Also called “door steward” in some Methodist churches, but I prefer “Welcomer” as it sounds like an alien. Remember that when an over-eager one, wanting to make you welcome because they have not seen you before, tells you “we’ve always keen to welcome fresh blood.” They probably just mean it’s nice to meet new people and maybe you’ll want to settle in this church.
But then – remember they’re called “Welcomers”. Maybe there’s another reason entirely. Maybe they really are Dr Who style aliens. Maybe they do feast on the blood of newcomers – bringing youth to their ageing bodies, incapable of regeneration in our nitrgen—rich Earth atmosphere. Maybe they landed from an exoplanet orbiting a nearby sun-like star.
Run! It’s your only chance! Run.
No, you’re right. They’re probably just being nice but clumsy.
But they're a guide to the church. A Welcomer who smiles, shakes your hand, asks your name (unless you're the vicar, in which case it's a bit weird) then leaves you to it is about right. One who points at the books and then ignores you might just be unlucky. One who tries to get your home address and three key skills that you could bring to the church may be a symptom of a church that is just perhaps a little too keen / desperate / trying to be welcoming.
But if you're welcomed by nobody and there's just a pile of church welcome leaflets and hymn books - you might want to try somewhere else. Or, of course, you might be the kind of introvert that knows this is just where you will fit in.
That's the great thing about being welcomed into church. Everybody's desired experience is different. Although none of us want to be welcomed by the Welcomers, eager for fresh blood.
Tuesday, 6 June 2017
Monday, 5 June 2017
Hymn for the passing of Peter Sallis (aka Norman Clegg aka Wallace in Wallace and Gromit)
Now all of the summer's gone
The golden ages of sit com
The smart bloke with the flat cap on
Has drunk his summer wine.
No bath tubs left to chase downhill
No Compo's socks to make him ill
No empty glasses to refill
With Tetleys not with wine.
The memories of the 70s here in my heart
Of Battys, Sid and Ivy's caff
They all had to part.
No pushy blokes with stupid plans
No rolling dales that pass with time
It's time to climb that angelic bike
And drink celestial wine.
Actually Turning up at Church
So you've found out where a church is, and when to go.
My advice to you is to arrive 3 minutes before the service’s advertised time. If you arrive earlier you may unexpectedly sit in somebody else’s place – often a seat that they will claim was in the family since 1831. If you are lucky in these circumstances, you will simply be informed that you are in a forbidden location. If you’re unlucky, the pew’s owner will sit behind you, glaring at the back of your neck. If, wondering why your neck feels so warm, you turn around – all you will see is a sweet old person listening intently to the sermon.
Another reason for not arriving early is that the Welcomer1 will talk to you. They may be nice – but you may also discover that they are more efficient at getting information out of you than the nice cop in a detective show. We’ll come back to Welcomers shortly. Though you might want to consider this previous description of what you might encounter.
If you turn up too late – ie after the time the service is meant to start – you’ll be forced to sit wherever you can find near the door. This will have its advantages – you can get back out again pretty quick. But is it worth it for the laser-like glares you will receive from the person in the congregation who has already put on their holy face once, and now will have to take it off again.
If you turn up half way through by mistake, your best bet is to pretend that you're Eastern Orthodox. Walk in confidently, ignore the entire congregation, light a candle, walk out - and never, ever return. If you come back at the right time next week, you'll be giving the game away.
[1] Welcomer – person who stands by the door to prevent people running in and stealing the hymn books. Will typically give you a hymn book, the new trendy hymn book that came out 20 years ago, a printed sheet with the hymn too new for the trendy hymn book, a service sheet, a notice sheet and – if you are new - the church magazine.
My advice to you is to arrive 3 minutes before the service’s advertised time. If you arrive earlier you may unexpectedly sit in somebody else’s place – often a seat that they will claim was in the family since 1831. If you are lucky in these circumstances, you will simply be informed that you are in a forbidden location. If you’re unlucky, the pew’s owner will sit behind you, glaring at the back of your neck. If, wondering why your neck feels so warm, you turn around – all you will see is a sweet old person listening intently to the sermon.
 |
| "Sit anywhere you like. Except Esme's pew, obviously......" |
Another reason for not arriving early is that the Welcomer1 will talk to you. They may be nice – but you may also discover that they are more efficient at getting information out of you than the nice cop in a detective show. We’ll come back to Welcomers shortly. Though you might want to consider this previous description of what you might encounter.
