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Posts Tagged ‘Church’

Our Vicarage was beginning to empty out earlier this year. Our lovely Persian lodgers found a flat and moved out just before their baby was born. The Joker got himself an apprenticeship at a law firm in Sheffield after his two wonderful years volunteering at The Oakes, the Queen is working hard at a proper job in Lancaster and the Engineer is mostly at uni now. It was beginning to feel a bit quiet in our Victorian vicarage – the Vicarage Hound only barks when he wants a chew.

So the Vicar and I had a little pray about the next stage of Vicarage life, asking the Lord to guide our steps. And of course, that same week a lady at church told us about her friend who was having trouble finding a new home with her two small daughters. And now we have the Gentle Gs living in the attic whilst they continue to look for somewhere more permanent. And then we had a call from a minister in London who had a church member starting a job very close to us here, and so this Saturday we have a young man coming to stay whilst he settles into a new life in West Brom.

Meanwhile, I’ve been rereading some emails from the great granddaughter of the fifth vicar of our church, Rev Arthur Benjamin Irvine. Arthur was in post here from 1874 to 1902. He lived in the Vicarage with his wife Louisa and their seven children. I think this may be the last time that nine people lived here at once, although the Vicar and I are always up for a challenge. Who knows who will join us next?

The Vicarage Children, Amy, William, Maziere, Arthur, Louisa, Constance, John. (Guessing the order from left to right from their ages, and if Louisa was about ten in this photo, taken in about 1885).

Thanks to one of Arthur and Louisa’s great granddaughters, who came to visit our church in 2019, I have some more pictures and stories of life here in the Vicarage in the second half of the reign of Queen Victoria. So there are more stories of the Irvine family to come. I’m not sure I’ll have the full lowdown on how all nine of them bumped along together in the Vicarage, but I like to imagine that it wasn’t all as neat and serious as they look in the photos and was perhaps rather more like our messy Vicarage life now. Mind you, it was almost impossible to get our kids to look at a camera at the same time when they were younger.

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It’s been so long since I blogged, but I’ve had a project bugging me for ages. It’s a real privilege to live in an old house and to know the names (and profession!) of all its principal inhabitants since it was built. So I want to write about some of the people who lived here in the Vicarage, whose stories I’ve learnt about in the years we’ve lived here (fifteen in the middle of February!). And I want to write a little about the history of our church too. When we arrived in the parish, the then churchwarden was undertaking that enormous task and produced a book from his research, so I have an excellent resource to start from, but the internet gives opportunities to discover more since that project was completed.

So this year I’m going to write about those things, about Rev Arthur Irvine, who lived in the Vicarage with his wife and eight children for most of the second half of Queen Victoria’s reign. One of his daughters made some sketches of the Vicarage family and I have permission from their descendents to share them here. I’m going to share some exerts from our church magazines from the 1920s and 30s, and Rev Benjamin Willmore’s evangelistic talks given here in Lent in 1850, and all sorts of other scraps. I might also write about what’s happening here, now that this Vicarage is emptying of dependent children and taking on a new sort of character.

And to start off, today I have an extract that I found in the electoral roll that was kept from the 1940s to the 1950s. It’s an unusual entry, and gives a reason for removal from the electoral roll that I’m glad that we’re never going to have to log. There’s a modern block at 14 Florence Road now, alongside the Victorian terraced houses that make up the rest of the street.

The Gureton family, Fred, Elizabeth and Lilian, bombed out of their home on 19th November 1940.

The bombing is mentioned on the West Bromwich History Society site:

On the 19th November the Germans launched a nine-hour attack on the Midlands with wave after wave of bombers. In West Bromwich bombs hit, Richard Street South, Lombard Street, Constance Avenue, Florence Road, Paradise Street, the District Hospital in Edward Street, the Corporation Gas Showrooms next to the Central Library, Oak Road and the Corporation Bus Garage and the Palace Cinema in the High Street.
Sometime around 7pm German planes first dropped thermite incendiary bombs that would set the town alight to guide in the next wave of bombers carrying high explosive bombs. German targets may well have been the railway sidings, surrounding factories and the large gas-holder at Swan Village.

https://www.westbromwichhistory.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/WestBromwichBombing1940.pdf

In that same bombing, Edith Clare was injured in a house just along our road and died the next day, and Ernest Lamb, aged just 18, also from our parish, also died from injuries received that night. What an awful night for those families and for the whole parish. Rev Fred Sutton was the vicar then, and was still in post when some of our current church members joined – the connection to the past is close when you’re part of a community with memories.

