Both these sources of capital and income began to lose their former cash value at an alarming rage.  Parish Capital was reduced by more than £1,000 and Church income decreased by more than £60 a year.  Allowing for the much lower value of money in the 1950’s, it might be said that the Church lost in all several thousand pounds.  However, the new Vicar felt that financial matters were really the business of the Parochial Church Council, and tried to encourage them to deal with all these perplexities.
Meanwhile, as Parish Priest, Mr Priston turned his attention to those matters which were his own special concern – the adapting the Teaching, Services, Music and Ritual of the Church to the completely changed circumstances of Post-War Yorkshire.
The first improvement that became obviously necessary was to adopt the ‘Sung Parish Communion’ as the chief morning service.  The reasons for doing as thousands of other parishes were doing at this time, were thoroughly explained to the Congregation, and a large majority eventually voted that the change should be made.  Unfortunately a few of the old members of the Church were upset by the change and some of them left the Church.  But, on the other hand a considerable and increasing number of young people who, in the absence of teachers, could no longer be provided for in Sunday School or Bible Class, were brought into the ordinary services of Worship with the rest of the Congregation.
During and just before the War, the Church had become exceedingly dirty.  A big campaign to raise £650 for a through cleaning and redecoration was started.  The work done by the very skilful and understanding decorators, Messrs Kirkland Bridge, was most successful and much admired.
The next matter that worried the Vicar and those Church people who understood that position, was the lamentable neglect of proper dignity and reverence in connection with the Sacrament of Holy Baptism.  It became evident that not only was much careful and very simple teaching necessary, so that people should understand the tremendous solemnity of the Baptismal Service; but it was also clear that the method of administration needed to be brought into obedience to the plain words of the Prayer Book.
There was at first considerable opposition from those who had formerly regarded Holy Baptism as a purely private and personal concern, those who had regarded it as a kind of magical mumbo-jumbo – and those who had no idea that it had any meaning at all.  But eventually with the loyal co-operation of the Organist, Mr Alfred Wright, the Choir and the Servers – and the use of the Baptismal Cope which had originally been presented for the baptism of the Vicar’s son Christopher – a beautiful, dignified and impressive ritual and ceremonial in strict accordance with the Book of Common Prayer, was evolved.  Baptisms, from that time onwards, always took place as directed by the Prayer Book, at one of the ordinary Sunday or Holy Day Services.
The Vicar and his wife (formerly on the stage) had had considerable experience in organising and producing Church Plays.  It was not easy to do this at Worsboro’ Dale, as the Church Hall was utterly unsuitable, and there were considerable prejudice and other difficulties about using the Church.  But, by the enthusiasm of the Church Officials and many young people, these difficulties were overcome; and some really magnificent Church Plays were eventually presented to the Glory of God and in the presence of crowded congregations on three or four days in each of the years: 1953 – ‘On the Road to Bethlehem’, 1954 – ‘The New Crusade’, and 1955 – ‘The Gladdening Light’.  The two latter had to be largely re-written by Mr Priston in order to make them intelligible to and suitable for Worsboro’ Dale people.  This was necessary because the main purpose of the plays was to teach both the players themselves, and the Congregation a great many things about the Bible and about church History, which they badly needed to know, but had hither to very little opportunity to learn.
Coincidentally with these Church Plays, the Church was also discussing and preparing for the reconstruction of the Chancel.  St Thomas Church was the one and only Church designed by its architect.  While he was surprisingly successful in regard to its outward appearance, which is beautiful and much admired, he was not so successful with the interior.  He was hampered, of course, by the prevailing ‘Imitation Gothic’ tradition of the early Victorian era.  Then, his already far too narrow Chancel was further obstructed by the enormous pulpit set up by someone’s misguided generosity.  Here again the Vicar wished to follow the modern – and most ‘evangelical’ – trend, which seeks to place the altar where it can be plainly seen and easily approached by all members of the Congregation.  Suitable plans were drawn up by the very distinguished Diocesan Architect, Mr George Pace.  An Aumbry for the ‘Reserved Sacrament’ was also provided by a bequest of Miss Harriet Banham, daughter of the first Vicar.  Most of the rest of the money came from bequests of Mr A Waterton and Miss E Elmhirst.  These plans were finally accepted by the Congregation and approved by the Bishop and the result is undoubtedly a great improvement.  The reconstruction entailed the removal of the Choir to the West End.  That is the proper place for a choir; but it is unfortunate that it was not possible to remove the Organ also.
The Revd SB Priston, having reached the age of 75, was finding the burden of the growing parish too heavy.  When it was proposed to add St James Church and most of its Parish to Worsboro’ Dale, he felt that it was time to accept an offer from his old College of a country parish, and in July 1955 he left Worsboro’ Dale for Marwood in Devonshire.

