Ad Lectores - September 2009

Dear colleagues, 

I am taking the opportunity of writing a special letter to all the Readers of the Diocese. This is not just because I am saying farewell to you. It is also because I am aware of having let you down this year in two ways. First, I was unable to take part in your January Conference because of only just coming out of hospital. And secondly, I was going to do the annual Admission service in the Cathedral in the usual way – but this will be after my official farewell eucharist on September 12^th, following which I shall not be presiding at any further services as Bishop of Portsmouth. We shall, in fact, be moving almost straight away to our new house in Chichester. But I want you to know that you were never far from my mind during the Conference time, and you certainly won’t be far from my mind on Saturday week, even though I will by then be engrossed in packing-cases. What I am about to say to you is part reminiscence and part observation. 

As some of you know, my father was a Reader, and I owe a huge amount to his wisdom and his ministry. In a small Scottish Episcopal congregation such as St Anne’s Dunbar, the late 1950’s and 1960’s saw a typical and gradual development in his ministry and that of his colleague, the other Reader. It was unusual to have two in those days, and our Rector encouraged them – as he encouraged me. I remember overhearing him talking to father after an early eucharist about the innovation of the blue scarf then under discussion, and – hey presto – my mother purchased some material in the right shade and ran two up quite quickly! I also recall my father starting to sing the litany at Mattins, and the ‘short’ litany as the intercession at the eucharist. And his colleague-reader took over the Sunday School.  

Uniquely, I was able to preach at father’s priesting, which was after his retirement, and that marked another part of his journey. But it is primarily as a ‘lay minister’ that his influence was, I think, the strongest. He was a fine preacher and an articulate, self-taught theologian, who used his training as an architect to good effect, conveying in me a strong sensitivity to the environment and atmosphere of worship, as well as the essential role of the laity in the life of the Church. That slant has remained with me. I remember when we were discussing the re-furbishment of Holy Trinity, Guildford, with all sorts of good (and over-due) ideas about the liturgical arrangements, I kept feeding into our planning that the most important things about the project were that the congregation should be able to see (hence decent lighting), hear (a proper sound-system), and be physically reasonably comfortable (decent seating and a reliable heating system).

 The make-up of that small Dunbar congregation placed father and his colleague in a strong position. There were no churchwardens – only those places with a more ‘English’ (pejoratively used!) tradition had those. So their role was easily defined, and they provided support for the Rector, a warm-hearted but nervous man, who depended on them a great deal. But the system started developing some creative cracks. As participation in the worship and governance of the congregation expanded, others came forward with their gifts and talents, such as an active choirmaster. This resulted in the two Readers increasingly in having to step aside, however reluctantly, as lay ministry slowly moved forward into new directions. In the many years since, I’ve gone back there a number of times, on one occasion to take the old priest’s funeral. What I experienced on those visits was no surprise – the same sorts of things in the worship and mission of the Church that we have become used to elsewhere: greater involvement in a time of uncertainty, and a strong sense of fellowship. 

Now, I suspect that what I have described is not entirely unfamiliar to many of you: a background with defined but growing roles, germs of which we can see in the nineteenth century with the establishment of the Readership – followed by the spread of some of those functions and commitments more widely. Some years ago, I preached at the annual September service about the office of ‘lector’ in the early Church. That special word ‘reader’, like all the recognised ministries of the Church, expresses a vital part of being a Christian – to ‘read’ means a degree of commitment, understanding, and familiarity with the Word of God, as well as a desire to communicate it. We therefore need to keep hold of that word, because we are in a society that tacitly undervalues that process at so many private and public levels.  

As we look realistically at its outworkings, however, the picture is more ambiguous. On the one hand, it can be a rich and rewarding ministry, but on the other hand it is not without its frustrations and confusions. My hunch is that this picture is likely to continue, so that the way we inter-act with each other in mission and ministry is going to vary, and therefore needs to be worked at. ‘Inter-action’ is something I’ve been conscious of all through my ordained ministry, and it is certainly a key aspect of being a bishop in all sorts of way. Perhaps the future is going to be about having agreed, basic roles and expectations, but always in a wider atmosphere of flexibility. 

All this, of course, is not rocket science, and I’m aware of having tried to articulate both the history and the processes over the years with the diocese on many occasions. The important thing, however, is that we see it all in the context of mission, and not become a Church so focused on ‘ministry’ that we spend all our time going to meetings in order to sort out the un-sort-out-able! The world looks on at us with a miscellany of reactions, from vague interest, through apathy, to downright hostility. A properly outward-looking Church that sees itself shot through with heaven and that same mixed world will be a healthy community to be part of. And that is one of the reasons why the Strategy of Ministry for Mission that the diocese is now working on is so important for the future – important for everyone, and important for you. 

So farewell, Readers of the diocese! You have a rich and important – and potentially enabling and releasing – ministry that God has given you. And I wish you every joy in it.

Every blessing 

+ Kenneth