Category Archives: mersea

Workload, priorities, vocation

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After my Opus Dei post last week – which was really run off without much prior thought, as a form of ‘jottings’ – my friend MadPriest took me to task. I think it would be worth sharing our conversation, and wrap up with a few musings about where my sense of vocation is leading me at the moment. Tim very kindly answered my request to describe what he does here, and I’ll have a few comments on that as well.

MP said:
With all my love, my friend, I think you need to do something drastic about your work load and your prioritising. Everything seems back to front. You are off-loading your priestly tasks to the laity and taking on tasks that the laity should be doing. I know how a priest can get into such a position and it took a breakdown or rather the life readjustment I had to do to fix myself afterwards, for me to realise the stupidity of the expectations of modern priesthood. However, because of the old-fashioned nature of priesthood I was able to put my readjustments into effect without any problems from above.

I stick to 3 jobs as defined by the Ordinal. Preside, teach, visit. I got rid of all jobs outside of the parish, including at deanery level and never attend meetings or courses unless my people will definitely benefit from my attendance. I got rid of my need to be in charge, even if I thought I could do a better job. There is no reason why the local church leadership should not come from members of the laity. This even includes PCCs. Certainly people can be found to do most of the admin jobs and do it far better than someone trained mainly in the niceties of Biblical hermeneutics and church history. I stopped worrying about the Protestant work ethic. I don’t care if I’m not busy. Nobody acknowledges the fact when you work all hours anyway.

All this leaves me with plenty of time to do do my pastoral work properly. Visiting, arranging funerals as if each one is a major society wedding, walking round the parish, talking to people in the street. And you know what Sam, everything still gets done and people believe I am the only priest in the neighbourhood who does his job, even though I am the laziest sod in the priesthood.

The only downside is that because I have found success by applying old paradigms (albeit, definitely in a contemporary context), I will never be “promoted,” as most people with authority in the Church prefer writing books on “new ways of being Church.”

You are a spiritual man, Sam – don’t suffocate the spirit.

I responded:
At my clergy support group the other day (one afternoon a month; a very good thing) we were discussing the phrase ‘incumbency drives out priesthood’ – and it is precisely this which is the ‘thing that I am working through’, and provoking that last blog entry. In truth I’ve been working it through for quite some time, and whilst I very much hear (and am sympathetic) to what you’re saying, there’s a bit of it which might be damaging for me.

Let me explain a bit further. My training incumbent (I get the sense I’m talking about him rather a lot at the moment) was a celibate Anglo-Catholic, wonderful man, and he’s now a Bishop. He was very much of the traditional mould in terms of training me, and there was one particular phrase which he shared which I am coming to see as a curse. Not a curse in general, or for every priest, but a curse for me. That phrase was ‘spend your spare time visiting’ – visiting was very much something that he emphasised.

Thing is, visiting and things like it take a particular form of energy, principally listening. And I am half deaf; listening on an extended basis (especially to ‘chatter’) I find incredibly draining, and I have a limited capacity for it (significantly less than your average person). Consequently I am faced with the struggle: what do I give my time to? The last year of my curacy was an interregnum, and where I had joined a team of four full time clergy, for that year I was on my own – and I tried my best to live up to the training I had received. It was also the year that my father died (and I took his funeral) and various other things accumulated to make me, for a time, leave the clergy completely. I burnt out. We took ourselves off as a family up to Alnwick and we spent a year just ‘living’, recuperating. I was not at all sure that I was going to go back into full time ministry; I hardly ever even went to church; I came very close to starting a PhD at Durham; yet in the end I did come to a resolution and a sense of peace: that a) I was called to parish ministry, but b) I had to work out for myself what it meant for ME to be a parish priest – not what being a parish priest was in general, but what sort of ministry is God specifically calling ME to – and that the model of ministry that I had been trained and formed for was not appropriate; that in fact, if I allowed that model to dominate who I was, that I would simply be repeatedly broken.

Which is, of course, a distinct strand in priestly identity – that we precisely ARE here to be broken, as Christ was broken, and that we must simply button our lips and get on with the job. What I am coming to realise is that this strand of understanding the ministry – call it the masochistic minister syndrome – is not of God, it has as much to do with a soulless institution breaking butterflies on the wheel. What I am now trying to work through is precisely what sort of shape my ministry is going to take.

