Collation of Andy Davis, Gosport Christ Church,

8^th June 2007

Readings: 2 Cor 4:1-10/Mt 24:42-46

I hope you won’t mind if tonight I talk not about bishop’s chaplains, like Andy Davis, but about bishops, for reasons that will become obvious.

First of all, this bishop. Standing here in Christ Church I have to revisit the demons of two years ago, when we joined these two parishes together, with the procession from Holy Trinity to Christ Church, and I struggled through it all, not knowing how ill I was. Now I return, in the full knowledge that I am in my third phase of fighting a serious illness. There have been countless occasions in recent months when I have wished that things were otherwise – even to the extent of wishing that you had a new and more active bishop, who would be able to do all the many things I can’t do, even under normal circumstances: I can almost write the job-specification, but I won’t share it with you now! But I’m afraid we don’t live in a perfect world, and I’ve just got to get on with whatever lies before me. There is much hope around, and some very positive vibes. I want to end this ‘me’ section by saying two things. First, I have been more aware of God’s presence over the past two years than ever before in my life, to the extent of sometimes feeling as if I have been walking with the angels: so I really do look forward to standing in this pulpit again in the future. Secondly, I want to say to you all that while I’m off public duties yet again, I’ll still be around, seeing people at home when I can, and I’m exploring the possibilities of video-links and such like; so be well aware that as far as I’m concerned, it’s business as usual!

Business as usual, at services like this one, for me brings in the Church’s Calendar, which today is about my second bishop - Thomas Ken, sometime Bishop of Bath and Wells, who died in 1711. He’s not exactly a central figure in Anglican history. But he crops up here and there. He gave us such hymns as ‘Awake, my soul and with the sun’ and ‘Glory to thee my God this night’. And we’re lucky that he spent some of his ministry on the Isle of Wight at Brighstone – he’s one of the ‘Three Bishops’ that the pub there is named after. But he had guts as well. He told Charles II to keep his hands off Nell Gwyn; and when James II fled and was succeeded by William and Mary, he resigned his bishopric because of what were for some people the dubious circumstances of their arrival as King and Queen. For us, such a stand seems hard to understand. But at the time, whoever sat on the throne, and how they got there, mattered a great deal, to the extent of being a church-dividing issue. It was a time for testing loyalties and taking sides – rather like the disagreements we have today over the ordination of women, and gays. A small minority split off to form their own Church then, and petered out in a couple of generations, Thomas had a certain amount to do with them, but ended  back in the Communion of the Church of England, though no longer serving as a bishop.

His legacy lives on. He is known for practical holiness, for devotional prayers that sometimes tear at the heart, and he wrote a guide to the Christian faith for the boys of Winchester College. In those days how one understood the eucharist was hotly debated. But he was content with a strong view of Christ’s presence that should not be closely defined, a line taken also by no less a person than Queen Elizabeth I. Here is an example:

‘Lord, what need I labour in vain, to search out the manner of thy mysterious presence in the sacrament, when my love assures me thou art there? All the faithful who approach thee with prepared hearts, they well know thou art there; they feel the virtue of divine love going out of thee, to heal their infirmities, and to inflame their affections; for which all love, all glory, be to thee.’

Thomas Ken would be horrified at the thought of even having an optional place, in the third division of the Calendar. He would want us to look at the here and now, and not look to the past, as if for its own sake. That brings me to my third bishop, an old friend who was consecrated only last Thursday in St Paul’s Cathedral. I want to throw at you a few musings about bishopping that were ruminating inside me during that service. They may ring bells with the clergy and other ministers here tonight. They certainly reflect the warnings about not losing heart, and being watchful, that have been given us in tonight’s two bible-readings. They are not very biblical, I fear, nor are they very catholic; and they don’t, thankfully, present the slick version of the bishop as regional manager-cum-confirming machine, nor indeed the personally-over-organised yuppie priestly equivalent!

Image number one is the sausage roll in the hall afterwards. Here is a symbol of the human encounter that often takes place after worship is over. I’m not for a moment doing down worship, least of all the celebration of the holy eucharist. That is the encounter of all. But it’s not the only one. All encounters, whether by chance, or deliberate, or forced, are opportunities for the growth and nourishment of God’s people. They may not always be convenient, and we may not always be in the mood for them, but they are part and parcel of the business of building communities of faith. Sacramental encounters need social encounter to give them context, provided they’re not cliquey – and Andy knows about all about this.

Image number two is the glass of orange juice at the public reception. Goodness knows how many of these I have been to. Of course, these gatherings take many different forms, such as for the school governors, the housing association, the bid for money for an important project, or just gently oiling the wheels of the wider community, especially when things are a bit tricky. Don’t let Andy get so confined by the Church Hall sausage roll, the pastoral care of these two congregations, that he has neither the time nor the space for the wider mission of Christ in these parishes.

But there’s also image number three – feet up on the desk, from a gently reclining position! After all, it can be tiring work standing around, so legs need a bit of resting. These are when you do nothing – apparently. The world may be screaming for an instant response to a strongly felt need, by what sometimes seems to be such contradictory signals as a request for six curates while wanting to pay less of the parish share, or an immediate appointment of a vicar while at the same time consulting absolutely everyone. I know that I have had the courage to do my job properly – whether as your bishop, or before that as a parish priest myself – when I’ve resisted such pressures, when I’ve been able to give proper attention to doing nothing, thinking, reading, praying; and (above all) attending to my inner life, which means going up to my chapel, where the atmosphere is compellingly ‘feet on desk’-conducive. Andy has always made a priority for such ‘holy indolence’; when he is not particularly visible either here or at Holy Trinity, you perhaps need to realise what he may be up to, and how very important it is for his work as your priest.

Well, Andy, I wish you every blessing back here in Gosport, the same Deanery in which you began your ministry some time ago. Perhaps some future Liturgical Commission will invent a form of episcopal head-dress even more ridiculous than the mitre (I always feel like the late Eric Morecombe, the comedian, with anything on my head!) that will combine the sausage roll, the glass of orange juice, and a pair of disembodied feet!. We’ve both indeed changed a bit since we first met outwardly perhaps, though inwardly I guess not a lot has altered, except the blessing and the burden of new experiences across the years. You have been sent here to be a priest of healing, encouragement, and challenge, together with your unique combination of humour and depth. May your congregations and your colleagues spur you on in that wonderful work of God!

+ Kenneth Portsmouth: