Crossing the Line - part 19
While at university, my path towards ordination
continued.
I met with my DDO (Diocesan
Director of Ordinands) in Manchester when I was at home with Mum and Dad and in
my second year, I was deemed ready for ACCM (see below for explanation!)
The Church of England selection conference for ordination is a
strange animal with many names. These
days it is called a BAP – with apologies to friends in the Midlands and
Northern England where this means something entirely different! In the past it has also been CACTM and
ABM. In my day it was the Advisory
Council for the Church’s Ministry (ACCM).
Whatever the name, it has changed little over the years. It’s a three-day residential selection panel,
that can feel like being in a human goldfish bowl. As well as interviews with the selectors or advisors,
there are group exercises and written pieces of work. You are observed almost all of the time to
see how you relate to others and express your faith and calling. You are expected to sit at different tables each
meal time to ensure that all the selectors get a good look at you. The only times you are not being observed are
in the regular acts of prayer and worship.
It’s a bit like a spiritual version of the TV series Big Brother, with Bishops Advisors
instead of cameras.
Before I went however, there was still one thing on my mind
that I needed to sort out.
At one of the university Christian Unions meetings I had heard
a preacher called George Verwer. He
founded a missionary organisation called Operation Mobilisation (OM) in the
1950’s and was a compelling speaker. He asked
us what Jesus last commandment was, before he went back to heaven.
The answer is found in the final verses of Matthew’s
Gospel.
“Go and make disciples of all
nations, baptising them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the
Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.
And surely, I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matthew 28)
George argued that this last command calls on all
Christians to be missionaries. So the
real question is not “Am I called to be a missionary?” but rather “Am I called
to stay at home?” His challenge went
further, arguing that unless you hear God calling you to stay at home, your
Christian duty is to go into all the world, because those were his last instructions.
This turned everything upside-down for me. I had assumed that missionaries were the
special few, called by God to a special task.
George Verwer was saying that we are all called to be missionaries
unless God tells us otherwise. I felt
challenged and began to pray. Was God
indeed calling me to ordination in the Church of England or was he calling me
overseas? I needed to know.
The answer came from one of the few times that I have
actually heard an audible voice. One day
at the end of my prayers I heard the words, “Read Ezekiel 3.” That was it.
No burning bush or blinding light.
No clap of thunder or vision of heaven.
Just a simple instruction to read this chapter of an Old Testament book
about the prophet Ezekiel.
As I opened my Bible, I had no idea what I would
find. It was not a book or chapter I
knew well and although I must have read it at some point, I couldn’t remember
anything about it. I was, therefore,
utterly amazed by what I found there.
“Son of man, go now to the people of Israel and speak my words to them. You are not being sent to a people of obscure speech and strange language, but to the people of Israel – not to many peoples of obscure speech and strange language, whose words you cannot understand. Surely if I had sent you to them, they would have listened to you. But the people of Israel are not willing to listen to you because they are not willing to listen to me, for all the Israelites are hardened and obstinate. But I will make you as unyielding and hardened as they are. I will make your forehead like the hardest stone, harder than flint. Do not be afraid of them or terrified by them, though they are a rebellious people.” (Ezekiel 3:4-9)
So early one March morning in 1984 I set off for my
ACCM. It was a long journey. I had to travel from Oxford to Riding Mill in
Northumberland. It took 3 trains, the
tube, and a 15-minute walk from the station at the other end to get to the retreat
house.
The only preparation I received for my selection
conference was the instruction “Go and be yourself lad, you’ll be fine.” Compared with the way Dioceses prepare people
for their selection conference today, that was decidedly minimalist! So I went as myself, dressed in jeans,
trainers, T-shirt and denim jacket, with my Adidas bag slung over my shoulder.
On the last train from Newcastle I noticed someone
smartly dressed in his three-piece suit & tie and with his professional
looking suitcase. When I got off at
Riding Mill Station he got off too, and started walking up the road to the
retreat centre. When I followed, I
sensed him getting a little nervous at being followed up these deserted country
lanes by a denim-clad stranger. He
started to quicken his pace and I thought of trying to catch up with him, as I
was sure we were both heading for the same place. Then I thought better of it. If he was scared now, what would he be like
if I started to run after him. I slowed
my pace to allow him to get away!
On arriving at the retreat centre I was looking at the visitors’
book and working out how to register, when I heard a voice saying, “Are you
just leaving?” I turned around and saw
another smartly dressed man who had clearly taken one look at me and thought I
couldn’t possibly be a potential ordinand.
What a welcome! He turned out to
be another of the candidates, not one of the selectors, but I couldn’t help
feeling a bit out of place.