Thing is, I am still very new at all this – I’m only 3 1/2 years into my first incumbency, and most of those years have been taken up with working out which way is up! There is a lot which I am looking to divest myself of, and what I have said to the parish is that I am going to concentrate principally on 3 things (taken from Eugene Peterson): worship, teaching and spiritual direction. That latter, whilst most priests could incorporate it under the heading of ‘visiting’, I am going to do on a more formal basis, so that I can manage how much of my listening time gets used up with it. As for the wider pastoral task, there is the basic necessity of ‘knowing and being known’, but the ‘farming of the parish’ I do feel it essential to delegate – to a priest colleague, to the newly installed pastoral assistant, to a group of laity being trained up precisely to take it forward. The thing is, even if I wasn’t half-deaf, I don’t believe that I would be able to accomplish all the visiting required; as I am half-deaf, it seems to be a significant part of my vocation to enable this wider ministry to form.

But that phrase is what I am thinking about: “incumbency drives out priesthood”. I’m called to be a priest; incumbency is simply the (presently) necessary context. What I need to negotiate, over the next couple of years, are the ways in which I can maximise the amount of time spent being the priest that God is calling me to be (which probably emphasises the teaching bit), and minimise the amount of time taken up with what is peripheral to that.

So I do agree with the thrust of what you’re saying – especially about the Protestant Work Ethic and all the horrors associated with it – but in the end I suspect the priest I am meant to be is not the same as the priest that you are meant to be (or that most priests are meant to be). Which is all part of God’s intention, I think. It sounds like you have got your priorities sorted – great, stick to your guns. But for the time being I’m going to stick to the motto I recently devised which is proving healing and helpful for me: “If you meet George Herbert on the road, kill him.”

MP responded:
…whatever you decide is a priest’s job, don’t say “peripheral” say “somebody else’s problem” and ignore it. We are at war with the powers and dominions that are eating away at the time our people have for themselves (and for God). England is officially home to he most overworked population in Europe. I spend a lot of time telling people to stop, and enabling them to stop, and I do this out of pastoral/spiritual concern. Priests/Christians should be counter-cultural in this respect, so don’t you think you should lead by example by showing people (like I do) that you can do a good job and still have a life. Although I quite fancy the idea of you spending another year in Alnwick it would probably be better for the propagation of the gospel if you didn’t blow another gasket. Suggestion – do like I did. Get yourself a good secular occupational therapist and work on definitions.

I am quite passionate about this because the more idiots like you there are rushing about 24 hours a day the more difficult it is for me to enjoy a cushy life, and I only became a priest because I was fed up of working for a living.

I said:
I don’t think we’re disagreeing here…. I particularly agree with the counter-cultural ‘in praise of idleness’ approach. It’s where I’m headed to, even if I’m not there yet. Our clergy support group is chaired by a secular therapist – and my spiritual director is a psychotherapist as well! All useful grist.

MP responded:
No. We would be disagreeing (in part) if we were talking about exactly what constitutes the priestly task but I’m not interested in that. I am seriously worried that you are doing far too much for your own good and therefore your parishioners good (whether they realise it or not). From you original post I can discern that there are probably some areas of work which you can pull back from. I found getting rid of whole areas of work and concentrating on whole areas of work worked for me. I would assume that central to your ministry, and fitting into the definition I apply very nicely, is teaching. If this is true, put that in the centre then work outwards with the next necessary task area until you reach 40 hours a week. YES. 40 hours. And don’t forget that includes all prep including reading. If you make it 40 hours then when you go over that which you will it still won’t be too harmful, whilst if you start off with 60 hours (which I reckon you’re probably doing and more) when you go over you’re heading straight for the breaking point – yours and your families.

I said:
Actually, that is precisely what I’m looking at. I’ve been reading this excellent little book by Gordon MacDonald called ‘Ordering your private world’, in which, amongst other things, he gives ‘Four Laws of Unmanaged Time’:

1. Unmanaged time flows towards weaknesses – in other words, if you can ‘get by’ with natural ability in some areas, without working at them, your time is spent on things which you have less natural ability in, so you precisely don’t build on the specific gifts which God gives you.