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Advent Sunday in the parish and I thought I was overdue to share something longer than a tweet. And so some thoughts and thankfulness after a busy Lord’s Day. And maybe the first of a few, if I can remember how to write more than 280 characters again.

Many church friends are talking about how things have changed After Covid. Here in our parish we have lost some people, gained others, but more than that we have restarted things super slowly, getting everything in place including properly recruited leaders and training. That means we are still not running as many activities as we did prior to 2020, but those that are running are different, and – I think – better. Even Sunday mornings have a changed feel – a slightly later start time, a new format for Sunday activities for children and youth, and far more people involved. And it feels far more like a party – there is joy about being together that we didn’t have as regularly in the weary days before (and during) the pandemic.

Before Covid we had a sporadic Sunday school and only a couple of regular kids in the right age range. Now we are running groups for both primary and secondary aged children. And we have a full team recruited to help and lead. I’ve moved to teaching the older ones and this morning we were looking at the small (ha!) topics of ‘What is a Christian?’ and ‘What is Church?’. So lovely to hear how my fellow leader in the session came to faith after looking at the claims of Christ, having known nothing of the gospel until she was in her mid 20s – she grew up in a country where nobody is taught about Christianity. We also talked about how some of the most important ways we can contribute to church life are by praying, by singing up and by turning up.

Before Covid we held monthly Bring and Share lunches, and we had restarted those, but since October half term we have been sharing lunch after church every week, hoping to grow our fellowship and help people who are struggling with heating or other costs. We’ve managed this by church funding simple lunches that are made by one or two people.

Bread pudding and chocolate cake for dessert today – hot rice pudding not shown.

This week we had the great pleasure of two teenagers (the Engineer and his friend Aloud) and our young churchwarden cooking for us. Aloud is a great cook and she masterminded a spiced roasted carrot soup and (my favourite) a chicken broth with matzo balls – alas I forgot to take photos. Our church treasurer provided a rice pudding and then I stumped up some bread pudding and a chocolate cake to ensure that dessert was well and truly covered. Each week 20-30 people sit down to eat and chat together and play noisy games afterwards. That’s about half of our usual congregation – and I’d say that about 3/4 of the church family have been to at least one lunch.

So this Advent we are seeing the light and warmth of the church in action in our meetings and meals together. We pray that more of the light of Christ will be seen in us and through us this Advent and on through 2023.

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Of course, the main reason that synod meets is to talk about things, and the way it does that is by debating proposals in the chamber. The chamber can get rather warm. All the clothing advice was to major on layers and I certainly avoided dressing as I normally would for life in a Victorian vicarage: vests and scarves defintely not required.

And debate brings its own kind of heat. You can get a pretty good feel for what synod members are particularly concerned about by reading the questions that are submitted to the House of Bishops and others a few weeks before synod meets. This synod generated 132 questions, which spread over 74 pages with their answers. You’ll see there are many questions on Holy Communion, Safeguarding and the Clergy Discipline Measure, LGBTQ+ issues and issues to do with finance and mission.

There is a special session in synod to debate the questions that have been answered. The format is that the Chair of that session runs through each question number and you have the opportunity to ask another question, by jumping up and shouting ‘SUPPLEMENTARY’ when your question number is asked. You then go to a lectern and ask your question and the bishop (or other synod official) has to answer on the hoof.

I asked two written questions – numbers 27 and 28, both about the Clergy Discipline Measure. You can hear me jumping up to indicate that I had a supplementary question (and asking it, then taking a breather, then laughing as I ask another, because I’d forgotten I had a second one) on the CofE YouTube channel (this link will take you to the start of my section, and the Bishop of Worcester answering). I don’t think that my questions generated much light, but hopefully some issues were highlighted to the team responsible for revising the undeniably appalling existing system of clergy discipline.

Occasionally some interesting or useful information does emerge in answer to a question. And sometimes questions are asked that people feel very strongly about. The atmosphere in the chamber during the questions about Holy Communion was quite heated. You can hear my poor diocesan bishop trying to answer people on this subject, which is so important to believers, without accidentally making new canon law (actually making a law involves a bit more than this, but bishops like to speak with one voice, so if you’re answering you need to keep within what’s been agreed).

Other debates bring up interesting viewpoints, but the impression I have is that most change is made in the detail, and in the committees who produce the policies and documents. I suspect this is true of any legislative body, but it was still worthwhile sitting in the debates to hear from the breadth of the church, and to work out who is going to be likely to get their name in the Church Times in the next few years.

As the term of this synod continues there are plenty of things to be discussed that will no doubt be heated, not least the Living in Love and Faith project, but also the sticky issues of finances and deployment. We need to pray for light, not only heat, that we’d follow the advice of James:

My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.

