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.
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!
The Vicar's Wife 