Church

Irons in the Fire

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After a recent Thursday morning communion service at St Matthew’s, we had a conversation over coffee about the BBC TV programme, The Repair Shop. It’s an unlikely hit: a programme about people mending things. Watching someone painstakingly remove a layer of rust from a lawnmower doesn’t exactly sound riveting. But what makes the programme is the characters and the stories behind the objects that turn up in the repair shop’s barn. The show is presented by furniture restorer Jay Blades – Blades had a tough upbringing and was hindered in his education by undiagnosed dyslexia. He attributes his success as a TV presenter to the fact that, until the age of 51, he couldn’t read. This meant that, rather than learning facts about the people he was going to meet on camera from the written notes he was given, he had to talk to them, to ask questions. His interest in people draws us in to their stories. Jay is supported by a regular group of highly skilled craftspeople and occasional guest experts who seem to love their work. Their enthusiasm for their craft is infectious and the things they are able to do become fascinating.

Our chat over a cuppa was about the recent special episode featuring the former Prince of Wales (now King Charles III, of course). The Repair Shop had been given two pieces selected by the Prince: an 18th Century clock (which we learned was created by rescuing parts from other clocks) and a Scottish ceramic piece made to celebrate the diamond jubilee of Queen Victoria. This had been damaged when someone opened a window and knocked it over. We didn’t find out who had opened the window. The Prince wasn’t saying.

In the episode we also met Jeremy the blacksmith. Jeremy had trained as part of a building craft programme run by the Prince’s Foundation at Dumfries House in Cumnock, Ayrshire. Jeremy said he had been blacksmithing for six or seven years. He spoke about the two key things required for smithing: “the first is to get it hot. The second is to hit it.” We saw him doing both. He had tried blacksmithing on a one-day course that someone gave him as a gift. He told us that he hadn’t done particularly well at school, hadn’t got good grades, but, when he discovered blacksmithing, he found what he loved and came into his own.

“Working by a fire – there’s no place I’d rather be in the world.”
“In blacksmithing I have absolutely found my calling.”

As someone has said, in a Christian context, our calling is where our gifts and passions meet human need. In a sense, our primary calling is to be ourselves. There is wisdom in the quote:

Be yourself. Everyone else is taken.

I’ve written before about the idea of vocation. People often think about the clergy as having a vocation – a calling. But the truth is that each of us has a calling. The Church of England talks about understanding Christian vocation in three areas:

  1. Social (our place within the community, where we contribute to the common good);
  2. Relational (our calling in relationship to God and to others, like family, friends, and neighbours); and
  3. Ministerial (our calling to serve and build up the church community and equip it for mission).

As I said when I wrote about this previously, I would put them in a different order: I would start with my ‘relational’ vocation. Who am I called to be? (Be yourself. Everyone else is taken.)

As you perhaps know, by the time you read this (or shortly after, at least) I will be on a three-month Sabbatical, away from parish duties. To prepare for this, one of the things I did was to meet with my spiritual director. (Clergy are expected to have a spiritual director, or adviser, and to meet with them on a regular basis.) One of the things that my spiritual director asked me to think about was my calling. You might think that, at my age, it’s a bit late to be asking questions about my calling, but that’s the point. We may have a sense of calling but our understanding of it will inevitably change as we, our circumstances, and the world around us change. I am called to be me – and to be me in the context of my marriage and family life. I am called to be a priest in the Church of England. And I am called to be the vicar of St Matthew’s and St Cross. All of those are things that I am fairly sure about. But what do they mean now (compared with, say, 35+ years ago when I was ordained) and what might they mean in the years ahead?

I don’t know that even a three-month Sabbatical will allow me to come up with definitive answers to those questions, but I hope for some growth in my understanding of each that will empower me better to live out my calling on my return.

The month of November begins with the Church celebrating the Feast of All Saints. We might think of a saint as someone especially gifted or committed, probably a martyr. But I would rather say that a saint is simply someone who has discovered who they are and what their calling is, and who is trying – however imperfectly – to put that understanding into practice. Like Jeremy the blacksmith or Paul the Apostle or me or you. Find what you love, and come into your own.

The jazz saxophonist, John Coltrane, struggled with addiction but wrote in the liner notes to his iconic 1965 album, A Love Supreme:

During the year 1957, I experienced by the grace of God a spiritual awakening which was to lead me to a richer, fuller, more productive life. At that time in gratitude I humbly asked to be given the means and privilege to make others happy through music.

