Ordination – Haydon Spenceley

The (Ontologically-changed) Contents of My Head (Part 2)

And so, here I am. On the other side. This morning I woke up and, oddly, felt quite ready to put on a green clergy shirt and dog collar. Fortunately I put on some other clothes too. The last few days have been incredible. As the response to my last blog has been so favourable (even my mum liked it) I thought I would write again and let you in on how ordination retreat, and the ordination itself, have left me feeling. If I did this fully, it’d take a lot longer than I have, so here, once again, are the key contents of my head this Monday afternoon.

Firstly, even though I spent most of the last few days in silence, I feel like I made a lot of new friends. There’s an odd kind of companionship and intimacy which develops in silence. I couldn’t tell you an awful lot about the cohort of people that I retreated and was ordained with, I have very little memory of where they all are today, what they used to do, how many kids they have etc. I do know though that those ordained deacon and priest in Peterborough Diocese this year are, without exception, a wonderful group of people. Each has their own history, call and future, but I am so looking forward to getting to know them, ministering and serving alongside them in the years to come. The site at Launde Abbey was relatively accessible to me (in the way that a thing is accessible as long as one is assisted) and to a man or woman, each person did all they could to enable me to participate fully in every part of the retreat. This was no small feat, and I was very humbled by the servant-heartedness of all. This might sound trite, but I really mean it. If you wanted a mark of a group of people who were fit to serve in Churches, this was one. I hate having to ask for help. Maybe one day I won’t need any anymore? Who knows. So, in a funny kind of way, one of the key things I will take away from this last week is a whole group of new friends. What a great gift that is.

Secondly, robes are exceptionally warm.

Thirdly, I had a clear sense that God was with me. I’m not a person who clearly senses very much most of the time. A combination of cynicism, scepticism, anti-depressants and so on usually puts paid to that these days. That said, it was very clear right from arrival at Launde that I was in the right place, at the right moment, doing the right thing. This is not common in my everyday experience, and it was, well it was just really great. I can’t really describe it any better than that. I was acutely aware of the prayers and love of many people, near and far, especially every time I survived showering on the picnic chair that played the role in this production of “The Shower Seat”. Thanks for looking out for me, pray-ers and well-wishers.

Fourthly, it was so good, after four days, to see my wife, family and friends yesterday morning. It felt like years that I’d been away, but of course it wasn’t. However, as I wrote the other day, I was reminded again of how much we need each other and how fortunate I am to have such an amazing wife and family/friends around me. I know not everyone can say that, but I’m often guilty of taking it for granted. Don’t try and do things on your own. That was the key message of the whole service yesterday. We’re not built for flying solo, in life or ministry. I don’t mean, before you jump up and down, that a life of singleness isn’t valid. What I mean is that we need fellowship, community, a family of some kind. Jesus needed it in His earthly life. So do we. God has it in the trinity. It is impossible, as the diaconal ordination service told me yesterday (as if I didn’t know) to fulfil the tasks I now have as an ordained person in my own strength. God is the one who gives me the strength I need to do whatever He has called me to. It is the same for all of us.

Fifthly, as I was rolling around the shopping centre where my new Church is situated, earlier, I was amused by how many people didn’t know how to react to me. Granted I was in a wheelchair, dressed as a vicar (I’ll get used to it) with a green clerical shirt on, but i was left to wonder, “have I really changed that much?” The shopping centre is one I’ve used regularly throughout my life, a lot of people locally know me by sight (the perils of being obviously different) but here I was in a new state, a new uniform, a new way of being. Things had changed already. The strangest thing of all is that I already feel pretty comfortable with who I am and what the new clothes I wear signify, even as I don’t have much of an understanding of what this new ordained state will really mean for me, my life and the lives of those I love. I suspect that this is the greatest evidence of the activity of the Spirit in my midst over the last few days. I am here and it feels somehow just right. I never thought I would write anything like that.

Lastly, I’m preparing a testimonial talk, to be given over the next few Sundays at the three Churches in the Emmanuel Group. The main idea of this is to introduce myself and Jo and to explain how I think I got to where I am. As I’m thinking about this, I have come to one clear, annoyingly trite and yet unswervingly true answer: it is Jesus that is the reason I am here. Without Him I really would be lost and flailing around in the world, and I’m not even a Calvinist. He has brought me here, to do whatever it is that is coming. How exciting this actually is. I’m here to serve the Church and the community around it, to learn and to grow (hopefully no further outwards). How lucky am I?

