Déjà vu

Mary came up to me at the end of a service to ask “Why do we need to love ourselves?” Now there’s a loaded question, steeped in overtones of ‘I’m having difficulty loving myself’, so mentally I took a deep breath and then had a stab at answering her.

I began this blog in the exilic state, 4 years ago, of having been turned down for ordination by my bishop of the time. I have of late been re-visiting the issue, but yesterday my Diocesan Director of Ordinands (DDO) sat with me to impart the news that the decision still stands. No-one has been convinced of any reason to change it.

At the heart of the decision is the lack of conviction in others that I can … well … elucidate? (no) … describe? (sort of) … enunciate? (spit it out, man, spit it out!) … verbalize? (almost there: c’mon) … to whatever it is my call to ordained ministry. I am unable to explain persuasively to others what it is that I feel God is calling me to, and why. You see the problem.

I am reminded, though perhaps it is a false memory, that the protagonist in Douglas Adams’s book Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency is socially inept. When insulted by someone, he comes back with a cracking retort … about 4 hours later when tucked up in bed in his fleecy pyjamas. My memory of Douglas Adams’s art and literacy is perhaps flawed, but I am left with self-recognition of the character.

I am surrounded by loving support at this time, though that is a state I have enjoyed for a very long while. It therefore pains me to see how others are affected by my afflictions, among whom I include those who have had to rake up the past to consider how they arrived at the recommendation they did. They feel that all the evidence – or rather, the lack of it – shows that the system has worked well which has protected both someone who might be ordained, and a potential flock, from a wrong move.

In reporting to me how fully and sensitively the matter has been looked at, my DDO used the phrase ‘nebulous’ in relation to my efforts at describing my calling. It is a word I’m familiar with, being right in there in the Ed Psych’s report into my dyslexia. I have, I was told at that time, a somewhat nebulous problem with organization. That is, I find it difficult to martial ideas to a coherent argument or plan of action. I know and somehow instinctively understand more than I am able to say: so when asked something important, I incline to panic. How very frustrating, my Ed Psych told me, I must find it to have such an intellect and yet not be able to convey its machinations.

A ministry issue attaches to this problem. If I cannot describe why it is I feel that there is a tonsure-shaped hole in my ministry, a gap where a collar seems right, then how might I deal with matters of deep theological and practical pastoral concern raised by a parishioner?

Which brings me back to Mary and her softly put, slightly apprehensive, question: “Why do we need to love ourselves?” I find myself affirmed that people like Mary hear God speaking to them when I lead worship; glad that they find me approachable regarding their struggles; surprised that I can after all begin an ‘ad hoc’ dialogue on themes such as authentic love for others being present only when we can love ourselves; aware of the un-asked question that needs to be given time to emerge; and finally that I actually, substantially, care.

It is right that someone unable to articulate – thank you, Sara: that’s the word! – a sense of calling should be treated with caution when they persist in seeking ordination. I have, when all is said and done, struggled for many years with that very issue: why me, God? And thus we come to a rising tide of anger, no – frustration, within me which is fuelled not by the decision that I should not be ordained, but by my growing suspicion that perhaps the church – that is to say, people like Mary and I – has gaps in its ability to help ordinary people articulate their fears, faith, or feelings. It seems to me damningly to indict the system: a system that rightly strives to avoid ‘priming’ me with model answers to questions of discernment, but seems utterly unable to perceive that my real need is to be equipped to articulate those unspoken thoughts upon which ministry and other decisions might be based.

I have the feeling that Mary might benefit from joining the right sort of house or Lent group (she and I both). By the grace of God perhaps I may have a part in helping her to seek and acknowledge the forgiveness that seems thus far to have eluded her. But I find above all that I am deeply distressed that I have brought myself to be forbidden from entering into that sacramental ministry by which I might absolve her in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord and Saviour.

I stand at the foot of the cross. And I feel, God forgive me, the weight of a hammer in my hand. I have failed my Lord, yet still he loves me. His love endures for ever. If I can persuade you of nothing else, trust me in this.