by the Revd Robert Thompson, Vicar St Mary’s, Kilburn & St James’, West Hampstead; host of Open Table, London
There were days during the months I was ill when I would have liked someone to come and give me Communion and anoint me. I spent sixteen years in hospital and hospice chaplaincy asking, “Would you like me to bring you Communion? Shall I anoint you? Would you like me to sit with you for a bit?” Sometimes the answer was, “Actually, I’d quite like to go to sleep.” Fair enough. You could go to sleep knowing somebody thought to ask.
The main things a diocese needs to know are how long a priest might be away and who will cover on Sunday. But, even when a churchwarden can answer both questions, they could still be left with one of their own: who is looking after our vicar?
On 18 November, Richard Jackson brings the Covenant for Clergy Care and Wellbeing back to General Synod. I’d read his paper, GS 2466, alongside Save the Parish’s manifesto for this newly elected Synod. It calls for a Charter of Care that “values our clergy and guards them from mental and physical exhaustion”. So just what can a priest in Kilburn, Carlisle or Truro count on as a result of us making a covenant with one another?
The charity St Luke’s for Clergy Wellbeing has sent Synod members a link to their report, Caring for Those Who Care. Here’s one simple question from it, on referral: if you need counselling, can you ring a counsellor yourself? St Luke’s looked at what dioceses tell clergy publicly. In 19 dioceses it appeared you could. But in 16, you had to go through somebody in the diocese. Imagine if the thing keeping you awake is a conversation with your archdeacon.
I hope to move a following motion after Richard’s, asking the House of Bishops to set out what pastoral care a priest can expect regardless of their diocese. During prolonged illness, somebody should make the first call, offer Communion or anointing and agree when to ring again. During a complaint, each party should have a named pastoral contact independent of the investigation. A year on, I’d like Synod to hear how that has worked in the parishes. A priest ought to know whom they can ring on a difficult Wednesday.
Suppose the bishop does ring. You’ve known one another for years. Then comes the question, “How are you, really?” Halfway through answering, you wonder what will become of the answer. Will somebody make a note? Might it be read years later by a bishop who has never met you? That is quite a lot to work out while somebody is waiting for you to speak.
In July, Synod received the report of the Church’s Trust and Trustworthiness Project. Ian Paul identifies one difficulty in The Secret Files of the Church of England. The bishop who holds a priest’s file is “pastor, judge and referee”. Records of sickness sit alongside references and complaints. One priest described asking to see their file, being discouraged and letting it drop. Nobody needed formally to refuse.
In nearly thirty years of dealing with bishops and archdeacons, I’ve seen little to suggest that ordination equips anybody to decide what may lawfully be kept on a file. I’ve seen the Church’s account of a person depend on the gossip on the High Road and whatever was last written on the back of a fag packet. Once somebody types it up, who remembers where it came from?
Survivors know what it costs when one bishop never learns what another knew. They also know the cost of going back to the same office for an account of what happened there. I’m preparing another private member’s motion for independent control of safeguarding and complaints records. A survivor should be able to ask an independent body to decide what personal information they may see. I’d also put clergy personnel files under professional HR governance, with independent scrutiny.
An account of my absence could go on my file. Where would my parish’s account go? Our wardens knew who rang. The retired clergy knew how many Sundays they covered. The administrator knew which difficulties came back to her desk. I’d like them to be able to speak to someone independent of the bishop, with a duty to follow up and tell the parish what has been done. If another parish tells much the same story six months later, who can say, “We’ve heard this before”?
My friend Stephen Parsons has been asking in Surviving Church where we will find our next generation of bishops. I worry that we’ve allowed the episcopate to become a caste. Our Strategic Leadership Development Programme begins with clergy somebody has already noticed. Suppose a priest is asked to help with a bid to the Diocesan Investment Programme. The meeting is on an afternoon when they’ve promised to visit somebody. At the meeting, someone who might commend them for senior office will see them exercise leadership. If they keep the visit, the person who sees them exercise it may never be asked.
During the process for finding a new bishop, does anyone ask a former churchwarden what happened the Sunday after they told the vicar something unwelcome? A former curate could be asked too. The incumbent who made your curacy difficult may also have sat with your mother while she was dying. You may want the Crown Nominations Commission to know both things. Somebody assures you that former curate that they can speak in confidence. But – the trust issue again – can they? If the incumbent only trained two curates, it could be clear which of them it was.
The potential bishop deserves a fair chance to answer a serious concern. The curate deserves to know beforehand what that might mean for them. And why wait until somebody is being considered for another diocese to ask what happened in this one?
I come back to the priest at home. I wanted someone to bring me Communion. I wanted to know that someone was in communion with me. After sixteen years of asking, “Shall I anoint you?”, I would have liked to say yes and hold out my hands.
Somewhere in a parish there is somebody who knew the priest we are considering for bishop long before anybody thought to give them a purple shirt. If we want to know whether that priest has a charism for this ministry, we might ask the person who held out their hands. They remember who brought the oil, who sat with them, and whether the person who said, “Shall I come again next Wednesday?” came back.
Any thoughts?