Tragically, Coltrane died from liver cancer in 1967. The previous year, while touring in Japan, he was asked what he wanted to be in ten years. His answer?

I would like to be a saint.

Every blessing as you continue to discover your calling.

Alan Jewell

Back to Church?

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It’s that time of the year when I look through my calendar to see what is coming up and realise that September is almost upon us. After the disruption of recent years, hopefully this time, it will be all systems go! For me, that means that Monday mornings will start with school assembly at 9AM. (It’s called ‘collective worship’ these days. After periods of contributing via a camera on my desk in the study, it will be a pleasure to go return to seeing the school hall filled with three-dimensional children.) Then we start back with the routine meetings and appointments that have taken a back seat during August: clergy Chapter, PCC and Standing Committee meetings (for both churches), as well as school governors and other bodies. It also means that we start a new year of Praise & Play, and can look forward to meeting new P&P families as well as welcoming back some familiar faces.

In a normal year, my work tends to follow the school calendar, so September feels like the start of everything. And in a normal year, I think of September to Easter as being my ‘busy time’ (although we do usually manage to take a break in school holidays). This year, however, things are different in that I will be taking a Sabbatical at the busiest time of all – including Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany. I’ve written about this elsewhere, but the closer it gets the more daunting it is beginning to feel! I need to make sure that I have done all that I can to leave both churches in a reasonable state so that things can at least continue to tick over until my return. (Who am I kidding? They’ll probably both thrive without me getting in the way!)

In September, some churches organise special ‘back to church’ events. There’s even an organisation that promotes ‘Back to Church Sunday’. The idea is not just for those who have been able to take a holiday over the summer, but for those who used to attend but have got out of the habit. Getting out of the habit of going to church is easy enough to do at any time, but the pandemic has meant that many who were regular church goers have stopped attending, and for very good reasons. I’m not all sure what COVID is going to do over the next year, but I’m hopeful that church services will continue uninterrupted. If that is the case, then what are the barriers that get in the way of people returning to regular worship?

Obviously, some are rightly worried about their own health or that of loved ones. We are continuing to do what we can to make sure that our services are conducted in such a way as to minimise risk, but it’s not possible to make any public event completely risk free.

Some may have decided, that, having missed church for so long, they didn’t really miss church… If that’s you, then here is something for you to think about: maybe the church misses you! Or maybe, to put it bluntly, and to paraphrase, maybe it’s time to “ask not what your church can do for you but to ask what you can do for your church”.

I have sometimes in a sermon used an illustration which goes like this: I tell the congregation that I have put together a list of all the jobs that need doing for a church service to take place. It’s a long list because there’s a lot that needs to happen. The building needs to be clean, safe, and comfortable. Also, ideally, it will look attractive – flowers have been purchased and arranged; the altar cloths with be clean and the frontals will have been changed to suit the season. The bills must have been paid so that we have heat and light. Someone had to unlock the doors and switch on the lights. There will be someone at the door to welcome you, and, after the service, someone will be there to ask if you want tea or coffee. (I say often that the welcome people get coming through the door, and the chat over a cuppa after the service, are far more important than anything that happens during the service!) Of course, between the warm welcome and cheery goodbye there’s the simple matter of worship having been planned and prepared. There are readings and prayers, and music. You might hear a sermon and be offered holy communion.

Having made a list of all the jobs that need to be done, I tell them that I have written each job on a sticky note and placed it under one of the seats in church. (This is not strictly true: I’ve never actually done that – but it’s not a lie, it’s a rhetorical device…) I then say that, in a moment, I want each person in church to look under their seat and discover what their job will be for the coming year. If you get a job that you really can’t do, you have to swap your sticky note with someone who can. Everybody ends up with a job that they can do. In that way we know that everything is covered. As I say, I’ve never actually done this, but it’s an idea!

I did read about a church where they did something like this. They had a set of badges made: one said ‘Welcomer’, another said ‘Bible Reader’ and so on. At the start of the service, the pile of badges was on a table at the back of church. As each person arrived, they had to choose a badge and that would be their job for the day. I have to say, I’m quite tempted. Except that I think it’s better if the person doing the bible reading has had chance to have a look at it beforehand in case there are any of those pesky names that are difficult to pronounce.

