I was ordained 40 years ago this week. Not that I remember too much. Paul Reeves was the bishop. St Helier’s Anglican the venue. Filled with parishioners, colleagues, my family. And then children, youth, and their parents from a community development project I worked in. The latter being very different, in looks and language, from the former. And there was, of course, the dog, Mr Friendship-on-Four-Legs, who had a wonderful way of bridging those social divides.

Anglicans have two ordinations for most ministers, usually with a year between. One to the diaconate and then, if you and the Church wishes, one to the priesthood. For me the first was paramount, both in terms of personal change and in what it means.

Regarding personal change, I don't adhere to a high church understanding of ordination, what could be called ‘ontology’ (a change in one’s being). Neither do I like the low church framing of ministry as 'leadership' (a category of social power and responsibility). The former too easily leads to elitism and privilege, and the latter too easily falls prey to the latest in the business and management worlds.

Rather I think an ordination is a recognition that the Church, through its rigorous processes, acknowledges something in you, something more than skills, attitude, or beliefs, and wants to train and trust you with - in the old language - ‘the care of souls.’

Which is a kind of murky, mystical, and ambiguous phrase. I mean, what is a 'soul'?  And then, how do you ‘care’ for a soul? Yet, the poet in me still likes these words better than any modern equivalent. And they are a great corrective to framings like 'visionary leader,’ ‘inspiring preacher,’ or ‘empathetic counsellor.’ Not that there’s anything wrong with leading, preaching, and counselling, all of which ministers do. It’s just that I don’t think those things are fundamental.

But I digress, the change this ordination wrought in the 25-year-old me was much more materialistic than that high/low debate. I was given keys to the church (to get in, you understand), keys to a car (to drive, and to pay a loan on), and keys to a house (for dog and I to live in, rent free). I was given a stipend and told to buy a suit (for weddings and funerals, you understand). Huge changes for the young me who had travelled the world, hung out at two tertiary institutions, and was seen as something of a theo-political radical (being arrested didn’t help).

A good friend and colleague, Bruce, once said to me that he didn’t understand his ordination to the diaconate until he became a bishop. I think his comment was firstly about the influence for good, in the service of the wider good, that a minister or bishop can have outside the doors of the congregational church. And secondly the constraints those same doors can have on ministers and bishops.

The purpose of ordination is to serve God (murky, mystical language), and then secondly the Church (who give you keys and all). The problem, the big problem, arises when the two are conflated. And the expectations and demands from inside the Church drown out the voices and needs from outside.

An example of this was a parish minister I knew who was elected to his local borough council (back in the day when they still existed in Auckland) and the bishop received a petition from his parish concerned about the appropriateness of this new role.

Maybe, in over-simplifying it, Anglicans have these two ordinations to make this point, with serving the wider or common good being prioritised before serving the good of the Church, and before, as is often the case, that prioritisation of the wider and common good is curtailed by the demands and caution of the Church. 

All of which is to say this week I’m remembering my calling to listen deeply and pay attention to wherever the spirit of hope buds and the spirit of despair lurks in order to care for souls (including the soul of the planet). And in so doing join with others, of whatever faith or none, to make a difference, to bring a vision of egalitarianism, eco-justice, and mutuality to birth. To see and be, hope and strive, lead and counsel, for lasting change.

(Photo: from“Where the Wild Things Are” by Maurice Sendak. Feel free to make your own comparisons with what I’ve been saying).

‍