One way in which it is possible to discern truth is that it is something that sets you free. The peacock just can’t be kept down forever…
So I was listening to this song, shortly after a particular conversation about my ministry, and I thought ‘this is it!’
Maybe I didn’t treat you
Quite as good as I should have
Maybe I didn’t love you
Quite as often as I could have
Little things I should have said and done
I never took the time
You were always on my mind
You were always on my mind
Long term readers of this blog will know that I have struggled much with the nature of parish ministry. I think there are problems associated with the nature of the work itself; and then there are problems that are peculiar to me.
The problems that are associated with the nature of the work itself have been thoroughly considered elsewhere, and, really, that book needs to be read by anyone interested in the topic.
So this is about me. There are some things I’m good at, and there are some things I’m definitely not good at – and something I’m becoming comfortable accepting is that one of the things that I’m not good at is something close to being essential in a parish priest.
What is the difference between having a conversation with someone in the Rectory, who has come to discuss something important, and having that same conversation with someone in their own home? Well, one I find straightforward, I enjoy doing it (I think I’m reasonably good at it) and the other – well, there’s the rub. I find it difficult to go out and be with people in their own homes.
I realise that in order to go out I need an excuse and a structure. So, for example, I find it straightforward to take Holy Communion to the housebound. I enjoy that, I find it a very fulfilling element of my ministry, there’s never any ‘issue’ with this – because I have an excuse for going there, and there is a structure for what to do when I’m there. It’s as if I need a comfort blanket, something to fend off all the shyness and insecurity and fear of rejection. Something to hide behind.
Now this is a bit of a problem when you’re the parish priest and people have a natural expectation that the priest will be happy to just call in and talk. I wonder whether the George Herbert stuff was (in part) just a smoke screen – I couldn’t quite articulate what the deepest problems were and fastened on a superficial explanation as an interim place to stand.
It has given rise to some problems, and I’m sure it’s why there has been an “incredibly vicious campaign” against me in the town (not my words, although I don’t doubt the truth).
You always wanted me to be something I wasn’t
You always wanted too much, oh, oh
Now I can do what I want to – forever
How am I gonna get through?
How am I gonna get through?
I think if I was more of a natural people-person, someone who was able to press the flesh and talk the small talk and socialise and schmooze then many of the problems would have been dealt with more readily. I just can’t do that – even just thinking about it is exhausting, and I have enough of an issue with tiredness as it is. The fundamental issue is one of introversion (this is quite a good article if you’re unfamiliar with that jargon. Though I disagree that hell is other people. Hell is the school playground when you’re waiting for your children to emerge). I used to think it was deafness, and how that links in I’m not sure – whether one came first or whether they were formed together, I don’t know. I am quite profoundly introverted and… I’m OK with that. This is how God made me. What it means, however, is that there are always going to be times when the shoe pinches. Times when the expectations and desires clash rather strongly. Or to put it differently, I’m coming to accept that the answer to this question that I posed is ‘No’.
And there are implications to that acceptance.
And that’s alright.
I want to run, I want to hide
I want to break down the walls that hold me inside
I want to reach out, and touch the flame
Where the streets have no name
(By the way, the use of Pet Shop Boys videos is by way of extending a middle finger in the direction of a certain unmentionably awful tabloid newspaper that got caught up in the campaign and who thought that liking the Pet Shop Boys was conclusive proof of my general inadequacy. As one kind person put it ‘anyone who has been monstered by the Daily [Flail] is alright by me….’)