Tuesday, 21 February 2012

Accountability


When I was first starting parish placements through my seminary training, a hot topic was on the table across the diocese in which I was serving:  clergy evaluations.  The bishop had appointed a task force to create a model and a standard that could be used regularly, in every congregation, in order to constructively and formally offer feedback to the ordained leadership.  The bishop assured the priests, in one of many stump speeches, that this would also allow the clergy the means of formal, constructive and regular forum in which to reflect on their experience of their congregation.

There was much resistance to the bishop’s idea.  The mere suggestion of evaluation created a great deal of anxiety among the professional clerical ranks.  I get it.  Now that I’m ordained, I get it.  It is too easy to feel too vulnerable too much of the time, to feel as if your every move, every word, is under scrutiny anyway.  Congregations can be combative and unfair with their ordained leadership.  Clergy evaluations were widely seen as giving permission, breathing room, to this sort of nitpicking.

I get it.  And yet, I count myself lucky to now be serving in a congregation that does have a history and a process of evaluation in place.  A small committee is available to both the clergy and the congregation as a communication go-between of any concerns or complaints, on anybody’s part.  The committee is charged with the task of providing an annual evaluation time in which feedback is offered to, and received from, the ministry team.  It turns out that the bishop’s stump speech arguments are true:  done right, regular evaluation provides a sense of support, accountability, and relationship.  It connects the dots between all of the material, ideas, stories, and projects we are continually throwing out there, and the people with whom we are serving.  It gives us an opportunity to reflect, as well as to be heard, to be heard with honesty and in a place of safety. 

Where are these committees and communication tools for our bishops?  In all of that long-ago bishop’s carefully-metered, and ultimately ignored, PR material, there was never a word said about episcopal oversight or accountability.

As a lowly priest who has lived and worked in three different dioceses and heard stories of countless more, I feel the effects of this omission constantly.  Twice I have been in transition at the same time in which there has been transition within the bishop’s office, and both times, decisions were made by a man just trying to get his feet under him in a totally new position and vocation which were short-sighted, which were a denial of the episcopal office as providing pastoral care to the pastors.  These decisions changed the course of my life both times. And as I have been in more stable and settled times of my life, I have been one of hundreds of clergy who have experienced the following, unfortunately-common, occurrences we have with our bishops:
            -phone calls not returned
            -letters not answered
            -pastoral care not extended, or not at a level which meets even the most basic
standards to which we are ourselves are held.
-decisions made and imposed without a clear sense of where or why they are
happening.
            -blatant favouritism, sexism, and ageism at play
            -language and policy which indicates very clearly that the episcopal leadership is
operating out of fear and a need for survival, rather than out of Gospel principles.
            -language and policy which continually makes the mistake of creating a system
where the parish supports the episcopacy, a denial and confusion of the true
episcopal vocation of service in support of the parishes.
-our bishops playing right into the hands of those most willing to ‘suck up’, who
exemplify the insecurity and fear which drives individuals to mis-use and mis-
understand their power, who make decisions according to power-plays and
popularity-grabs.   

I have been on the receiving end of a bishop’s office upholding the breaking of basic human rights violations in the workplace.  Most recently, I have been forced, along with an entire diocese, to participate in a fundraising campaign which not just falls short of, but actually stands in opposition to, every thing we seek to teach our congregations about the principles of Christian stewardship.  I know what it is to rail maddeningly under a system that professes to stand with the marginalized, that understands part of its job to be a voice for the voiceless, and yet leaves its parish leadership dis-empowered and without options.

We continue to serve under this appalling model of leadership, we don’t quit, we don’t file law suits, we shut up and put up, because we have no choice, no voice.  We are powerless.  Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.  If I truly believe myself called to parish ministry as an ordained leader, I don’t question, I certainly don’t seriously or legally question, or else I will be black-balled out of a vocation. 

Interestingly, I can see any of these bishops with whom I have had problems, or whose decisions I have questioned, I can shake their hands, look them in the eye.  I feel predominantly friendly toward these people. Or at least sympathetic.  I know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of leadership without accountability.  But I also know that we do no favour to the leadership by cutting them loose from responsible, safe, regular and honest critique. 

Our diocesan newspapers are without editorial freedom.  Our priests are silenced, dis-empowered, voiceless.  Our lay people feel primarily dis-connected from their bishops, and most of our long-time Anglicans who have operated in parish leadership will share stories of actually being punished by bishops, bishops playing fast and loose with discernment in order to pair up ‘problematic priests’ with ‘problematic parishes.’  In truth, part of what makes our bishops’ jobs so difficult is that they are surrounded by negativity, they live in a bubble of critique, but of a muttering, nebulous, cloudy sort.  Angry and unhappy comments make their way through the bubble continually, but without any evaluative structure which can actually make critique helpful, conversational, fair.  In the meantime, our bishops bear the weight of the church’s collective anxiety, they see the big picture, and that picture is full of uncertainty and challenge.  Cut off, power and fear are a potent mix.  No wonder that our bishops, when noting the challenges of their vocation, mostly do so in a complaining tone, describe lack of sleep and constant worry as the basic assumptions of the job.  The system as it is effectively removes them from any of the real and honest interaction which keeps each of us grounded, denies them those time-tested-true methods of professional evaluation which allow us to know where it is we stand, to express ourselves in response, and to open ourselves to grow and change within our working life.

Evaluation is not just sound professional practice, it is Christian practice.  It is about keeping the avenues of communication open which foster true and mutual and honest relationship.  It is about taking seriously our responsibility to each other.  It is about diffusing fear, anxiety and negativity and committing ourselves to God’s promise that these powers do not win the day.  It is about investing ourselves in the possibility of transformation:  that we have not been created to stay static, that God is on the move, that we’re invited for the ride, that somehow in those relationships to which God has invited us we can find the grace to challenge and support – and therefore learn from – one another.

Contributed by MS

Tuesday, 7 February 2012

Conscience drain

We are familiar with the idea of a brain drain.  This is what happens when nations without sufficient opportunity to offer to skilled workers lose them to countries that can offer something better.  I worry that another kind of drain is occurring in my denomination - a conscience drain.

This sense I have of being one of the last few believers of conscience remaining - while all around people are either running away or spiraling rapidly and willfully away from God - is not unprecedented.  The prophet Elijah pleaded with God saying, "Lord, they have killed your prophets, they have demolished your altars; I alone am left, and they are seeking my life."  You can feel his despair.

The clergy who are still standing within this institution, facing modern attacks upon orthodoxy, are tempted with this same despair.  I alone am left and they are seeking my life.  But God says, "I have kept for myself 7,000 who have not bowed the knee to Baal."  And St. Paul, in his letter to the Romans, extrapolates on this saying, "So too at the present time there is a remnant, chosen by grace."

There is always a remnant, though we may feel alone.  There are women and men standing for conscience, although there are many who have chosen to leave rather than face the heartbreaking work of trying to call a wayward denomination back to orthodoxy.

Jonathan Chaplin, in a thought-provoking article writes that those who are poised to exit institutional churches "should exploit every opportunity to transform existing defective denominational practices from within before launching out on a course that, however successful and intoxicating it is in the short run, may just result in yet another deficient denominational structure."  This can be applied more broadly.  If we are not prepared to stand and fight on this turf that we know so well, what will we do when the same challenges rear their heads in the churches we are fleeing to?

I'm not slamming those who believe that in good conscience they cannot stay.  They must obey conscience - as Martin Luther said, "to go against conscience is neither right nor safe."  But I pray that those still considering options will come to recognize that there is much here worth fighting for, that there are others still fighting as well, and that God, in his abundant grace, has not abandoned us yet.

Contributed by Casey Ann

Yaaawwwwnnn..... I believe in one God!

Do you often find yourself yawning uncontrollably in church?  Do you ever find yourself, during the Creed, pondering things like why hot dogs come in packages of ten, while hot dog buns come in packages of eight?  Do you even know what the Creed is?
Don’t be shy!  You're not alone if, on a Sunday morning, you suddenly realize during the prayers of the people that you’re thinking about searching the internet for tips on how to get the mildew smell out of your dishcloths, rather than focusing on who or what we’re praying about!
My point is that honesty in worship is an important thing, but not in the way you might think.  If the contents of your mind during church were suddenly to be flashed on a screen in front of the congregation, no one, not even God, is going to point at you and yell “Busted!”  God meets us where we’re at.  Our hearts and minds, whether engaged in worship or not, are the places He seeks to dwell in, and to make holy.  Not pious, but holy.  Nothing, least of all sin, deters God from seeking us.
Surely, there are always things in our minds and hearts that we need to offer up to God’s healing love for that transformation which can only happen through Him.  This applies to all of us. Growing in faith means becoming intimately acquainted with the things that tempt us to believe that the love of God is not as interesting or as purposeful as money, success, acclaim, physical attractiveness, lust, our own pain – you name it.  It means releasing these binding preoccupations into God’s hands so that He can heal us.
But just plain boredom?  What do we do with that?
If you are someone who struggles with boredom in church, here’s something to ponder. Worship, at its best, creates a space for people to enter in to God's presence.  And it enables us to open our hearts and allow God's presence to enter in to us as well.  The Church's liturgy is meant to be a dialogue between a people who yearn for wholeness and holiness, and a God who passionately seeks to make us whole and holy: so much so that He comes to us in word, in Spirit, in bread and wine, in forgiveness, and in one another – as imperfect as we all are.
What do you think needs to change for you, to encounter and speak with that God?
Contributed by Madeleine

Monday, 6 February 2012

Make a joyful noise

I really don’t like it when my senior colleague goes on holiday and I have to do (almost) all his work!  (I get very tired!)  However, one good thing about it is that it’s sometimes kind of neat when I get to do his job.  For example, one thing I’ve had the chance to do more in the past few weeks is to pray with the choir before the liturgy.  (Usually I’m with the clergy and altar servers who have a separate prayer of preparation in the vestry.)

