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Posts Tagged ‘vicar’

When vicars (or their wives) are chatting about the joys and challenges of parish life, there’s a sort of shorthand to describe the less spiritual aspects of church leadership that church leaders usually have to get involved in: ‘drains’, and sometimes ‘guttering’.

I remember chatting with Chickenfan, who was speaking at a Clergy Wives conference I was on. He’d resigned from parish ministry to concentrate on speaking and teaching the bible. ‘It’s a great relief not to have to worry about the drains’, he said.

How sermon prep time is drained away

How sermon prep time is drained away

Well, this weekend the Vicar had his first experience of drains. We were hanging about in the church hall at the end of the monthly church coffee morning, just getting ready to leave. The church itself was being used by another congregation for a big meeting, so the building was quite busy.

An elderly lady form the other church caught me and told me that one of the ladies’ toilets was blocked, so I went to have a look. Having worked as a sewage engineer and everything, I wasn’t afraid.

It was indeed blocked, although there was no obvious cause. At the same time, Westie (a church member) mentioned to the Vicar that there was a bit of a leak in the church hall kitchen. As the Vicar and Westie started mopping up it became obvious that the leak was from the dreaded drains and was linked to the blocked loo. Yuck.

So the Vicar and wife, ably aided by Westie, leapt to the rescue. Leaving the men to the dirty mopping, I went back to the Vicarage and called the cavalry (the churchwarden) who advised sending for the specialists. I picked a number from the Yellow Pages and was promised a visit within an hour or so.

When I returned to the hall, the toilets had been declared out of bounds (not ideal when there are a couple of hundred people in the building). But at least the leak had stopped. The Vicar got busy bleaching the kitchen sinks, after he and Westie had scrubbed the floor with Flash.

The warden returned to supervise the drain specialists who cleared the blockage with rods. The Vicar was also in attendance, so is now up to speed on the drain layout of the church. There was talk of obtaining a set of drain rods for the church to save further call outs.

Problem solved, and a couple of sermon prep hours down the drain. Time management is tricky as a vicar.

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The Vicar hates admin. Thinking about paperwork makes him go all clammy and breathless. He’s very good at many things but forms and scheduling give him the jitters. When he’s asked about praying for spiritual gifts, administration is the one he says he covets (it’s there in the bible).

I don't make him coffee (but only because he doesn't like it)

I don't make him coffee (but only because he doesn't like it)

Thankfully the Lord sent him a wife who likes opening the post and thinking about the dates of events. That was a pretty low key job when he was a curate. But the volume of post at the Vicarage is much larger. At the moment I’m spending a fair amount of time calling up worthy charities and suggesting that they remove us from their mailing lists. I don’t think it’s possible for one small urban church to support the dozen or so organisations who contact us each week. And we’d rather spare them the cost of the postage!

Obviously, some churches have vicars who are efficient administrators or have paid administrators who can do this sort of work, and maybe our church will become one of the latter (the former being unlikely unless the Spirit works mightily). But for now, it’s back to opening the mail. And sending the Vicar Facebook messages with his diary dates. Best to put it in writing.

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On the day of his induction service, when he was handed the keys to the church and officially started work, the Vicar received a telephone call from the Express and Star, our local daily newspaper.

The journalist was following the diary of the Mayor of Sandwell and wanted to know what he was doing coming to our church that evening. The Vicar explained that he (the Vicar) would be starting work in the parish, and the journalist ended up interviewing him and sending round a photographer.

For some reason, though, the article didn’t make it to the E&S website, so I’ve scanned it for you to see in all its glory. Unless you have x-ray vision, you’ll probably have to use the Ctrl and + keys to zoom in to read it.

The Vicar in the paper

The Vicar in the paper

The lack of cropping is because of my poor technical skills, but gives you a flavour of the rather eclectic style of the E&S – see how the article about the vicar is on the same page as (and rather larger than) one about the New York financier Bernard Madoff and his £37.5 billion fraud.

And just so you know, we think the journalist misheard ‘England’ as ‘Ireland’ when the Vicar was talking about the places he’d lived. And more on my recent lads mags encounter at Sainsbury’s soon.

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The other week we were visiting the vicarage, sorting a few things out before the move. The (then) Curate was doing some practical jobs wearing his allotment jeans, his hoodie and his beanie and was outside the house.

The Curate was wearing longer trousers

The Curate was wearing longer trousers


A lady walked by and smilingly said to him

You’ll need to get a move on with your work. The vicar is moving in next month, you know.

The (then) Curate said

“Actually, he’ll be here in just thirteen days.”

“How do you know that then?”

“I am the new vicar.”

You look very different without your suit on.

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Moving

The Curate is going to become a vicar very soon (10th March is his official start date, since you ask).

This means that we are moving house next week. We’re making the shift at half term to enable the kids to transfer to their new schools without too much of a break. Nanna is kindly taking them to stay with her and Grandpa for most of the week to make things easier at this end. Moving house

So we’re having an odd sort of week. Lots of ‘lasts’ as we say goodbye to friends and parishioners. As I write this the Curate is off visiting some housebound folk to bid farewell.

And I am still feeling like it’s not really happening. We’re moving just eight miles away, only twenty minutes away in the car. But it will be very different.

The Curate is going to be the Vicar. He will have to worry about the drains as well as his sermons. He’ll be responsible for the congregation – the buck will stop with him.

The children will be moving to a new school where they will finish their primary education and growing up with the folk they meet there. Their Black Country accents will be strengthened.

And I need to find my feet, my real-life ‘vicar’s wife’ role. How can I best support my husband as he seeks to tell our parish about how the cross of Jesus is good news? I don’t have a job description and will be making it up as I go along, blagging, as the Curate puts it.

But I am a bit of a blagger, so I should be all right. On everything apart from flower arranging I think.

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