James 1:19-20

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There are 483 people on General Synod – and although I didn’t meet them all in Church House this week, at some times it felt like it. I met other reps from my diocese, old friends from the church where I was married, a mutual friend of a pal from Singapore, people I know from various Christian organisations I’m involved with and LOTS of people I know from Twitter, Facebook and other places on the internet. I failed to find the brother of another friend from Singapore, who I’m told is also on synod, but I shall seek him out next time. I chatted to people I sat next to, to people in the halls and corridors, to a lady who was having lunch at the same café, and to so many people in the tearoom. I’d almost lost my voice when I got home.

When I wasn’t talking I was absorbing information. We had an induction with an overview of synod work, lots of legal stuff, a trial vote using the electronic machines and a mock debate. Once synod kicked off properly, after the behatted service in Westminster Abbey, we heard speeches from HM The Queen (delivered by the Earl of Wessex) and both archbishops.

my prayer is that the Lord’s blessing may be upon you as you embark on your deliberations; and that you will find inspiration in the joyous words of the hymn you sang this morning:

O Comforter, draw near,

within my heart appear,

and kindle it, thy holy flame bestowing.

Elizabeth R

It seems to me that the ‘hellos’ part of synod is a key part of its work – learning to love one another across differences, but also finding our connections and the ways that we can help one another to follow and serve our God, who sends his Comforter to kindle our hearts.

So do say your ‘hello’ below if you’re a fellow synod member reading this, and even if you aren’t.

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I started writing a single blogpost on my first ever experience of being a member of General Synod. But it got too long. So here’s the first of a few reflections on my initiation into: the murky dealings of Anglican politics/the premier decision making body of this country’s most important institution/the mess that occasionally works and is all we’ve got (delete to obtain your preferred description).

What is more exciting in life than the excuse to buy a new hat? Several things, of course, but it’s been ages since I went to a wedding and even longer since I was a cool and trendy young engineer (not really) who liked to wear outrageous hats as I cycled across Cambridge to work.

So I got myself elected to the General Synod of the Church of England. And although I didn’t actually realise it when I sent my nomination forms in, I was therefore invited to start my five year term (or Quinquennium because the CofE loves a fancy Latiny word) by attending a service of Holy Communion at Westminster Abbey.

Vicar's wife in hat with green bow, Abbey statues behind

As I was deluged with information in the days before the meeting began, I learnt that ‘some ladies wear hats to the service’, perhaps because HM The Queen usually attends along with all the bishops and the elected members of clergy and laity from round the country. So a new hat it was, even though it was the Earl of Wessex who joined us in the Abbey, without a hat.

There is a lot of formality at synod, not just in the service at Westminster Abbey with people in fine robes and royalty in attendance. There are formal ways to speak and lots of ways of doing things that I found pretty unfamiliar, even though I’ve watched a few sessions online. It works a bit like parliament (although we were repeatedly told that it’s not the CofE’s parliament) or maybe a local council meeting, with added wigs and theology.

The formality is necessary, I guess, to ensure that everything runs in an orderly way, and in connection with history. But it still felt pretty strange to me as a newcomer, an ignoramus when it comes to standing orders and someone whose life is almost all very informal. I’m sure that Jackie Weaver would immediately understand how it all works, but for the rest of us, the first few meetings are going to be a steep learning curve. Pray for us!

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Yesterday was the Second Sunday in Lent. And ten minutes before our live in person Sunday service was meant to begin, the Joker appeared downstairs looking a bit peaky and announced that he’d been up all night coughing. Cue a small amount of scrambling…

We seem to have a thing for timing in this Vicarage. It was late on a Saturday that we all came down with a cough just at the beginning of the first lockdown. There was no testing then, so we isolated ourselves for a fortnight. And it was a bit of a panic (understatement) to get everything ready for the Sunday, as all our plans were extra complicated by being confined to the house. And here we are, heading towards the end (hopefully) of the third lockdown, and the Vicar had to send everyone home who’d already arrived at church and then come back to the Vicarage and record the service to upload it. Thankfully, we were able to get a test very quickly and the results came in the middle of the night – and they were negative, so we’re free again.

These unexpected interruptions are such a great reminder that we are not in charge. In fact ‘we have no power of ourselves to help ourselves’, as this week’s collect puts it. We’re thankful that we’ve been kept outwardly in our bodies from Covid19. And are praying to be kept inwardly in our souls too this coming week.