If I am honest though, it didn’t really bother me. It may sound arrogant, but I knew God was
calling me to be a priest, right down to the depth of my being. I know that not everyone feels that way. Many go with a much more questioning approach,
wanting to test if this is for them, but I knew. As a result, I wasn’t worried about getting a
‘No’ at the end. If that happened it was
the selectors who would have made a mistake, not me. I would simply wait the statutory two years
before I could try again. Although this
may seem arrogant, it wasn’t. I didn’t
think that I was God’s gift to the church.
I knew my weaknesses far too well for that. I just knew, despite all my faults and
failings, that this was God calling for me.
As the three days progressed I noticed that the other
candidates did progressively dress down and if I am honest, I dressed a little
smarter, putting a proper shirt over my T-shirt! We almost ended up meeting in the middle.
The selectors were astute but kind, and they did their
best to put us all at our ease. My
interviews went well, although I was a little disturbed by my educational
interview because it was far too short.
Almost as soon as I walked through the door, the selector told me,
“You’ll be alright; you’re at Oxford” and to all intents and purposes that was
the interview. While reassured to hear I
would be ‘alright’, I did wonder if that was a little presumptuous. Maths and Theology are miles apart and I
hadn’t written essays since I was 16.
How had he come to this conclusion without asking me a single question? It partly stuck in my throat because in those
days, the only selector with a veto on recommending a candidate for ordination
was the educational selector. I
wondered whether he gave a much harder time to candidates who had not been to Oxford. It all felt a bit too elitist and cosy to me.
The two other things which stick in my mind about my ACCM
Conference were nudity and drinking!
There was a group exercise called 10 minute topics. Our names were drawn out of a hat at random
and we each had to choose card from the coffee table in the middle of the
room. The cards were face-down and when
you turned over your chosen card, you read the topic you had been given. We then had 10 minutes to introduce the subject,
then chair a group discussion and sum up at the end.
At 21, I was by far the youngest person in the room, and
my name came out of the hat first. I
approached the table, chose a card and turned it over. It read “Beach nudity – harmless fun or moral
outrage?” I almost burst out
laughing. Looking around the more
elderly group I was in, I took a deep breath and launched into the subject. Why couldn’t I have got one of the easy topics
like fox hunting, pacifism, or euthanasia?!
Outlining arguments from each point of view, I opened it
up for discussion. Silence. It was
like trying to get blood out of a stone or discuss nudity at a Church Council meeting. Half of the room were too embarrassed to
speak and the other half were worried about saying something which would place
them in a negative light with the selectors – either too judgemental or too
permissive.
After a bit of encouragement, one brave soul opened his
mouth and began with the words, “When I was in the south of France…” Thank you God! Then others chipped in and it went well in
the end.
The other memory I have is from the second evening. We had been told by the selectors that
attendance at Compline (night prayers) was optional and we could choose whether
to attend or not. So on the second day,
a small group of us took the selectors at their word, missed Compline and went
to the pub instead. After we ordered our
drinks and sat down, we noticed one of the selectors was also in the pub,
sitting at another table. Was he having some time out too, or was he there to
spy on us? Initially we all felt like we
were back at school and had been caught sneaking out, but then we relaxed and
enjoyed our evening. We did swap contact
details and promised to let each other know if got through of not – a kind of
straw poll on whether nipping down to the pub was seen as a black mark at selection
conferences.
The three days came to an end and we all went our
separate ways, knowing that the decisions lay with the selectors’ now.
During the long journey back to Oxford I couldn’t believe
how tired I felt. I was exhausted and more
than that, a kind of depression set in. As
the adrenaline levels fell away, far from feeling close to God and eager to
know if my vocation had been recognised, I felt down, exhausted and alone.
Working as I do now in encouraging Vocations, I now know
that this is common among people who go to BAPs today (Bishops Advisory Panels)
but I think it is still underestimated. Parish
priests and supportive friends would do well to know that most candidates will
need more encouragement after a BAP than before it. Candidates also need to
know what to expect and be allowed to cut themselves a little slack after
attending one.
About ten days later the phone call came from my DDO. I had been warmly recommended with two conditions;
that I finish my degree at university, and that I didn’t go to theological
college straight from university. I
should spend at least a year doing something different first.
I was over the moon!
It was 5 years since I had first filled in a form to explore ordination
and now I had been recommended for training.
I also welcomed the time out before theological college with open arms,
having already decided that there were lots of exciting things that I would
like to do. My mind went back to my
father who was told the same thing after his selection conference. It was suggested that he should go and work
in a book shop, but instead got himself a job on the shop-floor of a steel
works. What would I do?
 |
| With my parents in 1984 |
Telling my parents was a particular joy. They had always been very careful not to
influence me in any way. Ever since I
told them at 16, they had been totally neutral and had never expressed an
opinion, for or against. Now, as I told
them my result, they were openly overjoyed and finally told me they thought God
was calling me to ordination all along.
When our little group from the pub let each other know our
outcomes, guess what? We had all been
recommended. In the end, neither beach
nudity nor drinking had been a barrier to any of our callings being recognised
– perhaps they even helped!
