Uniforms and Dressing Up

Anyone who knows me at all will be well aware that I have never been a great fan of dressing up. I never feel very comfortable wearing a suit, which may be due to me having to wear school uniform throughout my time at secondary school. Back then in the 70s, all my friends at the local school were free from such dress codes! That's why I have always found it rather ironic that I ended up with a calling and a role that required me to wear various ecclesiastical garments in order to officiate at public services of worship in the Church of England.

Since theological college days, I have frequently met people who got very excited about the designs of their stoles, cottas, chasubles and such like - terminology that I am sure mystifies anyone outside the church community (and many within it!) My own attitude has always been that the uniform comes with the role, and therefore being ordained in the C of E carries with it an expectation to wear it (there is some flexibility these days) In a previous role I visited a lot of churches, and it only seemed courteous to wear whatever they expected me to wear.

There is, however, one exception to this rule, and here it is:

Last Sunday was Pentecost Sunday, when churches that use colours wear red. Each year since Debbie died, it has given me an opportunity to wear one her stoles that I kept. My first Sunday back after her funeral was Pentecost, and I chose to wear it then, and I have done on that day ever since. It was made for Debbie and given to her just before she was ordained deacon in 1990, and it became more significant when she wore it 30 years ago when she was in the first cohort of women to be ordained priest. We had moved from Southwell Diocese just after Easter that year, so she missed the big ordination of women candidates in April 94 in Coventry Cathedral. However, an extra service was arranged for her on June 11 at All Saints' Church, Leamington Spa, along with another colleague who had also missed out . Far from being a disappointment, I know Debs found it a very special moment. With the 30th anniversary of the first ordinations of women being marked this year, I was always going to wear it on Sunday.

Debbie in 1994 - with baby due in about 2 months!

Today is Ash Wednesday, which marks the start of the season of Lent for Christians. At some point today, many Christians will be going to their churches to share in a service of Holy Communion and to receive a symbolic cross made with ash on their forehead.

What a lot of people might not realise is that there was no official form of words for such a service in the Church of England until 1986 when Lent, Holy Week, Easter Services and Prayers was published. Until then all we had for Ash Wednesday was a normal communion service with collects and readings for that day. Of course, there were churches borrowing material from elsewhere for their services.

The result of this was that a lot of faithful Anglicans had no experience of the "Imposition of Ashes" in their churches until this new book became established. When I started training for the ministry in 1987 I had never witnessed it, despite attending C of E churches since I was 7. Initially I must admit to being a bit reluctant to take part, but it has come to have significance, reminding me of my mortality, my shortcomings and my dependence on God.

However, there is one thing that has always bothered me about the Ash Wednesday service, and it is this. One of the set readings for today is a section from Matthew 6 (the Sermon on the Mount) including these words

16 ‘And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 17But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, 18so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.  (Mt 6:16-18 NRSV)

and I have always felt a discomfort about that. We walk out of the service with a very visible and obvious sign on our heads that we have just been there. Surely the text is suggesting we should be more discreet. I have quietly solved this dilemma by removing the cross quickly afterwards, but it doesn't quite seem in the spirit of things.

I was, therefore, very interested to come across this from Rev Bosco Peters, a priest in New Zealand, which echoed my own reservations. 

"There is an Ash Wednesday tradition quite different to the conspicuous cross of ash on the forehead – it is sprinkling ash on top of the head. Read more: https://t.co/OE1QwJmf6R "

Apparently it's good enough for Pope Francis, However, it will require a rethink. A lot of people mix oil with their ash to make a nice gloopy smear.

Whatever you decide to do today, I hope that you find space over the next few weeks of Lent to reflect on what you believe, your priorities, and perhaps to take some action or some steps to make a change you feel is needed in your life. You don't need ash to do that, although it can help to mark a boundary and a beginning.

Have a fruitful Lent.

Ash Wednesday

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The first time I attended a service where people received a cross of ash on their head was at Cranmer Hall in Durham, where I trained for the ministry. Although I was perfectly familiar with the communion liturgy and all other aspects of the service, I found it quite strange and stayed in my seat at the invitation to be ashed (along with some of the more protestant brethren, I seem to remember). Unlike them, I didn't have any theological problems with it; I just found it plain weird. Despite attending an Anglican church since the age of 7, this was my first experience.

Since then I have come to appreciate it much more. Just getting a little bit messy as I am reminded of my mortality, my sinfulness and my dependence on God seems right. At the risk of sounding like the old crusty vicars who love the seasons of the church's year, I think it's very powerful to have special days in the calendar.

Worship can get very predictable, but seasons force variety upon us. They make us think, do and pray things we might not do if we were just left to our own devices. We all have our own preferences, and the cycles of celebration, penitence, challenge and commissioning stop us getting in a spiritual rut.

So those traditional changes to Anglican services - no Gloria, no flowers in church, no 'alleluias' are actually all a way of focussing on something else. Zooming the camera in to help us think through who we are in relation to all that God is.

No need for misery, false guilt or fake humility; just a bit of honesty with ourselves and God.

Community or chaos?

I am beginning to get the hang of the interface for this blogging business, and I have also noticed some people making arguments which are apologies for blogs, or at least justification. Just how do you share in "real" conversations that you are a blogger?

Being an Anglican I ought to write a liturgy

The Lord be with you
And with your typing

Lift up your fingers
We lift them to our keyboard

Let us share our thoughts with total strangers
And may we suffer no humiliation

Apologies to non-Anglican or indeed non-Christian readers.

The question I am pondering is whether blogging is ultimate post-modernism - individualistic, I create my own universe, no meta-narrative, etc, etc. Or is it a new kind of being community - all sorts of links to people that I couldn't envisage any other way.