So, rather than sticky notes or badges, we have always used rotas. They’re a pain to produce, and we often have Sundays where there are more people standing in for someone else than there are people doing what they’re on the rota for. But that is all right. It mostly works. And what it avoids is having a very small number of people doing all the jobs every week. Which is where we have ended up after the disruptions of COVID19. I am very grateful to those who have kept the ship afloat over the past few years. But I am hopeful that the time is coming for us to return to those pesky rotas. In order for that to work, we need volunteers – from among our regular worshippers, and from those who plan to return to church, and it would be good to have some new names and faces.

Here’s what I would like you to do: pick a Sunday in September and plan to come to church. Let me know that you are coming and that you would be happy to do a reading, or welcome people at the door. I will then put your name on the rota and – voila! – it’s sorted!

If there are other barriers to you attending a service, please let me know and I’ll see what we can do to help you.

I look forward to welcoming you back to church.

Alan Jewell

Mothering

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In a Strange Land

In a pub quiz at some point in the future, the host will ask, ‘in what year did the Tokyo 2020 Olympics take place?’ At the time of writing, the answer looks like it might be 2021, but that’s still uncertain. In a future church quiz, the host will ask, ‘in 2020, which was the first church service to be cancelled due to the coronavirus pandemic?’ The answer to that is the one that was planned for Mothering Sunday on 22 March 2020.

In other words, it’s been nearly a year since the Prime Minister took the remarkable step of announcing that churches would have to close. The Church of England followed this by confirming that church buildings would be closed for services, including weddings and baptisms, and that funerals would only be able to take place at crematoria or at the graveside, not in church buildings.

A lot of legislation, guidance, and instructions, followed. At times it seemed as though the advice changed daily, and we got used to waiting for the next announcement from the Prime Minister and his advisors, followed by statements from the Church about how to put all this into practice. At first, the new rules were in place for a period of three weeks, and here we are, a year later, having been through various levels of lockdown and restrictions. We might think of this experience as one of ‘exile’. Like the psalmist, lamenting over the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians, who asks

How could we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?
Psalm 137.4

We have been living in a strange land. It’s difficult to get this past year into perspective. We very quickly got used to describing things as ‘unprecedented’ (although, as I have noted elsewhere, humanity has lived through many existential threats in its history. It’s just that we modern folk in the developed world had got used to a relatively secure existence.) We took to online worship and discovered new ways of doing things. No one had heard of Zoom, and now here we are, Zooming away to our hearts’ content. (Recently, during a streamed service of Compline for Lent, my Zoom crashed and had to be restarted in the middle of the prayers. Sadly, I missed the opportunity to announce that ‘normal service will be re-zoomed as soon as possible’.)

We’ve got used to hand-washing, face-covering, and social distancing. We stay at home unless we have to go out, and we go out for walks in every kind of weather, if we are able. Over on social media there are still people arguing that COVID19 is a hoax, or manmade, and that government rules are designed to limit our freedom in order to implement some diabolical global plan (funded by Bill Gates, apparently). (These are the same people arguing that the moon landings were faked and that the earth is flat.)

In the mainstream media, there are arguments about how the pandemic should be handled and about how and when we are going to recover. There are also arguments about what the church should have done and what it should do now.

Mother Church

The pandemic has clearly had a massive impact on the church. Not least because so many of our most faithful supporters and generous givers are in the age group which has been most affected. The pandemic has brought into the light some trends that were well underway before the coronavirus struck. You may have seen in the media that the Diocese of Chelmsford is planning to cut clergy posts and is appealing for more funds to support clergy numbers. The pandemic may have accelerated that process, but I understand that the Chelmsford diocesan board of finance was saying back in 2017 that the shortfall in parish share (the money that parishes give to the diocese to support mission and ministry) would “consume all the diocesan reserves by 2020”. Similar situations exist in other dioceses. As far as I know, there are no plans in Chester diocese to make clergy redundant or to close churches, but it does seem likely that, when clergy retire, or move on, their replacement will take longer to arrive, if at all.