Friday, 1 February 2002

“SMOKEY …”

I had just conducted a wedding and was on my way to Mount Vernon Hospital when the ambulance turned onto Kingwell Road just ahead of me.  I’m not sure, but perhaps I always speculate as to where an ambulance is going “Who do I know who lives over that way – I hope it’s not …”  In this case I live that way (and my family) but of course it couldn’t be (could it … ?).  As I turn up Pinfold Hill the two fire engines at the end of Kingwell have a slightly dreamlike quality about them.  On such an occasion it must be some kind of shock mechanism which stops all speculation at that point.  How odd to see firemen in our garden and then Beccy and her mum and the children on the pavement in obvious distress.  Thankfully, my greatest fears are relieved before I’ve even really acknowledged them and we begin to consider how lucky we have been.  As one of the firemen put it “I think you had better go and thank your boss …”
It certainly makes you think:
·          Have you got smoke alarms up where they should be and are the batteries okay?
·          Can you get out of your house if and when you need to?
(Beccy’s keys were in the smoke filled kitchen but luckily her mum was there and has a front door key.  It’s alarming to see that your nice home is a potential death trap.)
·          Have you got complacent about fire safety? – it’s fine to light candles but never leave them unattended.
It’s also a little bit ironic:
·          In my previous parish in Rotherham I was also a volunteer Fire Service Chaplain.
·          As a schoolgirl Beccy was a South Yorkshire Champion in a Fire Safety Competition.  (The Firemen did say that she did everything right after discovering the fire.)
What had happened was that a candle had been burning on the kitchen table.  It was left for a few minutes and by the time Beccy returned the table was on fire and the kitchen full of smoke.  Luckily, only the table was directly damaged and thanks to an ozone machine, courtesy of Ecclesiastical Insurance we are now back to normal with only the faintest smell of smoke discernible when you go into the kitchen first thing in a morning.  Jemima appears totally unaffected by the whole incident whilst Imogen has now stopped making fire engine noises though her favourite word is still ‘SMOKEY’.  In her own simple way she has been able to express what happened and I think that has helped her to assimilate it into her growing experience of life.  I doubt very much that she will be able to remember it in years to come but no doubt, like every deeply felt experience, it will have widened her understanding and affected the way that she looks at things.


Perhaps we can all ponder:
·          What events influence the way we see and understand the world?
·          Do they affect us for better or worse?
·          Would talking about them to someone make a difference?
Wishing you all a safe an happy February …

Tuesday, 1 January 2002

Christmas Past?

I write on 27th December with Beccy and Jemima (our now nearly month old daughter) gone to try their luck in the sales.  I’m listening to the ‘Beautiful South’ CD that I bought for Beccy (don’t tell her or she’ll get suspicious as to whom I really bought it for) while Imogen is in the next room dancing to Bob the Builder, Tweenies, Teletubbies et al, from the tape bought by her uncle Andrew.  Not long ago the two of us where racing round the room to Jingle Bells – at Imogen’s request – but isn’t it strange how, as soon as Christmas Day itself is over, all those Christmassie things begin to feel a bit past their use-by date?  Already people are probably looking back to that special excitement that actually builds to a climax sometime late on Christmas Eve.
It’s ironic in a way because Christmastide of course extends all the way to the eve of Epiphany.  And even then its not supposed to be the end: Epiphany marks the bursting forth of the Christmas message into the wider context of our lives and the whole world.
When the song of the angels is stilled
when the star in the sky is gone
when the kings and princes are home
when the shepherds are back with their flocks
then the work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost
to feed the hungry
to heal the broken
to release the prisoner
to rebuild the nations
to bring peace among the people
to make music in the heart.

