• 5 things about exams that matter more than results

    Today is exam results day in Scotland. Lots of young people will be getting examination results that will make a significant difference to further study.

    Such public exam results carry with them a lot of stress.

    I’ve sat lots of exams in my life and I think it would be fair to say that I’ve had mixed results. Some have been hugely disappointing and others have been exactly what I hoped for.

    My most difficult exam results were my A levels which I got when I was 17.  Oh yes, I got a bunch of science A levels but they were not the grades I was hoping for and they meant that I couldn’t get into the university course that my heart was set on. I had to go somewhere else to get a Maths and Computing degree. At the time it seemed like the end of the world. Now, I’ve lost track of the number of people who have said to me, “wow, you got a degree in maths!”

    As it happens, I resat part of the middle year of that degree as I comprehensively failed some exams and had to take a year resitting. It also happens that I had rather an enjoyable time in the year I was failing exams and an even better time in the year that I eventually passed. And yes, thank you very much, I did get a maths degree. And though I don’t remember all that much of what I learned, I didn’t forget everything either.

    Anyway, thinking about the exam results this morning got me thinking about a few things that are more important than exam results.

    1 – I’m still in touch with friends that I sat all my exams with

    I’m glad I live in the first years of the social media revolution. It makes life completely different. It means that I’m in touch with people that I sat all my exams with. Indeed, when I think back to particular periods of my studying life I tend to think of those periods as much through the lens of the friendships that I made than the things that I was actually supposed to be learning.

    Friendships matter more than exam results. Some people find it difficult to make friends. Like passing exams, it is a knack that can be learned. However, I’d say that studying together with other people is one of the best ways of making friendships that last a long time. Many friendships made during study last longer than romantic entanglements. Go figure.

    2 – I’ve forgotten most of what I studied for

    I think it probably is the case that I’ve forgotten most of the things that I studied in order to pass examinations. I don’t think that this means that those exams were worthless – not at all. I think that eventually I learned that passing exams is about learning how to learn. I rather wish some of my teachers had been better at communicating this to me but there you go, I figured it out in the end. I struggle to conjugate French verbs and I can barely read the Hebrew characters that I once learned in order to read the book of Genesis in the original. I know I wouldn’t get very far with a calculus paper and I get frustrated that I can’t remember what I once thought I’d learned about databases. However, that’s not the point. I’ve learned how to learn and I know that I can acquire new skills when I need to. Indeed, one of the things I decided to do today was spend some time at home learning how to use a particular computer graphics package that’s going to set me free to do all kinds of tricks at work. I’ve learned how to learn and that’s more important than any number of the certificates that I have. Indeed, I go on learning with rapacious intent.

    3 – I can remember more of what I studied for than I expect

    When push comes to shove, as it does in life sooner or later, I find that I can actually remember all kinds of things that I thought I had forgotten. I may not be able to remember my Hebrew but if someone asks me why we pause in the middle of the psalm verses in morning prayer I’m straight off to dig out my Hebrew bible to show them. I can’t remember my French verbs but when life puts you on a sinking yacht in a canal in France and you have to call out les pompiers in french on a dodgy mobile phone, suddenly you find you can remember far more than you expect. (And you learn even more vocabulary on the way – I’ll never to my dying day forget that la grue means the crane). I don’t think I’d enjoy taking a driving test again but I get myself around without bumping into things rather efficiently. I’ll probably never sit any more music exams but they gave me enough to enjoy sitting at the piano and to my astonishment I find that I’ve become an opera critic whom some folk seem to listen to. I regret not taking more courses in English literature but I had an English teacher who gave me a love of the stage which has never done away and which has given me more delight than anyone else ever has. (And bless him, he’ll probably never know that was the gift he gave me).

    4 – You can almost always resit and you can always revise your plans

    So, I got disappointing A levels, I failed a year at college, I failed a driving test and when I tried the first time, the church comprehensively said I had no vocation to be a priest. In the end, none of these things defined my life. I’ve learned that you can almost always resit exams and you can always revise your plans. Things can still work out even if you get a disappointing result. Indeed, the truth is, you are going to have disappointments in life. Exams can teach you how to deal with them. Sometimes you don’t get what you want but so what? Being able to adapt and change your plans is a greater life skill than passing exams in the first place. Exam results sometimes feel like the end of the world. They never are. The trick is not to be defined by the things you have not succeeded at. An exam result is only a snapshot of how you were doing at one particular part of life. It isn’t life itself.

    5 – I’m glad I sat the exams I did, even the ones I failed

    It takes time to learn to be thankful for disappointment. Indeed, there’s no real point talking about it with someone who is in the first phase of coming to terms with it. However, the truth is, there are silver linings in many a cloud. The trouble is, it takes time and wisdom to be able to see them. Don’t ask what you learned in order to pass an exam – ask what you learned by getting the result you got. Don’t ask why you can’t do what you hoped to do, ask what you hope to do now.