If you turn up too late – ie after the time the service is meant to start – you’ll be forced to sit wherever you can find near the door. This will have its advantages – you can get back out again pretty quick. But is it worth it for the laser-like glares you will receive from the person in the congregation who has already put on their holy face once, and now will have to take it off again.
If you turn up half way through by mistake, your best bet is to pretend that you're Eastern Orthodox. Walk in confidently, ignore the entire congregation, light a candle, walk out - and never, ever return. If you come back at the right time next week, you'll be giving the game away.
[1] Welcomer – person who stands by the door to prevent people running in and stealing the hymn books. Will typically give you a hymn book, the new trendy hymn book that came out 20 years ago, a printed sheet with the hymn too new for the trendy hymn book, a service sheet, a notice sheet and – if you are new - the church magazine.
Sunday, 4 June 2017
Simon Jenkins Talks Drivel
Dunno who Sir Simon Jenkins is but he's been talking drivel at the Hay on Wye festival.
Sir Simon compares the (relative) popularity of cathedrals with the (relative) decline of parish churches and suggests it's down to the old, meaningless distinction between religion and spirituality. Religion bad, old-fashioned, formal, structured. Spirituality free-flowing, hippy, believe what you like, go with the flow man (or, in these enlightened times, woman or other self-identification).
But. I may be missing something here. But. Cathedral evensong (for instance) is first and foremost a religious thing. There is a set format. There are collects, a creed, both the Mag and Nunc if you're really blessed. If there's sermon it's in the suggested place.
And the psalms, hymns, creed and readings are all, almost with exception, about God. This is a religious thing - and if it's also a spiritual one is down to the work of clergy, quire and laity (and lest we forget the Spirit) that makes it one.
It strikes me what Sir Simon is after is not spirituality - as he himself mentions in passing, it's anonymity. It's being able to dip into his own personal well of blessedness - constructed within the matrix of others' religion - and take what he wants without giving.
If that's what is making the cathedrals popular it probably also explains the financial straits some are in. Everybody wants nice experiences - spiritual or, as seems more likely, aesthetical. But not everybody wants to show the commitment to pay for it. Obviously I cannot speak of this particular noble knight, whose giving pattern - and indeed spirituality - I am not privileged to be aware of.
Spirituality or religion? Give me religion ever time. You know where you are and it keeps the roof on.
Sir Simon compares the (relative) popularity of cathedrals with the (relative) decline of parish churches and suggests it's down to the old, meaningless distinction between religion and spirituality. Religion bad, old-fashioned, formal, structured. Spirituality free-flowing, hippy, believe what you like, go with the flow man (or, in these enlightened times, woman or other self-identification).
But. I may be missing something here. But. Cathedral evensong (for instance) is first and foremost a religious thing. There is a set format. There are collects, a creed, both the Mag and Nunc if you're really blessed. If there's sermon it's in the suggested place.
And the psalms, hymns, creed and readings are all, almost with exception, about God. This is a religious thing - and if it's also a spiritual one is down to the work of clergy, quire and laity (and lest we forget the Spirit) that makes it one.
It strikes me what Sir Simon is after is not spirituality - as he himself mentions in passing, it's anonymity. It's being able to dip into his own personal well of blessedness - constructed within the matrix of others' religion - and take what he wants without giving.
If that's what is making the cathedrals popular it probably also explains the financial straits some are in. Everybody wants nice experiences - spiritual or, as seems more likely, aesthetical. But not everybody wants to show the commitment to pay for it. Obviously I cannot speak of this particular noble knight, whose giving pattern - and indeed spirituality - I am not privileged to be aware of.
Spirituality or religion? Give me religion ever time. You know where you are and it keeps the roof on.
Monthly Meat Raffle
Thanks to all who supported the "First Sunday" Fund-Raising Meat Raffle.
First prize was Chicken Thighs. Which I've always thought was a cruel nickname for Burton. But still, he's won some lamb chops. So that should cheer him up.
First prize was Chicken Thighs. Which I've always thought was a cruel nickname for Burton. But still, he's won some lamb chops. So that should cheer him up.
First Find Your Church - Knowing When to Turn Up
So you've found your church.
Now you need to turn up at the right time.
This can be trickier than it sounds. If you live in a large town then you should be all right. The service1 times should be pretty much the same every week and you can turn up, confident that something is likely to be happening. You may or may not like it – but it will at least be there when you expect. Also - some churches won't be Church of England. Which normally means things will be simpler than if the C of E gets involved.