Howard Thurman – from the Christmas Card ‘Christmas Begins’

Some of the feelings of Christmas may be shortlived (hopefully among them that of being overfed) but the inspiration of Christmas should stay with us and propel us not into short lived resolutions but ongoing resolve to bring God’s kingdom and peace on earth.
A Happy New Year to you all from Beccy, Imogen, Jemima and me.

Wednesday, 1 December 1999

Familiar shaped emptiness

November is a month for remembering.  It has been all the more so for me this year after the death of my father on the first of the month, All Saints Day.  He died suddenly while out for his early morning run, near Battle in East Sussex, where he and my mum had been living for just eight weeks. 

Whilst walking from Worsbrough to Wortley yesterday, I crossed the corner of a field where the cows had been sleeping.  Amidst the other evidence of their occupation were the large oval patches of flattened grass, perhaps still justwarm to the touch.  It seemed a strange sight: more natural for the animals to be still there, chewing the cud as you would expect.  But now just a familiar shaped emptiness remained.  A rather odd analogy for bereavement perhaps, and it would be were it not that one strong memory associated with my Dad is the smallholding in deepest Suffolk where, as a teenager, my dream of ‘living the Good Life’ for five years came true.  There are many other places that will always remind me of him.  The Ecrehous islands, 7 miles from Jersey and halfway to France, at low tide an expanse of sand and rock, at high tide just a few cottages perched above the waves, where he took my sister and I, one fine summer day, by motorised canoe.  The Hardangger Vida, a windswept Norwegian Plateau where all the family went trekking – he was sure that one morning we would wake to find our tents surrounded by vast herds of Elk, but sadly our boots were burnt whilst drying by the fire after the third day and we had to bail out.  Then there’s Scotland: Shark bay where our wild campsite was only accessible by boat; Cape Wrath on the far north west, round which we walked on a 22-mile-day, eating wild mushrooms and watching gannets plunge like arrows into the deep blue sea.  He certainly made life an adventure for us!  He believed, too, that the life of faith should be an adventure: the adventure of stepping out in faith and walking with Christ; the adventure in which we discover together the great things God wants to do through us, and the greatness of his love for us.

There is no doubt that Christmas will have a double edge for my family this year, as it must have for many people.  However, the mystery and wonder of a birth, especially that birth in which the fullness of God began His fragile adventure into this life, can give us courage and hope to face the future, uncertain as it always is, with a sense of excitement and promise.

Sunday, 1 August 1999

The Good, the Bad and the Religious!


For some time now I’ve been a supporter of a charity called Survival.  It works for the rights of tribal people throughout the world.  To put it rather simply, these peoples had been living quite happily for thousands of years, following the traditional patterns of life passed down from one generation to another, on the land that they knew and loved and depended on.  Then the Europeans came along, thinking they were brave adventurers discovering new countries.  They saw the tribal people as ignorant savages who needed either to be “civilised” or simply got rid of, and they saw the lands as treasure houses to be raped and plundered of their rich natural resources.  Who knows how much of our affluent modern society is built on this and similar injustice and oppression?  It’s a tragic story, it still goes on today, and whenever I’m reminded of it I feel almost ashamed of being a white European.
The Church hasn’t been free from guilt in the story either.  Sometimes the missionary advance of the Church has been intertwined with the advance of the secular powers, the tactics used have often been heavy-handed and have, at times, shown little respect for the peoples and what was already good in the lives and the religions that they lived.
Perhaps I’m playing into the hands of those who say that religion is the root of all evil, or that we can’t take the Christian religion seriously since it has abused its position of power and trust and carried out so much wickedness in the past.  We have to face up to the powerful reasons for these accusations, but I, for one, don’t go along with the conclusions.
To put it simply: some football supporters are hooligans; but that does not make it wrong to support football.  Even if there had been a time when most supporters were hooligans this would still hold true.
Trying to go deeper: Religion is about what is deepest in life.  The problem of evil is something that has deep roots in humanity.  I don’t find it so surprising that they sometimes get mixed up together.  Wherever there is evil, true religion will be there, trying to bring people back to God and goodness.  But, true religion means people, and, sad as it is, wherever there are people evil always has a chance to take root.
But, more simply again: throwing out the baby with the bath water is a terrible thing to do.  We should instead learn from the past and play our part in putting things right where we can.  Let’s build on what is good, and finally, let’s not be ashamed of what we are.