The Archbishops of Canterbury and York have responded to media speculation with an article in The Spectator magazine which was headed ‘A defence of the Church of England’. (Some will be quick to point out that Stephen Cottrell, who became Archbishop of York in July 2020, was, before that, the Bishop of Chelmsford, the diocese referred to above.) The Archbishops note that, in media coverage of the pandemic, you might have seen the question, ‘Where is the C of E?’. They offer an answer:

We have been burying the dead, comforting the bereaved, feeding the hungry and praying for our nation. We have been doing this not as superheroes, but as human beings living through the same crisis as everyone else: grieving, home-schooling, worrying, getting sick, shielding, isolating, weeping.

My own experience of the pandemic has included bereavement – my mother died from COVID19 very early on. My father was hospitalised and unable to attend her funeral. (I have written about this in my personal blog.) I have also had anxiety over loved ones who have been ill. I have had the frustration of not being able to visit family in this country and abroad; of children and grandchildren that I can see on a screen but not hold or hug.

In my ministry there have been so many things that I have not been able to do, or have had to do differently, from livestreaming worship to conducting funerals at the graveside, having only spoken to the families by phone or video call.

The Archbishops talk about their shock at reading what the media say is happening to the Church and they try to set the record straight:

There are no plans to dismantle the parish network. We are committed to our calling to be a Christian presence in every community.

They point out that, while some churches have closed, over 100 new congregations and churches have been planted in recent years. The Church is committed to maintaining its presence in the poorest parts of the country and in rural areas. Although there are large numbers of clergy retiring, this year has seen “the biggest rise in ordained and lay vocations for a quarter of a century.”

Of course, the Church faces huge challenges – as it did before the pandemic – including the maintenance of its buildings and the financial cost of sustaining mission and ministry across the whole country. The most recent financial report for the Church of England is from 2019 (pre-COVID). This shows that, in nearly half of the parishes in the country, annual income is not enough to cover annual expenditure. Only a quarter of parishes have enough annual income to cover five extra weeks of expenditure. The biggest item of expenditure is, of course, parish share.

A piece in the Church Times points out that we find ourselves in a new place:

there has never been a time in the Church’s history when either the organisation or the buildings were funded on a democratic basis by the people in the pews.

In other words, in the past the Church of England was funded in part by rich benefactors and in part by tithes imposed on the less wealthy. The situation now is that, if we want to continue as a national, parochial, church, the funding has to come from “purely voluntary, deliberate giving by ordinary parishioners”. And that is a shock to the system!

In our two churches, we face huge issues, but we are not alone.

Mothering Sunday

I began by saying that our current experience of ‘exile’ started with Mothering Sunday in 2020, and here we find ourselves approaching that occasion again. In my sermons for Mothering Sunday, I usually point out that the Christian festival has all but been overtaken by the secular celebration of Mothers’ Day. But in church our thoughts are not just with mums but also with our ‘mother church’. Traditionally, people would visit the church where they were baptised (their ‘mother church’) or the cathedral (the ‘mother church’ of the diocese). Young girls in service would be given the day off and this would mean they were able to visit family, including their mothers.

Mothering Sunday falls mid-Lent on a day also called Laetare Sunday. ‘Laetare’ is the Latin word for ‘rejoice’ and is taken from the traditional texts set for the fourth Sunday of Lent. Isaiah 66.10, 11 tells God’s people to ‘Rejoice with Jerusalem’ and pictures Jerusalem as a nursing mother to her children. In the Letter to the Galatians, Paul takes up the story of Abraham and his descendants. We are Abraham’s spiritual children, and our ‘mother’ is the heavenly Jerusalem (Galatians 4.21-31).

The traditional gospel reading for Laetare Sunday is the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000. This became associated with a relaxation of strict Lenten fasting and the day was also called ‘Refreshment Sunday’. Gifts of cakes and buns were made for Mothering Sunday to be given to parents. Simnel cake became particularly associated with this tradition.

At the time of writing, we are starting to hear of the proposed roadmap to ease lockdown restrictions. The success of the UK’s vaccination programme provides a glimmer of hope, but we are all warned that the road ahead must be travelled slowly and cautiously.

The twin focuses of Mothering Sunday – family and church – are both going to be affected by restrictions, this year at least. We live in hope that next year we will be in a better place. But as things stand, both family and church could do with a bit of love.

Comfort and Joy

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In a normal year, my December magazine article would contain a message about the importance of Christmas, and express the hope that all our readers would be able to attend one or more of our Christmas services, and perhaps invite family and friends to join us. We would be looking forward to Carol Services, Crib Services and ‘Midnight Mass’. That’s what would happen in a normal year. But 2020 has not been a normal year and who knows where we will be by Christmas, or how 2021 will look?