I’m a Rev. Blimey.

As I begin writing this, I’m a couple of hours away from going away on retreat, before I am ordained a deacon in the Church of England on Sunday. If I was a proper blogger, I’d have been thinking about this for quite some time in readiness for dazzling whoever reads my writings with some wisdom, insight or humour which makes them at once stop in their tracks and marvel at the gifts and talents (coupled with humility) that God has given me. Sadly, this isn’t the case. I’ll never be a famous Christian blogger. Instead, as it ticks past midday, here are the contents of my head.

I said goodbye to my wife a couple of hours ago. I won’t see her until Sunday. Next time I talk to her properly I’ll be a deacon/curate and have a bit of white plastic round my neck. I don’t know whether people will notice that first, or the black cassock I’ll be wearing, the white surplice that I’m pretty convinced makes me look like a levitating soufflé, or whether my seemingly-defining features (suave, debonair good looks and/or wheelchair) will draw the most attention. I don’t know how I feel about ontological changes. I don’t think I understand ontology well enough to know how I feel about it, and the idea that when the Bishop puts his hands on my head on Sunday (must wash my hair) and prays a powerful prayer, I will become something, or someone else. What I do know is that once a person makes a step like being ordained, nothing is quite the same again. God does something, the Church does something, I do something, but almost equally, those who love and care for me do something too, and everything changes. I was struck as she left this morning as Jo left that she has committed and sacrificed so much so that I can be and do this, that neither of us really have a clue what we’re getting into, but that there’s no-one I’d rather be getting into it with.

I’ve got to be silent from after dinner tonight for most of the next four days. I don’t know how you feel about being silent, but I have a busy mind, sometimes troubled, sometimes rejoicing, but hardly ever quiet. Lots of books and leaflets exist on how to be silent and how to make the most of the gift of silence and I really appreciate them, but the truth of it is I’ll likely find the next few days a challenge. Be thinking of me!

I’m looking ahead to a new life and a new job (I know it’s a vocation really) as a colleague and team member of the Emmanuel Group of Churches in Northampton. Rather unbelievably, as this move has been a long time coming, I start there on Monday. I have so much to learn, but I’m very excited and feel very honoured by the welcome that I’ve received there so far. Come visit sometime.

You’re supposed to say that you feel unworthy at times like this. It’s the done thing. I often feel unworthy. It’s my default position. I find it easier than confidence, peace, happiness or anything else. The thing is, this time I feel like I’m in the right place, at the right time, doing the right thing. This is strange, and oddly frustrating (don’t ask how my mind works). I feel pretty good about the whole thing though. I suppose I could theologically reflect about why that is while I’m away. If I come up with any answers I’ll probably blog about it! Anyone who knows me or has spoken to me in the last few years knows that the last few years have been something of a journey (hate that phrase, but it’s true) and that there were a lot of times when I didn’t think I would be here doing this. There were even more times when I didn’t even want to be here. The thing is (and here comes the vaguely spiritual bit) sometimes you can’t run from the thing that God wants to gift to you. Ordination is a huge thing, it’s a responsibility, but it’s also, next to Jo and my family, probably the biggest gift and privilege I’ve ever been given. I don’t know from my own experience yet but I’m pretty sure it’ll turn out to be the case. God has been constant and abundant in His provision throughout my life, perhaps unsurprisingly as that is His character and mode of operation, but on a day like today it feels important to stop and acknowledge that truth afresh. I’ve tried hard to escape from His love, grace and generosity, often a lot too hard, but “where can I flee from your spirit?” Nowhere. There’s nowhere that any of us can go which is beyond the welcome of the Spirit. Wherever you are at this morning I hope you know that somewhere deep within.

And so, in spite of a maelstrom of thoughts and concerns, I can go in to what is next knowing and believing what hindsight tells me loud and clear. God is with me. God is with us. God is for us. This is His life, His ministry. I’m me. Bizarrely He wants to partner with me in doing the next part of something. It’ll be fun finding out what it is.