2. Unmanaged time comes under the influence of dominant personalities in our world. Other people set the agenda for your life.

3. Unmanaged time is driven by emergencies, not priorities. (Obvious really)

4. Unmanaged time is given to things which provide public acclamation – we drift to where the applause is.

I’ve found this very helpful (especially #1).

40 hours though. I’ll find that a bit difficult… I remember being taught that a priest should give the same number of hours per week as a church volunteer who also has a full time job, ie 40 hours plus an extra ten – so a priest should do at least 50 hours a week. I generally do 55+ (I kept a record at one point, when I was feeling guilty about not working hard enough. Strange but true.)

So yes, I am looking at putting the teaching element central in terms of my working hours, and stripping back much of the rest. But it’ll take time to pull it together.

40 hours. That’s a really, really attractive thought (see here) ….. This strange little voice within me has started jumping up and down grinning…..

Thing is, I’m learning to start from the assumption that the workload is, to all intents and purposes, infinite. Therefore, it must be managed from the other end, in order to find a sustainable way through.

Hmmmmmmmm…

~~~

That was where we left it, but I’ve been pondering it a lot in the last week, and had one or two conversations with my beloved as well. This thing about 40 hours is a real kicker, and it is digging away at me.

Anyhow, a little bit on what Tim had to say. Tim wrote: “the four fundamental tasks to which God has called me are to pray, to love, to share the good news, and to make disciples and help them grow” – which I think is a great summary of our task. Some things I do differently to Tim on that score – I do much more ‘formal’ prayers than Tim, ie the Daily Office. I’m not 100% compliant (especially now I have a colleague or two to cover), but pretty much each morning and evening will find me in church saying the set prayers. Private prayers get squeezed to the margins a bit, but Ollie’s arrival has certainly helped, especially when he gets a long walk. The workload of the occasional offices has lessened significantly in the past year – I only had 22 funerals in 2006 for example – but it’s still significant (around 15 weddings and a few less baptisms). Of course, what I find really challenging – in other words, what I find really painful in the sense of careless wound exploring(!) was this that Tim said: “I have gradually accepted that the best way for me to touch the lives of these people is to be an old fashioned vicar and visit them.” Which is, of course, precisely the ‘George Herbert model’ which a) I was trained in, and b) I find tremendously attractive. It’s just that I experience it to be an overwhelmingly impossible task, which threatens both my physical health and my spiritual peace of mind. Hence ‘if you meet George Herbert on the road, kill him!’ Partly this may be due to the size of the responsibility, in that the decline in Anglican clergy numbers has led to absurdly large and complex parish sizes. Where George Herbert had the incumbency of a single village, with a population of 300 souls, and where, moreover, he had several full-time curates to assist him, my ‘cure’ presently consists of a little less than 10,000 souls; split amongst four separate parishes; where the combined electoral roll is just under 300; and where I am assisted, in week-day terms, by a (very good) house-for-duty colleague who works two days a week. There are many more people involved on Sunday duties, of course, who do absolutely essential things, across the eight or so services which take place each Sunday. Moreover, there is a wider ministry undertaken by all the Christians in the churches themselves, and like Tim, I do see that as an essential part of the work: “God calls all Christians to these tasks, and that’s a big part of my philosophy right up front: we pastors do full time what most Christians do part time, in order to help them do those things better.”

Bob Jackson, in his influential book ‘Hope for the Church’, describes different sized churches and the different forms of ministry required. This is his typology:

a) the family church (1 – 50 members); these are dominated by a handful of families and the pastor acts effectively as a local chaplain;
b) the pastoral church (50 – 150 members); here the minister is pastor to all the members of the church, and the relationship with the minister is key (for both growth and death);
c) the multiple-benefice church, which can combine a number of the above, in which the minister supports various lay members to plug their own gaps; and
d) the programme church (150 – 400 members) where there is team with specialisation, and the incumbent becomes more of a manager than a pastor, who “resources programmes, enables the ministry of others, gives dynamic vision & leads others in mission”.

The Mersea Benefice effectively includes all four! (One programme-size church, one pastoral church and two family churches, all in one multiple-benefice!!!)

Accepting that the pastoral has priority – and yet that it is impossible for me to carry it all out – I see an essential element as setting up a structure and environment within which the wider body can take forward this task. So: we now have a pastoral group, under the leadership of my clergy colleague and new pastoral assistant to precisely take forward the ministry of ‘drinking coffee’ which Tim describes. In addition, I am trying to encourage a ‘house-group’ ministry, which can provide the proper forum for relational growth, which, again, is moving forward.

One helpful analysis (for me) was the idea of a ‘spectrum of pastoral care’, rather like this: Prevention (eg teaching) -> Availability -> Casual contact -> Contact at church -> Home visits -> Counselling -> Crises. In parishes below a certain size the pastor can carry out all of these. What I conclude is that, beyond a certain size, the pastor has to specialise and choose which of those pastoral forms to carry out him or herself, and which need to be passed on to others. For me, it is the elements in the middle which I seek to encourage other members of the Body to take on, so that I can focus on the two extremes: teaching and spiritual direction. I also see availability as important. Just last week, for example, I was telephoned by someone who has been given a diagnosis of terminal cancer, and – naturally – wanted to have a chat. Thankfully, I am going to be able to go and see her tomorrow – but that can only happen when there is sufficient ‘give’ in the timetable.

Which comes back to the question of working hours, and available energy. I am envious that Tim can give six hours a week to his sermon! In a good week a sermon will get two hours, sometimes it’s significantly less. One of the main things I’ve been pondering this last week is MacDonald’s first law of unmanaged time, viz: unmanaged time will flow to weakness. He writes this: “Since I knew I could preach an acceptable sermon with a minimum of preparation, I was actually doing less than my best in the pulpit.”

Now that was a sentence which struck home!

It all comes back to the question of vocation, or, to modify what I wrote to MP, I have to work out for myself what it means for ME to be a parish priest – not what being a parish priest is in general, but what sort of ministry is God specifically calling ME to. The shape of that is going to take time to establish, but I think it is going to have much more dedicated time for teaching in it, especially through Bible studies and sermons. I keep pondering Neil’s argument that according to the Apostle Paul, a church pastor should possess 3 basic qualities:

1. Good Christian Character
2. Sound Doctrine
3. An Ability to Teach

I think the first element is a constant endeavour, rather than an achievement, but the rest of it seems right to me. In particular, I don’t think that pastoral responsibility can be divorced from sound doctrine – indeed, the pastoral work that we are called to do is, I believe, precisely about providing that sound doctrine, the ‘medicine of the gospel’.

It seems that this is what I am called to do. Teach the faith, ensure that the people are not destroyed from lack of knowledge. To accept that this is also a pastoral task, and not to become crippled by guilt and self-destructive about all the things which I am not doing, but to accept the particular vocation that God has given to me, and to develop the gifts that He has given me for that task.

After all, it is a task worthy of wholehearted commitment – to teach the faith. To concentrate on that – this is such a liberating prospect.

Reordering the sanctuary

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A discussion paper for West Mersea PCC

Issue
The Rector would like the PCC to consider reordering the sanctuary and chancel area within St Peter and St Paul’s church, principally through moving the altar from its present position at the East End, swapping places with the choir.

Theological context
Jesus said “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days” (John 2.19). The New Covenant inaugurated in Jesus’ life, death and resurrection involved a replacement of the Temple with Jesus’ own body, most especially the celebration of the Eucharist – “This is my blood of the New Covenant”. This has many aspects, but one key element can be thought of as a replacement of a vertical form of worship with a horizontal one.

The temple was built according to very specific instructions, and a plan looks like this:

Temple worship is hierarchical – there is a steady ascension from the world of the profane to the Holy of Holies, and there is a corresponding stripping away of profane people – first the gentiles, then the women, then the non-priests, then finally only the High Priest is able to enter into the most holy place itself. This is what Jesus overturns.

In contrast to Temple worship, with its vertical hierarchy, the Eucharist is a horizontal form of worship, involving a gathering of the equally profane around a common table, to share in a common meal. Whilst there are still ‘priests’, these are not priests in the Temple sense – they are rather ‘presidents’, those whom the church has called out to a specialised rôle in the worshipping life of the community. So an image of horizontal worship, in this sense, might be this:

“There am I in the midst of them.”

Although this is a very basic feature of the New Covenant, it is fair to say that church history records a community which has largely ignored the nature of horizontal worship in favour of the hierarchical model. Hence the prevalence in churches of an altar at the East End. A reaction against this began with the Reformers, who sometimes brought the altar down into the nave itself, but beginning with Vatican II, there is now a substantial ecumenical consensus in favour of a more horizontal understanding of eucharistic worship. This can be seen where cathedrals have re-ordered their own sanctuaries. In St Paul’s Cathedral, for example, celebrations of the eucharist now take place beneath the great dome, in the centre of the cathedral, and the choir are behind the altar. This is what I am looking to establish here in West Mersea.

Logistical issues
As well as this fundamental theological point, there are two practical issues which concern me about our present arrangement, one minor, one major. The minor issue is that the president at the altar cannot see the main part of the lady chapel – and cannot be seen by them. That part of our community is therefore prevented from a full participation in what is happening at the Eucharist (‘Behold the Lamb of God’ doesn’t really work where the beholding is impossible). More crucially – and putting it bluntly – the choir get in the way! (This is not the fault of the choir, of course, it is a purely physical point.) I see two main issues – firstly, when people are at the altar rail to receive communion there is a severe bottle-neck on each side of the church as people have to either wait for a group of people to leave the altar rail, or else walk amongst people’s feet; secondly, people have to negotiate their way past the Director of Music as he conducts the choir from his position at the top of the steps. Each of these aspects I see as significant.

Proposal
I therefore propose that we bring the altar forward from its present position, and move the choir to the rear of the church, to look something like this:
I see the choir being deployed facing directly West. This maximises the available space, and is acoustically the best option. A number of people have expressed a concern about ‘worshipping the choir’, but that is still applying the vertical model of worship to the arrangement. The whole point is that Christ is ‘in the midst’ of us. At the far East End, between the choir stalls, I see the Bishop’s chair being placed, signifying his role as the ‘ordinary’ of the church (ie the one with ultimate responsibility for our eucharistic worship – the Rector and other clergy operate ‘in his stead’).

Issues to consider
There are a number of detailed elements which need to be considered, as well as the major principle itself. Amongst others:
– how to distribute communion under the new arrangement;
– how to cater for those who wish to kneel to receive;
– whether to move the crucifix from its present position to one directly above the altar (which would be a powerful visual symbol of the nature of the eucharist itself);
– where to place the Rector’s and curate’s pews;
– whether the new arrangement would work for all services, thinking especially of funerals.
There are doubtless other aspects and details which PCC members may wish to raise.

Timetable
I propose the following timetable:
– firstly, that in its February meeting the PCC agree that this is a suggestion worth exploring, and that we write to the Archdeacon requesting a temporary faculty covering an initial moving of the altar;
– secondly, that we move the altar as soon as possible, and ‘live with’ the arrangements for a period of three months. There will certainly be unforeseen aspects of the change that only become apparent after a change of use;
– thirdly, that we meet for a study day on a Saturday morning in the summer, with the wider congregation, to discuss our experience and to consider whether this is a path that we wish to pursue further;
– fourthly, if we do wish to pursue the rearrangement, that we then formally engage our architect to work up concrete proposals for the PCC to take forward.

(Being distributed to PCC members and ministers today.)

Passions

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Lots of thoughts about different Passions going through my mind at the moment.

1. It had been my plan to watch Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ on Good Friday – or at least Holy Saturday – but circumstances prevented it. Probably this week. It made such an impact on me when I watched it at the cinema (took a coach of parishioners with me) and I would like to make it part of my annual devotions.

2. I’m getting clearer in my own mind that I don’t want to be in my own regular place of worship in between the close of the Good Friday liturgy and the Easter Vigil. If so much of the strength of the prayers and worship flows from the dramatic re-enactment of the great events (which I believe) then it makes no sense to interrupt that drama with anything else, no matter how fitting to the theme of the day. The disciples scatter, they run away. I think we should do the same. Which raises one particular problem, in that there is a custom of ‘musical meditations’ on Good Friday evening in the parish. When I arrived, they even sang Easter Alleluias!!! At least now they’re doing Requiem Masses (ie singing the settings, it was Schubert this year) and so forth, so it is appropriate for the day, and it does provide for many non-church goers a way in to our story. I don’t think I’ll ever be wholly comfortable with it though.

3. I spent Friday night in King’s College, Cambridge, for the UK premiere of a new setting of the Passion (broadcast on Radio 3, see details here). My beloved and I went to it (a remarkable night away from children!!) because we are friends with the poet who wrote the libretto, which was excellent (and I’m not just saying that because of the friendship). Consider this, from the sequence at Gethsemane: Jesus draws a shawl around himself…how the body recoils from even a little suffering. A lot to ponder from it – I might do something more substantial in due course. I have to say that the music was beyond me though. Some art forms require training in order to be appreciated, and my musical understanding was insufficient to gain full value from the composition. To me it just sounded like a film soundtrack (which isn’t to knock film soundtracks – I’m listening to the LOTR one rather a lot). I was particularly frustrated that it was set in such a way that it obscured the words being sung, rather than enhancing them. (I’m told by my mother-in-law – an RSM trained composer – that this flows from a decision made by the composer, it’s not down to how it is performed, and consequently it is a flaw in the music, not in my listening!). I was very glad to be there, partly to support my friend (and to catch up with lots of other friends) but spiritually the experience was frustrating.

4. I have spent much time this morning researching the Manchester Passion, which I wish I had seen all the way through. Go here and follow the links (although it’s not the official site, it’s a more informative place to begin! Truth be told I am gutted (splagchnizomai) that I didn’t see it. What might be called ‘alternative worship’ has always been a passion of mine. I remember a conversation when I first began to believe in God, at University, talking about how we should use pop music in worship (I was thinking of the U2 album Achtung Baby, which had just been released, particularly ‘Until the End of the World’) and was told dismissively that this was ‘old hat’ and was already being done. Not true, and I think it is needed now more than ever. There are all sorts of creative ways in which it could be done, and the Manchester Passion seems to be a very good example of it. Haven’t been able to pursue this passion as much as I would wish since finishing my training, but I benefited from an attachment at St Luke’s, West Holloway which was pushing the boundaries at that time (still is, I think, but then so are lots of others). When Bach was composing his passions, he took popular German folk songs and translated them into fitting vehicles for telling our story. We must do the same.

A talented mother

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My mum has taken up stained glass as a hobby. This was her first major work, and I think it is rather wonderful – the entrance into our home. It is based on John 1 and John 6 (my two favourite texts). My friend Andy set it into a new door made of oak.

What a talented mum!

Meres Igge

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Stuart Staniford is my hero. Another astonishingly good analysis from him here, but this one looking not at Peak Oil but at sea level rise.

Bottom line – the sea level rise will happen more swiftly than expected, and be larger.

Which means for Mersea residents – much less reliable use of the Strood, beginning now. And probably no use of the Strood, in a couple of decades or so. And the bottom of the Lane will be unliveable. I wonder if where I live will become beach front property? (We’re about 10-15 feet above high tide level, I’d guess)

Ho hum.

From Barfield Road to Bradwell (taking in Burgan oilfield en route)

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Tesco want to build a ‘Tesco Express’ store at 1 Barfield Road. On the face of it this doesn’t seem too terrible. Let the competition commence! If Tesco can provide cheaper food to the residents of Mersea – and the residents of Mersea prefer that cheaper food to what the other local stores can provide, then so be it. It’s merely reflecting what the people want, isn’t it?

Well, there are certain assumptions embedded in that line of argument, and in this article I would like to tease out what I think is the most important, and why allowing Tesco to set up shop in Barfield Road would be a remarkably short-sighted and damaging decision. The story takes me via Burgan oilfield, in Kuwait.

Burgan is the second largest oilfield in the world. Two months ago the Kuwaiti authorities announced that it had passed ‘peak’ – in other words, the rate of extraction from the field had reached its limit, and would now go into decline.

This is what happens with an oilfield. When the field is discovered, the oil flows easily. Extraction builds up to a ‘peak’, and it then declines – the oil becoming harder and harder to extract – until the field is exhausted. This also applies to the amount of oil available on a world-wide scale – it will be extracted easily to begin with; it will build to a ‘peak’; and then it will decline.

But isn’t there lots of oil left? No. There isn’t as much oil as we have been told, and the issue isn’t about running out of oil so much as the consequences of a decline in production.

Official figures tell us that there is plenty of oil left in the ground, particularly the ground in the Middle East. This is based upon the published ‘reserves’ allocated to, in particular, Saudi Arabia. But those reserves are fraudulent. Imagine you had a bank account which had a £1000 in it in 1990. Since then you’ve been spending £100 a year from that account – and now, when you go to the cash machine to find out how much money you have left, you discover that there is still the very same £1000 in it that you started with. That is what the ministers of OPEC would like us to believe is the case with the ‘bank account’ of their oil reserves.

The powers that be, however, have started to realise that something is wrong. Matthew Simmons, a US investment banker, has published a detailed investigation of the Saudi Arabian oilfields and his conclusion is that – just like the Kuwaiti field – the major Saudi fields are at ‘peak’. Each year we will start getting a little less. Simmons, as well as being the leading investment banker to the US energy industry, also worked as an advisor to George W Bush from 2000-2004 – from which you may draw your own conclusions. This is also why Mr Blair wants to build a new generation of nuclear power stations – probably including one at Bradwell – because he knows that our present infrastructure, based on oil and gas, is going to be untenable in around ten years time.

So we’re hitting a ‘peak’ of oil production. Why is that a problem – surely that means there’s as much oil left as we’ve already used? It just means that as oil gets more expensive we’ll start switching to alternatives?

You can’t use nuclear power to fly a plane (it was explored in the 1950s). Nor can you use electricity. Oil hasn’t simply been an incredibly cheap source of energy for the last several decades – a virtually free source in fact – it also has some remarkably useful properties. It is dense – with the exception of uranium it is the most dense source of energy that we know – and it is easy to handle, being a liquid at normal temperatures. That’s why our transportation industry has been built up around it. ‘Peak Oil’ is only secondarily an ‘energy crisis’. It is primarily a ‘liquid fuels’ crisis – and our present economic system is based upon those liquid fuels.

In February this year the US Senate received a report on this problem (it will be much worse for the US), and the report said: “The world has never faced a problem like this. Without massive mitigation more than a decade before the fact, the problem will be pervasive and long-lasting. Previous energy transitions (wood to coal and coal to oil) were gradual and evolutionary; oil peaking will be abrupt and discontinuous.” (Text of the Hirsch report available at http://www.netl.doe.gov/otiic/World_Oil_Issues/Oil_Peaking_NETL.pdf)

Which brings us back to Tesco, and Barfield Road. You see, the assumption being made to allow Tesco to come into the community here in West Mersea is that the business model is sustainable. Tesco is able to offer cheaper prices as a consequence of economies of scale – it purchases worldwide, and its purchasing power enables it to provide food cheaply. Yet it is entirely dependent upon an oil-based transport system.

The ‘peak’ of oil production will mean that the cost of oil will rise massively, and it will force businesses that depend upon transport into bankruptcy. Our transport system – and therefore our food distribution system – is based upon the ready availability of cheap oil. When that cheap oil is taken away – which it will be, on best estimates, in around five years time – then the business will fail. But in those five or so years Tesco will have hollowed out the life of our town, forcing the local businesses to fail – and then we will be a ghost town. The only prudent course for our community to take is to build up a locally based food and energy system.

Some enlightened governments have started to actively pursue this – the government of Sweden, for example, has committed that nation to going ‘off oil’ by 2020. They have realised what is at stake. Other smaller communities have started to try and reduce the risk of oil-dependency, such as the town of Kinsale (population 2000) on the south coast of Ireland. That is what we in Mersea need to do – to strengthen all the institutions in our community to enable us to withstand the crisis that is coming in our direction. To allow Tesco onto the island would be like cutting off a leg in preparation for a marathon – insane.

If you are interested in this, and would like to know more about ‘Peak Oil’ in particular, come to the Parish Church Hall on Saturday January 7th at 9:30 am. I will set out in more detail what Peak Oil involves – what it means for Mersea (Tesco and Bradwell) – and what we need to do now to prepare for it. If we plan consciously to move away from oil, then the transition to the post-oil economy need not be too painful. However if we continue as we are, and proceed blindly into the future, then may God have mercy on us all.