    One of the things that I’ve been getting people at St Mary’s to work towards in the next few months is a new course for people to think about their own gifts and skills. I have a hunch that people are far too much defined by the exam results and certificates that they have got when in fact they have surprisingly diverse gifts which are incapable of being examined in traditional ways which add up to all kinds of inner calls.

    My congratulations go to all those rejoicing today. My commiserations to those who didn’t get what they wanted. It’s miserable. I know it is miserable but I also know it isn’t the thing that needs to define who you are.

     

24 responses to “Good Vicar, Bad Vicar”

  1. Josh Avatar

    Being a good vicar to stony, unreceptive hearts might require a pickaxe to reveal gemstones within. It must be tough to minister to jerks and meanies, no? We lose faith in people easily – I certainly do. But a good vicar – a loving parent – doesn’t give on up one’s children.

    A good vicar might depend on the eye of the beholder. Whether you believe vicars and congregations are intrinsically good or evil might get you called a Pelagian or an Augustinian depending on who you ask. Faith in the work of a vicar or the reception of the congregation depends on good faith and co-operation – what then do we place our faith in? Hardly Protestant thinking, when faith is dependent on work, manifestation, and epiphany. A bad vicar might be sent to good people. A good vicar might be sent to bad people. Whether a vicar or congregation is subjectively or objectively good is a difficult question to answer.

    It is then that I prefer to see both the vicar and congregation not as “good” or “bad” but rather as equally “beloved”. However large the congregation, or even the vicar’s skill shouldn’t matter then. But that raises the question: Who then do we love if we are so beloved by God? Perhaps love might be the answer. A vicar and congregation who sees and knows themselves as equally and lavishly beloved of God will love each other. Love makes congregations meaningful and precious, no matter how small they might be.

  2. Josh Avatar

    And if I might add to my previous comment – And love also makes vicars meaningful and precious, no matter how small the congregation might be.

  3. Rosemary Hannah Avatar
    Rosemary Hannah

    Yes – things which make the practicalities of small congregations include:
    the laity in most senior positions find it hard to see the inclusive love of God and to see the value of prayer and spiritual exercises, a shortage of laity with administrative abilities, a tiny handful of parishioners prepared to insist on unhelpful things all the time (the oldest liturgies every week, the kind of behaviour small children cannot sustain all service long, particular dress in those at church on Sunday to name but a tiny selection). In a larger church these things can be contained (one nasty comment for lady x outweighed by five or six lovely ones or simply finding somebody to be treasurer who can cope with the job). In a small church, however good the vicar, the nasty comment carries more weight, and the sorting out of the finances may take days of clergy effort. It is always hard to get from a tiny congregation to a large one.

    That said, I have sat through sermons so mind-numbingly boring and inappropriate that I have actually moved to another church.

  4. Paul Waddington Avatar
    Paul Waddington

    If one looks at the larger picture, the Archbishop’s optimism seems misplaced.

    According to the 1851 census, about five million people attended a Church of England service on the census day (a Sunday). The population of England and Wales at the time was about 17 million. These are round figures and I know that there were difficulties with the religious census, but they are good enough to demonstrate my point. Roughly speaking, about 30% of the population attended a CofE that Sunday.

    Recently published figures estimate average Sunday attendance at CofE churches at about 900,000. That is about 2% of the population of England. Wales is now excluded.

    So taking the long view, the trend is rather depressing for the CofE. Compared with 1851, fourteen out of fifteen no longer attend church regularly.

    As an aside, the 1851 census indicated a church attendance for Catholics of about 350,000. That is about 2% of the population. I understand that the current figure is very similar for Mass attendance is also around 900,000 or 2% of the population.

    Other recent research has indicated that the age range of CofE congregations is skewed towards the upper end. Certainly in my local parish, it is unusual to see anyone under the age of 60. I do wonder how many there will be in, say, 15 years time.

    1. Kelvin Avatar

      Thanks Paul – I find that bishops generally tend to accentuate the positive when it comes to thinking about numbers in church. Whether that is because they only go to events that are comparatively well attended or whether it is actually because it is their job to be upbeat about possibilities is not clear to me.

  5. Pam Avatar
    Pam

    It is complicated – ‘good’ and ‘bad’ – poor adjectives. The rector is the leader of the congregation and needs support and trust. But, I think, no longer is the vicar held in such esteem as not to have to earn that support and trust. A good thing, mostly. Churches grow for all sorts of reasons – the level of involvement with non-believers, a prominent noticeboard and outstanding bikke and slice-makers all help.

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