• Going out and coming in

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    This week I’ll have been at St Mary’s for nine years. It is the anniversary of my installation on Sunday. And this year I’ve decided to give myself an anniversary treat.

    When I came to St Mary’s there was much to try to understand and much to take in. Just trying to get your head around how things work in a new congregation is always tricky. Every place does things almost the same. But almost the same means that every place does things differently. Slightly differently – and that’s much more difficult to cope with than learning something completely new.

    One particular conundrum presented itself to me on my first Sunday. How did we get in? Did the clergy and choir go in singing a hymn and then turn and greet the people or did we process in, turn, greet and sing a hymn?

    Trying to learn from those who ought to know, I took a couple of people aside and asked them. Their responses were enlightening.

    Person number one told me very assuredly that the choir and clergy processed in singing and then greeted the people.

    Person number two told me just as assuredly that the choir and clergy processed in, greeted the people and then we sang the hymn.

    This was less than helpful. As the days counted down towards my first Sunday I needed to know.

    The only thing I could do was ask another person and take their answer as the tiebreaker. And so I did.

    “Oh, Provost, we do whatever the Provost would like us to do,” was the answer.

    It was a slightly disturbing answer because one of the things that I knew I needed to be here was to be someone who didn’t have all the answers and who could let St Mary’s find a way of being where all the questions didn’t get thrown at the Provost to answer.

    However, without being able to get a definitive answer from anyone, I did in the end say what we were going to do in order to get ourselves into place.

    The trouble is, I’ve been regretting one detail ever since, particularly recently.

    What I said would happen is that we would process in. Then the choir and clergy would bow to one another from either side of the communion table, the clergy would turn, greet the people and then we would sing a hymn.

    It looks smart, it means we all start knowing what we are doing and we don’t flap about with music as we are processing.

    But the thing that has been bugging me recently is that it only really includes those who are at the sharp end of the church.

    We bow to one another to signify that God is present – that God is amongst us; that God is about us and within us.

    But what about the bulk of the congregation? Isn’t God in them too?

    This has been bothering me for some time and I found myself talking to Richard Giles about it on Saturday.

    Now, Richard Giles is one of the most interesting liturgists to have emerged in the last few years. And on Saturday he looked me in the eyes and said the magic words – “Well, if you are not happy with it, just change it. It isn’t too late….”

    And he was right.

    So, we’re going to change things from this Sunday.

    From this week, the choir and clergy will process in. They will then bow to one another from either side of the table. And then the clergy will turn and bow to the congregation who are invited to return the bow.

    We’re all in this together.

    The smallest of gestures can mean a great deal in the world of liturgical worship.

    We’re going to try this one for a bit and see whether it works. My last thought on the subject has served us well for nine years, but it is time for a change.

    Odd what Provosts give themselves as anniversary presents, isn’t it?

10 responses to “Guest Post: At Home Among the Dissenters – John McLuckie”

  1. tom donald Avatar

    Are you really PAID by the NHS? Money that could pay for a nurse or a physiotherapist? You must be tremendously confident that your faith is meaningful if you are! I’m not sure if I envy that or not…

    1. Beth Avatar

      In most hospitals, there are hospital chapels and hospital chaplains. It isn’t a new or shocking thing. My experience has been that most of them do very good work, and are available for anyone from any religion who wishes to speak to them and don’t force themselves on the ones who prefer not to. The practice of medicine is about a lot more than just the physical, especially in a cancer hospital, and unless you want doctors to be the ones offering spiritual support (I don’t think I’d be that good at it, I don’t have enough hours in the day as it is, and, as my patients have to see me whether they subscribe to my religion or not, I think it can be inappropriate and intrusive), I’m quite happy for the NHS to pay someone who specialises in the area of spiritual support to fulfill that very real need.

      – Beth, who works for the NHS

      1. Ruth Avatar
        Ruth

        Thank you Beth. I couldn’t have put it better.

        – Ruth, whose sister died in hospital not all that long ago

    2. Rosemary Hannah Avatar
      Rosemary Hannah

      Agree with Beth, and …
      is this really a world where the big ideas about birth, death, love, hate, forgiveness, suffering should not be discussed? Where one can live and suffer and give birth and die without thinking about them? does not the very suggestion this should be so impoverish us every bit as much as as suffering and death can? And is certainty in any way necessary to enter such a discussion?

      1. tom donald Avatar

        Interesting! My original question was about confidence… here’s one to test it a little more, today there’s a headline in the Guardian:
        ” NHS to axe cancer and heart experts. Charities and doctors warn that treatment of killer diseases will suffer as number of teams is cut”
        Yet according to the BBC the NHS is spending £40 million per annum on chaplains!
        Which means that chaplains must be VERY confident that this money is better spent on talk than treatment, or I’m sure they wouldn’t take it. Would they?
        By the way I was a nurse at Gartnavel Royal for many years. Never saw hide nor hair of the chaplain up there, although apparently, there was one!

  2. John MacBrayne Avatar
    John MacBrayne

    What an excellent blog John has. Most interesting. Thanks for the link.

  3. Rosemary Hannah Avatar
    Rosemary Hannah

    Um – as one with friends and family in the NHS I wonder how much of the money spent in the last weeks of a terminally-ill person’s life is well spent. Sometimes a great deal is spent on treatments which are hugely unpleasant and prolong life by weeks or months at best. I made a decision years ago that when (and given family history when is more likely than if) I find myself there I will ask very searching questions.

    I won’t answer for John, but for myself… I am ‘tremendously confident’ that examining the questions around my faith is ‘meaningful’ and indeed essential. That is not at all the same thing as being sure my beliefs are right.

    We have what is supposed to be a Health Service – something which promotes well-being. People are more complex than their conditions – and we all die one day. A great deal of money is spend on all kinds of things which make the lives of those in hospital better, because people cannot get through life-crises on medicine alone.

  4. tom donald Avatar

    I think that characterising cancer and heart disease treatment as terminal care is extremely depressing, and perhaps fifty years out of date. And the health service is there to promote well-being? I don’t think so, I think it’s to provide medical and para-medical care during illness..
    Not that I don’t love chatting to a minister of religion, anytime. I do! But not on the NHS budget please! UNLESS…
    Unless it’s been demonstrated in properly designed clinical trials that a visit from the chaplain is worth the cash. That’s the test for all the other expensive treatments we’re paying for!

  5. rosemary hannah Avatar
    rosemary hannah

    I did not describe cancer and heart conditions as terminal. However I do expect to die one day.

  6. Ruth Avatar
    Ruth

    I’m not sure that the benefits to a patient from a visit from the chaplain could be usefully or accurately measured by ‘properly designed clinical trials’…. from a personal viewpoint I know that the last twelve weeks of my sister’s life (a young 62 year old with cancer and desperate to live) were made more bearable by the chaplain’s ability to help her cope with the sullen, spitefulness of too many of her nurses.

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