Control, trust, hope

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I wonder if you are familiar with the Enneagram?

My previous spiritual director was well acquainted with it – used to teach it for the church in various locations – and we came to the conclusion that I was an ‘eight’ – there are nine types, signified by numbers, but with more interesting ‘descriptions’ as well.

The principal issues for an eight revolve around fear, control and trust. Eights interpret their earliest experiences in terms of being bullied, which provoke various strategies to achieve safety – in their extreme, they are strategies to pursue invulnerability. The first questions that an eight will ask are about who is in control – and should they be in control? Eights are happy under a strong authority, but if there isn’t a clear authority, then they will move forward to take control themselves.

So: fear moves towards control, but the path of spiritual growth for the eight is to move from that control to trusting. For the truth is that God is in control, and there can never be a time when we do not surrender to God, and God’s will. God is in charge, and that is the spiritual issue for the eight.

Which is why the issue of peak oil has been on my mind so much. I do have some relevant background experience on the issue, partly from understanding economics, but also from my time in the Civil Service working on the nuclear industry. Until a month or so ago, I accepted Bjorn Lomborg‘s analysis of the energy situation, viz that oil supplies have increased and are increasing, and that the rise in oil prices will of themselves enforce the gradual transition from oil to alternative energy sources.

What understanding Peak Oil has done is knock away that confidence – in other words, here is the prospect of havoc in our society, and for someone who values control, ie things being under control, that is profoundly disconcerting. It has brought into the open various assumptions that I had made about the pattern of my life and the path that it might reasonably be expected to take. I now think that my working life – ie the next thirty years – will be very different. (How do you make God laugh? – tell him your long term plans.)

In the Daily Office at the moment we use the language of ‘the darkness of this age that is passing away’. I take comfort from that; from the knowledge that the church has abided through crises similar to the one we are now facing; and that God will not leave himself without witnesses.

Yet an abiding hope for the future is not the same as a confidence that I will see it; or that my family will see it; or even that our local society (Mersea, Essex, England, the West) will see it.

For the other central concerns of an eight revolve around justice. Our society – globalised and oil dependent – is profoundly unjust. And unjust societies are unsustainable – it was part of the genius of the prophets to recognise that; think of Amos and the plumb line.

I remember reading this article a few years ago. It’s relevance increases the more time goes on. We should tremble more when we consider that God is just.

And yet.

“Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.” The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD.It is good for a man to bear the yoke while he is young. Let him sit alone in silence, for the LORD has laid it on him. Let him bury his face in the dust— there may yet be hope. Let him offer his cheek to one who would strike him, and let him be filled with disgrace. For men are not cast off by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love. For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to the children of men.”

It’s not paranoia

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“The world has never faced a problem like this. Without massive mitigation more than a decade before the fact, the problem will be pervasive and long-lasting. Previous energy transitions (wood to coal and coal to oil) were gradual and evolutionary; oil peaking will be abrupt and discontinuous.”

Summary of formal report prepared for the US government by Robert Hirsch and others, Spring 2005, available here.

The issue is not the theoretical viability of human society and civilisation in the absence of fossil fuels. That is possible with existing technology – by and large.

The issue is the transition from one state to another state – the phase transition. I can’t see anyway in which that transition can be accomplished without a significant loss of utilised energy in the system as a whole.

Let me translate that into something less obscure: the system using abundant and cheap energy supports a certain population; the system using scarce and expensive energy will support a much lower population. The transition is going to be painful, and we need to begin planning for that transition now.

Which makes me think about small scale power stations for Mersea Island – a tidal barrage?

Actually, what I think most necessary is the strengthening and building up of community. People working together provides much more than the agglomeration of individuals. That also has the benefit of not being futile endeavour should all these fears prove misplaced…