welcome

I have been peering into the world of one fallen from ecclesial grace as I have been reading Giles Fraser’s new column in the Guardian. He is offering reflections on his new life in a crumbling church in Newington South London – after his very public exit from St. Paul’s Cathedral last autumn, where he had been serving as canon chancellor.
In his first column he speaks of feeling a little lost as he surveys his new parish of towering council blocks and a crumbling building. Some would chuckle and wonder how he would survive in this real world. But in fairness most of the church of England is not like this – yes we work and worship in every part of England and there are areas of urban deprivation being served by many clergy. But the vast proportion of clergy, the majority, do not find this maelstrom of challenges in their normal of “real” life.
I do not know Giles Fraser personally but I hope he can find his feet in a harsh place – his second column about welcome and how he has been welcomed into that place – makes me hopeful he will. He contrasts the simple but heartfelt service and reception which he went home from happy with the rather more extravagent entrance he made into the chapter of St. Paul’s a few years before. Sadly he cannot quite work out which of his friends from then might even still speak to him now.
Standing up in front of a congregation which believes itself to be failing, or worse thinks it had failed, for the first time is daunting. I have done it with the “see them out gently” epitaphs of clergy colleagues wringing in my ears. But it turned out with love and encouragement and a bit of housekeeping this little church could turn itself around ,rejoice in what they were good at and begin to grow.
One of the things they were good at was welcome. When I was still very new to them it was time for Christmas and midnight mass. As my husband and I both had parishes and we had four children we decided to split them between us. I ended up with our three year old – I cannot remember which of the others I had – but that is because he or she slept – Katherine did not.
We had an East facing altar in this little mountain church and so there was no hiding that during the Eucharistic Prayer I had a curious three year old climbing up inside my robes and trying to pull my stole off. I was a bit flustered but carried on, expecting wrath from a certain set of people at the door. As they approached I apologised, she was supposed to be asleep and I was so sorry for the whole thing. One lady smiled and laughed and said, “It made the whole thing real and special, I loved it.” I have rarely been more surprised in my life – to this day I think she meant it – but that was one of the most welcoming and accepting things which has been said to me in a Church and by someone who I least expected it from.
There is no real moral to this story, but reading a story of welcome from a clergyman who is learning a new sort of life, reminded me of it. Perhaps simplicity and authenticity do sometimes get lost in the big splash and we should get back to the roots of welcome – a smile and real heartfelt accepta