COLLECT FOR THE SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT

ALMIGHTY God,

who seest that we have no power of ourselves to help ourselves:

Keep us both outwardly in our bodies, and inwardly in our souls;

that we may be defended from all adversities

which may happen to the body,

and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul;

through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

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I took the Vicarage Hound out for his weekly race with his greyhound pal today. On the way home, I spotted this crow (I think, my bird identification skills are rather limited) peering down at us from the clock tower. He watched us for quite a while, presumably checking that the hound wasn’t going to run up the clock tower or find some other creative way to attack. What was he actually waiting for up there though? Did he have an appointment with someone? Was he expecting a bus or is he a fan of our trams?

It’s a good watchtower, up there. You can see up to the High Street, and down to the flats at the bottom of the parish. And you also have a view over to where the car racing happens, on the dual carriageway, past the stubby street that leads to the Metro. And at the moment, from that pillar, you could get a good view of the scaffolding round the church and the stonemasons at work, if you time it right.

What are you watching and waiting for? It feels like we’re all waiting at the moment – for kids to go back to school, for vaccination, for the end of lockdown, for this pandemic to subside, for life to go back to normal. But I need to turn my mind to better waiting, waiting with hope.

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,
and in his word I hope;
my soul waits for the Lord
more than watchmen for the morning,
more than watchmen for the morning.

Psalm 130:5-6

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This afternoon the Vicar called me over to the church to exercise my world class form filling skillz. Well, not so much world class so much as a bit better than his (he’s dyslexic). I was there to help a lovely young couple from church fill out some driving licence application forms. They need some help with forms because they have not been living in the UK all that long and aren’t confident in negotiating government bureaucracy hoops, especially in interpreting the vast ream of information that you have to wade through. And who can blame them?!

After we’d worked our way through the forms, all masked up and socially distanced, the Vicar showed them around the building. He talked about some of the plans we have to improve access and to make our building more visible to passers by. Our friends are an engineer and an architect/interior designer, so they started getting excited by the possibilities we have to make changes to help people by improving our building. It was lovely to see them thinking with their professional expertise. Neither of them have been able to use those skills since they’ve been in this country but are hoping that they will be able to soon.

And then we had the joy of speaking about the world and about Jesus. We talked about the countries that the Vicar and I used to live in, and others we have worked in. We have a world map on the wall of the church, so we were able to point and make sure we all knew which places we were discussing. And then we spoke about the country our friends come from, and some of its history – especially the parts that are in the Bible. Fascinating.

I think I probably already mentioned how much I love living here, among people from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages (Revelation 7:9). Today was a great taste of that once again.

Photo by Aaditya Arora on Pexels.com

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This evening we met at church for an Ash Wednesday service. In previous years, we have had ashing. And on one notorious occasion the Vicar managed to burn my forehead with incorrectly mixed ashes.

This year, with the need for social distancing, the Vicar, like several others, has decided to return to the older liturgy of the Church of England, and lead a service known as A Commination (The Confession of Cursed Sinners). We used a modern, shortened version, provided by Church Society. The original 1662 one is in the Book of Common Prayer.

The service is not all that popular in the Church of England. People find it quite harsh, because it reminds us of all the things that God does not like – that are under his curse. It is a painful exercise, to remind ourselves of our sinfulness and the ways in which we break God’s laws and reject his rule in our lives. But the phrase that struck me the evening, as we went through the service was towards the end of the confession:

and so make haste to help us in this world,
that we may ever live with you in the world to come,
where there will no longer be any curse

That reminder that there will ‘not longer be any curse’ is so helpful to carry out of a service of penitence and mourning for sin. The promise that we will be free of the heaviness we feel when we think of the Lord’s standards and the way we fail to keep them. To remember that

Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us

As I was looking for pretty pictures to illustate this post, I came across a poem by Wordsworth. It seems that The Commination wasn’t popular even in his day. But he too realised that this service where we contemplate the darkness of our sin is needed, that we should deal with our guilt and seek pardon from the Lord. So my prayer this Lent is that I would have that fruit of peace and love and joy as I thank Jesus that there will no longer be any curse.

Ecclesiastical Sonnets – Part Iii. – Xxix – The Commination Service
Shun not this Rite, neglected, yea abhorred,
By some of unreflecting mind, as calling
Man to curse man, (thought monstrous and appalling.)
Go thou and hear the threatenings of the Lord;
Listening within his Temple see his sword
Unsheathed in wrath to strike the offender’s head,
Thy own, if sorrow for thy sin be dead,
Guilt unrepented, pardon unimplored.
Two aspects bears Truth needful for salvation;
Who knows not ‘that?’ yet would this delicate age
Look only on the Gospel’s brighter page:
Let light and dark duly our thoughts employ;
So shall the fearful words of Commination
Yield timely fruit of peace and love and joy.

William Wordsworth

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