In the countryside things are different. Most churches are C of E these days. And the days when every village had a vicar, and every church had a service every Sunday, are long gone. Nowadays it’s trickier. The vicar will have three, four or even up to eleven churches. And the times of the services will be randomly scattered across the month and across the villages.
The normal pattern will be for a church to have one or more services a month, normally at the same time on the same week of the month – so St Ethelbald’s on the Wold will have an 8am Communion every first Sunday, and a 10am “Family Eucharist” on the third Sunday. Meanwhile Holy Cross, Chipping Orton will have its 8am on the 2nd Sunday and an 11.15 on the 4th. The vicar in these circumstances is normally a shattered man or woman, tearing across the countryside to take 3 or 4 services every Sunday, with a phenomenal memory for names and faces. And terrified it might snow.
You may be thinking to yourself – are members of the Church of England the only people that are aware of what week of the month it is? And you may be reassured to know that the answer is “yes”. But even this odd realisation won’t help you with the wonder of what is called a “Fifth Sunday”.
Fifth Sundays of the Month arise every 3 months or so. In some special years you may even be able to fit five in – a nightmare to retail accountants, but they’re not really our problem here so let’s push on. On a Fifth Sunday (always capitalised), if you live in an area where a vicar has care of more than two churches, the people from all the parishes2 in the benefice3 will come together
Of course, nobody can be prescriptive with these things. You may instead find that the services are allotted randomly every month, or the vicar may have introduced an 8 week timetable, or some churches are so cold and so far from electricity that they’re closed from October to May. Or the plague may have struck. Or, if you're in Norfolk, they may have reverted to paganism and only hold services at the time of the full moon.
So - C of E or other, country or town - your best bet once you’ve found your church is to go to it and find the notice board. Quite often then are stuck up by the wall or the gate to the churchyard. Sometimes, they’re in the Church Porch, behind a locked gate. But sometimes they’re accessible, weather proof, and the rota hasn’t been hopelessly smeared to illegibility by the ingress of rainwater.
You may be best off bringing a friend who has a degree in quantum physics so they can interpret the complexities of the rota. But after ten or fifteen minutes of close examination, you should have worked out when the next service is and can plan your visit......
1 Service – a time set aside for worship. In principle it’s the “service” of the people in the church to God. Some vicars assume it’s them receiving the service of the church – or the church receiving the vicar’s service.
2 Parish – an area usually bigger than a street but smaller than a medium sized town, normally with its own church building, that would have its own vicar if any of the inhabitants went to church. Now often banged together into benefices.
3 Benefice – from the Latin for “a good work”. A bunch of churches banged together with vague reference to geography, to the point where there may be enough people to justify paying for a vicar.
Now you need to turn up at the right time.
This can be trickier than it sounds. If you live in a large town then you should be all right. The service1 times should be pretty much the same every week and you can turn up, confident that something is likely to be happening. You may or may not like it – but it will at least be there when you expect. Also - some churches won't be Church of England. Which normally means things will be simpler than if the C of E gets involved.
In the countryside things are different. Most churches are C of E these days. And the days when every village had a vicar, and every church had a service every Sunday, are long gone. Nowadays it’s trickier. The vicar will have three, four or even up to eleven churches. And the times of the services will be randomly scattered across the month and across the villages.
The normal pattern will be for a church to have one or more services a month, normally at the same time on the same week of the month – so St Ethelbald’s on the Wold will have an 8am Communion every first Sunday, and a 10am “Family Eucharist” on the third Sunday. Meanwhile Holy Cross, Chipping Orton will have its 8am on the 2nd Sunday and an 11.15 on the 4th. The vicar in these circumstances is normally a shattered man or woman, tearing across the countryside to take 3 or 4 services every Sunday, with a phenomenal memory for names and faces. And terrified it might snow.
 |
| Come back in March |
You may be thinking to yourself – are members of the Church of England the only people that are aware of what week of the month it is? And you may be reassured to know that the answer is “yes”. But even this odd realisation won’t help you with the wonder of what is called a “Fifth Sunday”.
Fifth Sundays of the Month arise every 3 months or so. In some special years you may even be able to fit five in – a nightmare to retail accountants, but they’re not really our problem here so let’s push on. On a Fifth Sunday (always capitalised), if you live in an area where a vicar has care of more than two churches, the people from all the parishes2 in the benefice3 will come together
Of course, nobody can be prescriptive with these things. You may instead find that the services are allotted randomly every month, or the vicar may have introduced an 8 week timetable, or some churches are so cold and so far from electricity that they’re closed from October to May. Or the plague may have struck. Or, if you're in Norfolk, they may have reverted to paganism and only hold services at the time of the full moon.