It’s not as if I’d want to do it often, because I’m one of those people who, if I have to get up in front of a bunch of people and say something extemporaneously, suddenly finds all my brain cells jump up and run screaming out the emergency exit door.  So, usually I fall back on using a heartfelt prayer from the Prayer Book.  However, after praying this prayer with the choir in the morning, I didn’t feel as though I could repeat it with them in the evening!  So, very quickly, I asked the Lord what He wanted to give them for this service, and what came to me was, “Gracious God, we ask You for your assistance: help us do a good job, enjoy ourselves, and thereby glorify your Name!”  The whole choir finished the prayer for me by spontaneously shouting, “Amen!”

So that set me thinking.  One of the things I love most about evensong is that, because of where I’m sitting (near the choir instead of beside or at the altar) and what I’m doing (very little), I have the blessing of being able to watch a beautiful group of people putting all of themselves into something they love doing, which God has made them for.  Even their body language as they sing shows how much they are absorbed by, and give themselves wholly to, their art.  This week the evening repertoire was breathtakingly beautiful – delicately meditative, deeply moving, and joyfully exuberant by turns.  As I listened and worshipped, I felt so thankful for our choir director who is not only the best at what she does, but is also able, just as importantly, to create community among this band of gifted young musicians – something which, I believe, enables them to “give everything they’ve got” in this way.

How important this is in our worship, that God uses our choir’s wholehearted willingness to give of themselves and their gifts as a kind of chalice which holds or “contains” the offering of worship we all lift up together to the Lord.  Some years ago we had a music director who, when I watched him conduct, vividly reminded me of a priest at the altar.  When he conducted, he looked like he was offering something up to the Lord.  He put his whole heart and soul and body into that work – so much so, that he’d perspire bullets!  I used to say to a friend of his, “I love him because he will sweat for Jesus!”

Maybe in future I could adapt the traditional Latin prayer of offering for the chalice, Offerimus tibi Domine, and pray for our choir: “We offer unto Thee, O Lord, the chalice of our worship, beseeching thy goodness that, in the sight of thy divine majesty, for the glory of thy Name, it may ascend as a sweet odour before Thee.”

Thanks be to God for a joyful noise!

This is my body

The other week I had the opportunity to see the new film “The Flowers of War”, set during the Nanjing Massacre, the Japanese invasion of the then-capital of China in the winter of 1937-38.  Somewhere between 200,000 and 300,000 non-combatants were brutally murdered, and between 20,000 and 80,000 people, including children and the elderly, were raped and horrifically mutilated.  (It is difficult to get an accurate estimate of the death toll because burial records were kept for only half (155,000) of the total casualties.  However, eyewitnesses have testified to and photographed evidence of the rape and murder of entire households – parents, grandparents, children and infants; the mass burial of 12,000 to 20,000 civilians in a ditch 300m long and 5m wide; and the dumping of corpses all around the city, including at least 57,000 bodies thrown into the Yangtze River.)

While the Westerners who remained in Nanjing did their best to feed and shelter thousands of refugees in spaces designed for only hundreds, large groups of women were constantly being removed from these safety zones to be raped to death by the occupying soldiers.  One of the American missionaries working in the city was so driven to despair by her inability to protect the women she sought to help that she took her own life.

The film, though it kept the graphic element to a minimum, was devastating to watch.  I saw it on a Saturday and it placed a great burden on my heart, a burden which I carried to the altar first thing in the morning on Sunday.  As I said the words of consecration, “This is my body”, I was reminded of the beautiful essay by Fr Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, SJ called “The Mass on the World” (1923), in which he writes that the Eucharist reveals that God pronounces over all humanity the words, “This is my body,” and over all the suffering of humanity, “This is my blood.”  In the Eucharist, God speaks resurrection into our death, just as Jesus did when He descended into hell.  The cross is “big” enough to contain all the suffering of the world, powerful enough to overcome all death.

Something which had been wounded in my heart was healed when the Lord showed me this truth.  The single chalice I held in my hands as I said the words “This is my blood” was “big” enough to contain all the blood spilled in every massacre through all of human history.

This past Sunday I came to the altar again with a heavy heart, this time burdened by the realization of my own sinfulness and brokenness.  Again, God showed me that the cup of Christ’s sacrifice is “big” enough -- I didn’t need to despair about my manifold sins and wickedness!  Well, I was so overwhelmed with gratitude for the gift of mercy and new life that is given to us in Christ’s blood that I wanted to plunge my entire being into it!  In a sense, that is what we are all called to do.  It is the immensity of what we have been given that leads our hearts to love.