I’m writing this in November, during national Lockdown 2. Places of worship are again closed and we are waiting to hear when they are likely to re-open, making planning all but impossible. Archbishops have joined other faith leaders in asking for an exemption for places of worship, given all the work we have put into making our buildings and services as COVID19-safe as we can. That exemption has not been granted and we are urged to follow the regulations and guidance that are in place.

In most years, along with other clergy, I put some effort into reminding people that Advent is an important season in the Church’s year – and encouraging people to resist rushing headlong into Christmas celebration without spending some time in Advent reflection. This year, I feel different. The pandemic, which led to churches being closed for Mothering Sunday and Easter, has felt like an awfully long Advent. We have been unable to meet in church for worship or to share in holy communion. We have been looking forward to better things. Even in Lent, you’re not supposed to abstain from bread and wine at communion! But we have all been keeping an enforced abstinence from the things that are given to sustain us. Perhaps we’ll learn to value what really matters, having had so much taken away from us in this awful year. Enough Advent already!

So, bring it on! Put up your Christmas tree in November, if you want! Put lights on the outside of your house to combat the darkness and spread a little, much-needed cheer! Make mince pies and eat chocolate! Watch Christmas movies and listen to Christmas music![1]

And, in the midst of all the self-indulgence, the Christmas message invites us to think of others. The pandemic has seen many examples of people caring for others, including the extraordinary response to Captain Tom’s 100th Birthday Walk for the NHS, and the little acts of kindness that were stirred up in people seeing their neighbours in need.

At the heart of so many communities, lies the church. It has been estimated that the Church of England alone is worth £12.4bn a year to the country through the events and activities it provides and supports. But what will our church look like next year? Will we still be here for Christmas 2021? We need to plan for recovery and growth if we are to continue serving our communities. Recent research suggests that churches which are engaged with their communities (not hiding away inside their buildings) are more likely to grow. Churches should be marked by:

  • A strong sense of connection with their local area (not just with their own congregations)
  • Perseverance – years of engaging with their communities
  • Hospitality and Generosity
  • Participation in social action, working with other people of goodwill, regardless of whether they are people of faith or not[2]

How will our churches in Stretton and Appleton Thorn continue to engage with our communities in the coming years? How can you be a part of that?

My December message usually ends with me wishing you and yours a very happy Christmas and a peaceful new year. I’m pleased to repeat that here, while, at the same time acknowledging that this is likely to be a very different Christmas from any that we have known.

But, even if everything else is different, I take comfort in this:

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and for ever. (Hebrews 13.8)

[1] My favourite Christmas movie, if you’re interested, is Scrooged (1988, starring Bill Murray) and my favourite Christmas music includes folky stuff by Kate Rusby and the Albion Christmas Band.

[2] https://www.churchtimes.co.uk/articles/2020/13-november/news/uk/the-c-of-e-must-evolve-for-growth-says-cottrell

Learning from Lockdown

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<p class="has-drop-cap" value="<amp-fit-text layout="fixed-height" min-font-size="10" max-font-size="72" height="80">Back in July, Bishop Keith (acting as diocesan bishop) wrote to clergy about a ‘Think Tank’ that he had set up, under the tag “<em>Learning and Leading out of Lockdown</em>”. The idea came from a meeting of rural deans (via Zoom, of course) asking the question, “What is God saying to us through this pandemic?”Back in July, Bishop Keith (acting as diocesan bishop) wrote to clergy about a ‘Think Tank’ that he had set up, under the tag “Learning and Leading out of Lockdown”. The idea came from a meeting of rural deans (via Zoom, of course) asking the question, “What is God saying to us through this pandemic?”

The Think Tank produced some resources for reflection and discussion which have been circulated. Bishop Keith, commending the resources to us, was very keen to emphasise that, given the exhaustion and weariness that many were feeling, this might not be the most productive time for reflection. “It’s not just something to add to your ‘to do’ list,” he said. But I’m sure I’m not the only one who felt that that was exactly what it was!

Given that the resources were sent out in July – and we now find ourselves in November still facing huge uncertainties about what the future holds – it seemed too soon. It still does. How can we reflect on something while we are still in the middle of it?