So - C of E or other, country or town - your best bet once you’ve found your church is to go to it and find the notice board. Quite often then are stuck up by the wall or the gate to the churchyard. Sometimes, they’re in the Church Porch, behind a locked gate. But sometimes they’re accessible, weather proof, and the rota hasn’t been hopelessly smeared to illegibility by the ingress of rainwater.
You may be best off bringing a friend who has a degree in quantum physics so they can interpret the complexities of the rota. But after ten or fifteen minutes of close examination, you should have worked out when the next service is and can plan your visit......
1 Service – a time set aside for worship. In principle it’s the “service” of the people in the church to God. Some vicars assume it’s them receiving the service of the church – or the church receiving the vicar’s service.
2 Parish – an area usually bigger than a street but smaller than a medium sized town, normally with its own church building, that would have its own vicar if any of the inhabitants went to church. Now often banged together into benefices.
3 Benefice – from the Latin for “a good work”. A bunch of churches banged together with vague reference to geography, to the point where there may be enough people to justify paying for a vicar.
Saturday, 3 June 2017
Service of Healing for Sergio Ramos
Archdruid: And as we pray for our brother Sergio that he recovers from that most hideous of injuries, and indeed half-expect that we may be needing a raising from the dead...
Sergio Ramos: I'm better now! Cheers!
All: It's a miracle!
Sergio Ramos: I'm better now! Cheers!
All: It's a miracle!
The Busiest Priest in Christendom?
Astounded by this announcement in the Church Times:
I knew the Church of England boasted that it had "a Christian presence in every community." I just didn't realise that the presence referred to was Revd Heather Butcher. Thank goodness Godwick is an abandoned village.
Somewhere the ghost of Betjemann considers writing a poem about the situation. And gives up, exhausted.
(h/t to this tweet:
)
BUTCHER. The Revd Heather Butcher, Priest-in-Charge of Litcham with Kempston, East and West Lexham, Mileham, Beeston-Next-Mileham, Stanfield, Tittleshall and Godwick, of Gressenhall with Longham with Wendling and Bittering Parva, of Great and Little Dunham and Great and Little Fransham, of Rougham and Weasenham in Wellingham, Rougham and Weasenham, Team Rector Designate in the proposed Launditch and Upper Nar Team Ministry, Bishop’s Adviser for Women’s Ministry, and Hon. Canon of Norwich Cathedral, now also Priest-in-Charge of Wellingham, in Wellingham, Rougham and Weasenham (Norwich).
I knew the Church of England boasted that it had "a Christian presence in every community." I just didn't realise that the presence referred to was Revd Heather Butcher. Thank goodness Godwick is an abandoned village.
Somewhere the ghost of Betjemann considers writing a poem about the situation. And gives up, exhausted.
(h/t to this tweet:
I don't know Revd Heather Butcher but do feel an overwhelming need to pray for her pic.twitter.com/byMAMzsA4m— Esther Elliott (@EstherElliott22) June 2, 2017
)
First Find Your Church
A little guide for somebody who might want to consider it....
Sounds simple, doesn’t it?
After all – what could be easier than finding a church. There’s one in every town – quite often more than one. Quite often they’ve got spires at one end, things that look like battlements or towers. Just to make them easy to find. Maybe even the word "Church" somewhere on a notice board outside.
Word of warning, though. Just because it meets some of these criteria doesn’t necessarily make it a church. You’d be surprised how many people have ended up accidentally going on a tour of Warwick castle under the impression it was a church. And that really big pointy building near the Thames in London called the Shard is an office block, not a church. Terrifying place. They had a fire alarm once and orcs came flooding out into the streets of Southwark.
And it's quite likely some of your friends actually go to church. Albeit they aren't necessarily likely to tell you that. Christians can be notoriously diffident about being in direct personal contact with the One that created the universe, and died and defeated death. And if you go up to each of your friends in turn saying "do you have a personal relationship with Jesus?" you'll be surprised how few friends you will eventually have. So basically - don't count on your friends to tell you where the church is.
So the best thing to do is look online. Some churches have websites – yeah. I know you thought that Jesus had probably banned them from using any modern technology, but we’ve used the printing press (with and without moveable type); the phone (always useful for letting the minister know you’re having existential doubts at 2am); and now even the Internet.
