The clue's at the top of the page.
No, not Fawley church in particular. But you think about it. On the carefully-reasoned application of Scripture, after much consideration of Tradition, after seeking into his inmost soul and calling on the Help of the Helper, a priest decides it is time to go to Rome. A number of his flock decide to go with him. But turning round, he discovers that a number of people - as opposed to Gay/Female/Protestant Priests/Bishops as he, as completely in touch with Modern Catholic Thinking, as dedicated to a Y-Chromosomal monopoly on all things ecclesiastical - have stayed exactly where they were. They say it's a shame that he's gone, they respect his decision. But behind it all, there's just a sneaking suspicion that they wonder how he could leave the 13th Century rib vaulting behind.
Or a new priest arrives in the village. S/he is vivid, dynamic, progressive and in touch with the best theological and liturgical developments. Naturally, everybody in the parish is mortified. As Messy Churches, Electric Keyboards, drum-kits and Alpha Courses - or, alternatively, aves, rosaries and rose chasubles on Mothering Sunday - appear, the congregation are outraged. This is a New Thing to be resisted at all costs. Of course, they might fight and lose. And then, they're not going to walk out, are they? For the nearest church which is not led by this minister is 6 miles away. And it's hilly. And with all this climate change, it keeps snowing. And though there's a Methodist chapel nearby, frankly it's red-brick. And so any outraged walker-outer thinks, yeah, but in ten years' time, the minister will be gone. But the foliate heads and carved pew-ends will still be here.
You've got to know where your certainties lie.