Even earlier (13 May), I had joined an online training session, organised by CPAS, called “Leadership in Lockdown” as I thought it might help me to think through what we were facing. Webinars via Zoom were fairly new to me, but I was able to get the technology to work. I had expected to sit looking at my screen, perhaps making a few notes, but I was quickly introduced to a new horror: the ‘breakout room’! If you have ever attended any kind of training session, you’ll know that the scariest part is when the leader says, “Just turn to the person next to you and say what you feel about this…” I didn’t know they could do that on Zoom! But there I was, face-to-face (on-screen at least) with someone I had never met before – a vicar from somewhere else in the country – expected to talk about what I was learning from the pandemic. I have to admit, I can’t really remember what my Zoom partner said. But I remember what I said. I said, “Well my wife was ill… and I was ill… and my mum died from COVID19…” My poor Zoom partner!

The following day we went to Gloucester for mum’s funeral. It was one of those restricted coronavirus funerals where only a very few mourners were allowed to attend. Sadly, even my dad wasn’t there because he too had been taken ill and was in hospital where he tested positive for COVID19. As some of you will know, when we returned from the funeral later that day, Rose (my wife) took a call from the home where her father was, saying that he was now quite poorly and that they were concerned about him. Restricted visiting meant that Rose agonised about going to see him (meaning that her brother and sister would not be allowed to) but she did, the following day. She set up a video call with her siblings, and he died while she was there. We attended another very limited funeral.

So, remind me: what was I supposed to be doing? Oh yes, reflecting and learning from lockdown; asking, “What is God saying to us through this pandemic?”

On 17 March, the Archbishops of Canterbury and York wrote to all Church of England clergy, following Government guidance, to advise that:

Public worship will have to stop for a season. Our usual pattern of Sunday services and other mid-week gatherings must be put on hold.

I’m told that this was the first time since 1208 that Church worship in England had been suspended! (In 1208, Pope Innocent III put England under an interdict when King John rejected his choice for Archbishop of Canterbury.)

It wasn’t that the church was to “shut up shop” but that we were to find ‘new ways of being church’ without being able to access our buildings. Now that sounds quite interesting to me: I have always felt that our buildings were as much a drain on our resources as they were an asset. So, what ‘new ways of being church’ would we find?

One thing we found was that we could live-stream services using Zoom and Facebook. Each week we learned something new. And each week something new went wrong! There was one Sunday morning when so many churches tried to log on to Zoom at the same time that Zoom gave up the ghost and refused to play. Imagine that: the church shutting down an online video service! On another occasion, we had no problem connecting to Zoom, but then Facebook refused to talk to Zoom and we were unable to go live.

During these weeks, a small group of us met (virtually, of course) on a Saturday to go through the following day’s service, allocating prayers and readings to different voices. This was something I really enjoyed and hope we might be able to incorporate in future services that are being live-streamed from church. We built up a camaraderie between us (forged in the heat of never knowing whether it was going to work or not!) and learned a little about leading worship remotely. One of my favourite moments came when one of our contributors came to read a prayer, but couldn’t see the words on her screen because it was behind the image of another contributor. I won’t reveal names, but it’s the first time I have ever heard a prayer introduced with the words, “I can’t see the prayer because x is in the way!”

 We are slowly re-introducing services in church, but, as I write, Warrington is about to go into the highest tier for COVID19 restrictions. It’s so difficult to plan ahead as we are constantly being given new guidance and new regulations. We have had to scale down so many of our activities. This month, November, is the month for remembrance – for the church, for families and for nations, as we mark All Saints, All Souls and Remembrance days. We will be doing those things but very differently from previous years. And who knows what Christmas will look like? I can hardly bear to think about it!

In order to give myself some space to think and reflect, I have spent a quiet day at Foxhill. The day was advertised as a time to ‘Refresh, Restore, Renew’. We began and ended with prayer in the chapel. Apart from that, it was mostly silent – even over lunch where we sat at socially distanced tables – so I managed to read most of a book called “Punk Monk”[1]. I won’t summarise the book here, but it begins with something that Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote. Bonhoeffer was a German pastor and theologian who was executed by the Nazi regime in 1945. He was thinking about what it would mean to follow Christ in the modern world. He called for a new form of monasticism, aware that in the past, the church and the world have been transformed by monastic communities. He wrote:

Bonhoeffer’s death in a concentration camp means that we only have the start of his thinking of what that would look like, but it’s a good start for our own thinking and prayer. What would church look like if, instead of buildings, ritual and liturgy, we were a community governed by Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount?

