the Parish of St thomas' Brampton, Chesterfield

St Thomas' Brampton and St Peter's Holymoorside, Chesterfield

Rector's Letter February 1980-January 1981

Our vision statement: Sharing the love of Jesus

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The first Rector's Letter was published in the June/July 1980 edition

From 1982 it appeared in each edition of the Church Magazine

June/July 1980

December 1980/January1981

February/March 1980

No 'Rector'Letter' in this edition'

April/May 1980

No 'Rector'Letter' in this edition'

June/July 1980

The Day I Turned my Collar Round

Trinity Sunday, the third of June, 1949, was an important day in my life. I awoke early in my room at Ranmoor Range then the residence of the Bishop of Sheffield, where I had spent the previous three days in 'retreat' - that judicious mixture of sermons, silence and services which is considered essential treatment for every candidate if he is to relish the full flavour of the ordination ceremony. I put-on my clothes quickly as on any other day, until the significance of one garment hit me like a bullet

I had never worn a 'dog-collar' before (Methodist ordinands sometimes wear them before ordination, but Anglicans don't) and the thought of putting one on sent me into an inner panic. It's an odd thing that the clerical collar is not, and never has been, part of the official dress of the clergyman; yet it's the one thing that marks him out most clearly in the eye of the public - how would the humourists manage without it? Malcolm Muggeridge has said it plainly: the Vicar today is a figure of fun. Here was I about to offer myself as free subject matter for the Englishman's Own Belly-laugh Book.

I quickly recovered from the panic and was duly ordained deacon that morning in Sheffield Cathedral to begin my Ministry at Fulwood under the guidance of a wonderfully understanding Vicar, Laurie Sheath. I must have been more of a liability than an asset. My theology was crude and my personal style gauche. - I must have done a lot of damage.

Yet there is no doubt that God used me in some ways. Visiting the hospitals - Fulwood Annexe with its skin grafts and psychiatric patients; Lodge Moor with it Polio victims (at least one man whom I visited is still there in his iron lung 30 years later); the TB terminal cases in Crimicar Lane sanatorium; working among the children and the young people (one of whom was working steadily on me, though I knew it not); preaching in church and visiting the people.

In all these things I perceived and wondered at this surprising truth, that God is able to use the oddest people, sometimes to great effect. Within this area of life where people were aware of the ultimate things I was not a figure of fun (even if the youth fellowship did provide me with a teasing nickname) but someone who was needed - and loved.

Today, thirty one years later, the paradox remains. The parson is an oddity, regarded by many as an anachronism; yet at the same time he is urgently needed. Many people in this country find the clergyman something of an embarassment. The Englishman, having abandoned the practice of his Christian religion, now doesn't know where he is; and to cope with his insecurity he finds it necessary to ridicule religious symbols - not only Christian ones, like the Vicar (have you noticed how the Vicar in a TV play has to he represented as an oaf?), but any religious symbols. A particularly sick example of this phenomenon was seen recently in the T.V. coverage of the siege of the Iranian Embassy, when English counter-demonstrators, psychologically threatened by the sight of people who believed in their religion deeply enough to practice it publicly were reduced to performing a parody of the Muslims at prayer.

Yes, the parson is dismissed as an irrelevance, a figure of fun; yet at the same time he is needed desperately. Over the last 30 years many of the tasks done by the Church have been taken over by the State. For example, in 1949 the Church was virtually the only agency engaged in youth work on a voluntary, and sometimes very amateurish, basis. Now it is expected that the state should take responsibility for every aspect of the communitys social needs.

It might be thought that the comprehensive welfare services would have taken away the social role of the clergyman. Nothing could be further from the truth. The deep needs of human beings cannot be scrutinized, classified as cases and allocated to a social worker. There is no substitute for the love-encounter. At this level the Christian -not only the clergyman, but the layperson too -has a unique contribution to offer.

From the June 1980 edition of the magazine

August/September 1980

No 'Rector'Letter' in this edition'

October1980/November1980

No 'Rector's Letter' in this edition

December 1980/January 1981

The door-bell rang - at an inconvenient time, as usual: but that is an occupational hazard for the clergyman, who has to school himself to accept such interruptions and to regard them as a God-given opportunity. The 'Good Samaritan' must have found that unscheduled delay on the Jericho road highly inconvenient; but his initial irritation was quickly overcome by his love for the injured man, and he was able to act constructively - to the benefit not only of the victim, but also of all who have heard and heeded Jesus' best-known story. But I digress: I opened the door and waiting on the doorstep were a man and a woman. Did I know, they asked, about any Brampton pottery monuments in the churchyard? Hadn't there been some pictures of them in the papers? Could I show them where they were?

I hope that it is no disrespect to the enquirers (who were, no doubt, honest people) to say that I was immediately put on my guard. Every alarm bell in me started to ring.

Those pottery monuments, made in the 19th century with loving care by the poor potter who could not afford the cost of a headstone for his dead child, could be regarded as interesting collectors' items; and since they are easily removed it is almost a forgone conclusion that sooner or later they will be stolen. Long before this time I had resolved to remove these items to a place of safety. Now I was cursing myself for not' having done so. I made a mental note to make a check that very day.

That afternoon I went to the place where I knew there was a pottery monument and what I saw made me angry. The piece was still there. Smashed to bits. It had been stood on a kerbstone and used as a coconut shy. In fantasy, I saw myself catching the vandals, thinking of a suitable punishment to fit the crime. I thought of those irresponsible hooligans who had thrown stones through the church windows, with incredible danger to anybody who might have been inside, and I fumed. I thought about the distraught girl whose father had been killed and who wanted to get into the church to pray but could not because it is kept locked as a result of past vandalism.

My anger seethed against these people who appreciate no beauty, who respect of property which is not theirs, whose only pleasure is destruction, Even the stained - glass east windows of the church have not escaped their attention. Whether through deliberate intention coupled with accurate shooting, or by an ironic accident, their missile could not have struck at a more significant point. It went straight through the heart of Jesus.

The heart of Jesus. That made me think. For these people are indeed near to his heart, and the Christian must be one who feels towards them as he does. It's amazing what a difference it makes to start to look at people with the eyes of Jesus. As my anger dissolved, I began to see not a pack of delinquents but a group of ordinary, fun-loving youngsters (the probability is that they are young) who had time on their hands but nothing absorbing to do, and had got up to mischief as any lively children can. Perhaps their homes were not all that could be desired and the parents had little sense of responsibility and were content enough if the youngsters were out of the way.

Jesus cared for people, and was content to suffer for doing so. The church must care - and must not expect to escape the cost. If there are youngsters whole lives are empty, this is our concern; if there are homes where the climate of love or the framework of discipline are lacking, so that the children lack the sense of security they need, this too is our care; if there are people in distress who need the church building, this is our care, and the building should be available for them. And if through being available, the building suffers damage, then that is the cost of caring.

Church authorities have a responsibility for the safety of their buildings; and they are advised by the police and by insurance companies to keep churches locked when not in general use. But a locked church really represents a Christian community that is reluctant to accept the cost of caring and has taken the easy way out. Let us get our values right. To lock out the parishioners for whose welfare the church exists is surely too high a price to pay for security.

A final thought: Perhaps we should leave unrepaired that east window as a sermon in glass - the figure of Jesus, with his broken heart.

Gill and I wish all readers every joy at Christmas and much blessing in the New Year.

Vyvyan Watts-Jones

From the December 1980 edition of the magazine

Rector's Letters 1981