So first up – some warnings about the website. Sure, type your google search in – something like “Church Husborne Crawley” if you live in Husborne Crawley, that is. If you don’t you’d be better off typing something else. Ideally somewhere near where you live. And if you’re lucky and you have the sort of local church that does it properly, you’ll get a really good list of the services they were running last year, who the vicar1 was then, and the plans for Christmas two years ago. This won’t guarantee what they’re like now, but at least you’ll know they existed recently.
Then you'll know that it might be worth going. But that's another day's adventure...
1 Vicar – from the Latin for “a substitute” – strictly speaking meaning somebody who gets paid for looking after the parish instead of somebody else (the rector or the bishop or God or somebody. Don’t ask me. I don’t get it. It’s all lost in 17th Century English society. Don’t even get me started on rectors. Basically these days by “vicar” people mean anybody who wears a dog collar and appears vaguely plausible.
Sounds simple, doesn’t it?
After all – what could be easier than finding a church. There’s one in every town – quite often more than one. Quite often they’ve got spires at one end, things that look like battlements or towers. Just to make them easy to find. Maybe even the word "Church" somewhere on a notice board outside.
Word of warning, though. Just because it meets some of these criteria doesn’t necessarily make it a church. You’d be surprised how many people have ended up accidentally going on a tour of Warwick castle under the impression it was a church. And that really big pointy building near the Thames in London called the Shard is an office block, not a church. Terrifying place. They had a fire alarm once and orcs came flooding out into the streets of Southwark.
 |
| Easy to get confused |
And it's quite likely some of your friends actually go to church. Albeit they aren't necessarily likely to tell you that. Christians can be notoriously diffident about being in direct personal contact with the One that created the universe, and died and defeated death. And if you go up to each of your friends in turn saying "do you have a personal relationship with Jesus?" you'll be surprised how few friends you will eventually have. So basically - don't count on your friends to tell you where the church is.
So the best thing to do is look online. Some churches have websites – yeah. I know you thought that Jesus had probably banned them from using any modern technology, but we’ve used the printing press (with and without moveable type); the phone (always useful for letting the minister know you’re having existential doubts at 2am); and now even the Internet.
So first up – some warnings about the website. Sure, type your google search in – something like “Church Husborne Crawley” if you live in Husborne Crawley, that is. If you don’t you’d be better off typing something else. Ideally somewhere near where you live. And if you’re lucky and you have the sort of local church that does it properly, you’ll get a really good list of the services they were running last year, who the vicar1 was then, and the plans for Christmas two years ago. This won’t guarantee what they’re like now, but at least you’ll know they existed recently.
Then you'll know that it might be worth going. But that's another day's adventure...
1 Vicar – from the Latin for “a substitute” – strictly speaking meaning somebody who gets paid for looking after the parish instead of somebody else (the rector or the bishop or God or somebody. Don’t ask me. I don’t get it. It’s all lost in 17th Century English society. Don’t even get me started on rectors. Basically these days by “vicar” people mean anybody who wears a dog collar and appears vaguely plausible.
Friday, 2 June 2017
Nativity of Thomas Hardy (1840)
Yokel 1: I see it's Tommy Hardy's birthday.
Yokel 2: Dead and gone as we all shall be.
Yokel 1: I'll take the cake back then.
Yokel 2: Can you smell that air? Is that the sulphurous emissions of London, as it draws our native maids and youths into its evil dance?
Yokel 1: Nay, it's the smell of freedom. Donald Farfrae says he's pulling out of yon Paris Climate accord.
Yokel 2: Paris! That rookery of vanities.
Yokel 1: We'll burn some tyres before nammit tide I warrant it?
Yokel 2: Yea, let us down to the Silent Woman. She's heated by shale oil now.
Thursday, 1 June 2017
The Holy Blood
Been a bit low on blogging lately. In fact I've spent a few days in Brugge. Might as well make the most of Europe before we're all banned from it.
Odd little chapel in Brugge: the Basilica of the Holy Blood. Within that little chapel is a vial - a Byzantine perfume bottle containing a cloth stained, they say, with the blood of our Lord.
Though some say it came back from Jerusalem, the odds are on it having been "liberated" from the Sack of Constantinople. Before the Islamic conquest of that city, the Catholic Crusaders got there first.
The devout walk up to the altar in the side aisle, gaze upon the relic for a short time, cross themselves and leave.
I watched from afar. I can't believe it's really a genuine relic of Jesus too unlikely, too undocumented. So I wasn't going to cross myself before it. But I don't want to dismiss someone else's faith. And you never know... So I bowed to the altar and left.
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