“…the restoration of the church will surely come only from a new type of monasticism which has nothing in common with the old but a complete lack of compromise in a life lived in accordance with the Sermon on the Mount in the discipleship of Christ.  I think it is time to gather people together to do this…”

So, you see, I have been reflecting and learning from lockdown. I’m just not at all sure what I have learned! Perhaps you are doing better than me? What is God saying to us?

Every blessing,

Alan

[1] Punk Monk: New Monasticism and the Ancient Art of Breathing, 2007 by Andy Freeman and Pete Greig

William and Margaret Owen

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An article by Roger Bingham

Stretton Church has a silver memorial plaque to them on the 3rd pillar on the north side from the entrance to the church.  I periodically polish this as part of my church cleaning duty rota. I looked into who the Owens were, my interest being sparked by memories of Halsall Owen, grandson of William and son of Geoffrey.

All were architects in Warrington and William FRIBA (1846-1910} was the founder of the architects practice William and Segar Owen, who had premises in Cairo Street, and later in Museum Street, where I practiced dentistry from 1960 to1996.

William was born in Latchford in 1846 and died in Appleton in1910. He trained as an architect in Manchester and travelled in Europe, visiting Belgium and Holland as well as France and Switzerland.

He set up practice in Warrington in 1869.In 1896 he took his elder son Segar into partnership and their practice in 1896 was in No 4, Cairo Street Chambers and later in Museum Street.

They designed 28 houses and a factory in Port Sunlight for William’s close friend W H Lever. He accompanied Lever ( later Lord Leverhulme) in his search to find land to build a new soap factory and a Garden Village for the staff. He was the first architect employed by Lever and also designed buildings in Warrington such as  St. Barnabas’s Church ,Bank Quay in 1879,Warrington School of Art in Museum Street in 1883,the Parr Hall in 1895 and Warrington Technical School in 1900-1902  ( now San Lorenzo restaurant), the Mulberry Tree ,Stockton Heath (1907) and other pubs for Greenall Whitley and  various banks for Parr’s Bank (now part of Nat West.}

William married Margaret and had children Segar (1874-1929 ) and Geoffrey (1887-1965) Segar lived at Kelmscott, Firs Lane, Appleton(1906-1914); an Arts and Crafts style house now rebuilt and named “The Foxes”. I surmise that they also designed Stonecroft, Firs Lane and maybe William lived there. Other houses include Garnett House, Penketh (Garnett had a large furniture factory in Warrington) and Birchdale (for Robert Davies, a Warrington solicitor). in Appleton (later the hotel and now demolished and replaced by a block of apartments.)

William died suddenly in Warrington in 1910;He and Margaret are buried in the NE corner of St Matthews Churchyard together with Samuel, ( died 1884) and Halsall (died 1915 aged 34 )

 Segar continued the practice, being joined by Geoffrey and then Halsall, his son. Halsall did some work for me in 1972, including alterations to Hill Cliffe in Windmill Lane and I was always impressed as their practice was described as in “Warrington and London” which no doubt it was at one time .He and a Mr Welsby arranged for the Lord’s Prayer and the Ten Commandments to be engraved on the east wall behind the altar in the church.

Geoffrey was educated at Liverpool College and lived in Windmill Lane from 1912 to 1914. I knew him in 1961 as a tall ,elderly (! ) gentleman who had the next garage to mine in Museum Street; he always wiped his Morris Minor down if it was wet before putting it in the garage.

I gathered some of this information from the internet and from David and Margaret Hart, and there are images there of some of their designs, including a house, High Cliffe, Appleton. Where was this very large property? Does anyone know ?

Roger H Bingham 

‘Mystery Worshipper’

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Back in the late 1970s, there was a quirky Christian magazine called Ship of Fools. It didn’t last long in print form but resurfaced as a website on April Fools’ day 1998. One of its regular features is a report from a ‘Mystery Worshipper’. Like the ‘mystery shoppers’ who go into department stores and report back on the service they experience, the Mystery Worshipper attends a church and writes about what they find. The Mystery Worshipper records everything from the welcome they got on arrival, the style of worship, and the length and quality of the sermon, to the coffee served afterwards.

It’s quite difficult to be a Mystery Worshipper when you’re wearing a clerical collar and there’s a seat at the front that’s reserved for you, but occasionally I get the opportunity to attend a service as a regular punter. We were able to do this after Easter, when we were on holiday in Australia. Now to be fair, when I’m on holiday, I don’t always go to church. Shocking, I know, but sometimes it’s nice to luxuriate on a Sunday morning with coffee and pastries. On this occasion, however, we managed to stir ourselves in time to catch the train into Melbourne city centre and arrive for the main morning service at St Paul’s Anglican Cathedral.

St Paul’s is the mother church of the Anglican Diocese of Melbourne and the Province of Victoria, and is the seat of the Archbishop of Melbourne, who is Primate of the Anglican Church in Australia. (Fun fact: the word cathedral comes from the Latin cathedra which means a ‘seat’. The cathedral is where the bishop’s seat is located, from which the bishop teaches and presides over the diocese.) From its service sheet, we learn that St Paul’s is “home for worshippers from more than two dozen nations” and is situated on the traditional lands of the Aboriginal Kulin nation. On the sheet and verbally in the service, respect was paid to “the traditional owners of the land”.

The service we attended was 10:30 AM Choral Eucharist. As we were there on the Sunday after Easter, the cathedral choir was on holiday. The music, however, was ably lead by the Cathedral Consort – which I guess is the ‘B Team’, but very good they were. The music ranged from a 16th century anthem by Orlandus Lassus, and pieces from Benjamin Britten’s Missa Brevis (1959) to hymns by Charles Wesley and John Bell, a good catholic mix.

The service was led by the Precentor, the Revd Canon Heather Patacca. The preacher should have been the Dean, the Very Revd Dr Andreas Loewe, but, we were told, he was off sick. Instead, we were to hear one of the assistant clergy, whose regular responsibility was for the 9:00 AM ‘Family Friendly’ Eucharist. I was looking forward to the sermon because I wanted to see how a ‘family friendly’ priest would address the Choral Eucharist congregation, but I was disappointed that, instead of speaking her own words, she simply read the text of the Dean’s prepared sermon. The sermon ended dryly with, “the Dean would like to invite you to consider…” In their defence, the Dean had prepared a series of addresses on the Gospel of John for Lent, Holy Week and Easter, and this was presumably a follow-up to that, as the gospel reading was from John (20:19-31 – Jesus’ resurrection appearances to the disciples and then to Thomas). In my humble opinion, a sermon is not a text that can be read, but something that happens when the preacher and the congregation work together, and, as they say in certain circles, “God shows up”. I’m happy to elaborate on this if requested!

When we turned to the Lord’s Prayer, we were each invited to say it in our own language. As we were in Australia, most of the worshippers spoke English, but the service sheet gave the opening words to the prayer in French, Spanish, German, and, what I later learned were Malay, Maori, Chinese and Japanese. This was an interesting expression of the cathedral’s emphasis on the diversity of its congregation. It was also good to share the Peace with those around us.

The invitation to communion was inclusive (“all baptised Christians”) and came with a word to the wise: “Please keep your valuables with you”.

I’m afraid we didn’t stay for coffee – or ‘Morning Tea’ as the Australians call it – not because we didn’t feel welcome, but because the sun was shining, and we wanted to be outside. We enjoyed brunch at a riverside café instead.

One of the things that caught my attention at the cathedral was their use of ‘Tap and Go’ technology: their collection plates are fitted with a device that reads credit cards and automatically takes a donation of $20, which, they say, is the average weekly contribution made by their worshippers. As well as on the collection plates, ‘Tap and Go’ devices were located in various places around the cathedral. It’s a thought! (But if we install those in our churches, what amount should they be set to ask for?)

In the Ship of Fools Mystery Worshipper reports, there are a few questions which must always be answered:

Which part of the service was like being in heaven?

For me, as so often, it was the music, particularly the Benjamin Britten and the anthem.

And which part was like being in… er… the other place?

Nothing really, although, as I said, listening to someone reading a sermon they haven’t written, doesn’t do a lot for me.

Did the service make you feel glad to be a Christian?

Yes, it was good to feel at home so far from our actual home.

What one thing will you remember about all this in seven days’ time?

Probably the ‘Tap and Go’ technology.

Alan Jewell