A Heavy Week

I've just come to the end of another TSW (what do you mean you don't know what that stands for? Were you not concentrating when I described the last one back in January? It's Themed Study Week, and this is the last time I'm telling you!) On TSWs, the college splits into lots of different groups to learn about different things in an intensive way for a week. There was one on art, one on children and young people, one on rural ministry... I, however, did one on DEATH!!!

Fret ye not, I have not become worryingly morbid, choosing a week of intensive death over a week of looking at art. Everyone has to do the death, dying and bereavement course at some point during their time in training, and I thought I'd get death over with in my first year.

On Monday and Tuesday we had one of the Chaplains from the John Radcliffe hospital who talked to us about the process of grief, particularly around sudden deaths and neonatal deaths (amazingly I survived the stillbirth and miscarriage morning emotionally intact!) On Tuesday afternoon we worked with a psychotherapist to explore grief through psycho-drama. On Wednesday we talked about the theology of death and resurrection, on Thursday about bereavement visiting and funeral liturgy, and on Friday we essentially mopped up (our questions, not our tears!)

It's a week that has given me a lot to think about, probably more so than any single course I've done at Cuddesdon so far. I covered quite a lot of the theology of the resurrection stuff during my last essay, and that's something I continue to grapple with. If a grieving person asks me "where is my wife now?" I want to be able to answer them with integrity and not just 'fob them off', but if scripture and tradition teach us anything it's that we know very little. I can't say where heaven is, whether we go to it immediately or what sort of things we will do when we get there. All I can say is that we have hope in an all-loving God. It's all we have and all we really need.

And then, of course, there's the practical stuff. It strikes me that if there's one thing you really, really don't want to muck up as a priest, it's a funeral. It's not uncommon for a vicar to be doing lots of funerals a week. I can imagine a scenario where my diary is packed with stuff, rushing from one thing to another - PCC, toddler group, confirmation classes, writing sermons, meetings about meetings... And then off I rush to do Old Ethel's funeral. And even if I'm tired and worrying about the next thing in my diary, Old Ethel's funeral will only happen once. This is the memory that Ethel's husband of 60 years and her kids and grandkids will be left with. Being tired is not an excuse for hitting the crematorium button at the wrong time or accidentally calling her Edith.

Phew... who'd be a Vicar? I refer back to my previous post about not being ready for ordination yet. The thing is though, while it's daunting, it's also a huge privilege. Who else gets to be with people at these most intimate and monumental times in their lives? - Birth, marriage, death and everything in between, proclaiming hope where there is sadness, resurrection where there is death.

Aren't all the important things in life just a little bit scary?

Up, Up and Away

I begin this post by offering you a pair of small images of the uncooperative Baby A. Uncooperative because he refused to look at the scanner. But seeing as I've posted all his previous snaps on this Blog, I may as well stick with tradition. I had another ultrasound last week; the hospital seem to have largely forgotten about doing an MRI and I'm not going to remind them. In brief, they've identified that the spinal defect is no higher than the 'lumber 5' position but mostly in the sacral region, and that the hydrocephalus has actually reduced by 1mm. This is all very good news.

Added to his apparent stubborn nature, I am under the impression that Baby A is going to be a lively so-and-so. This is because he does not stop kicking, particularly when I am in church. I can only imagine that he either really, really enjoys my singing or he really, really doesn't and is staging a protest at having to listen to it twice a day. Last night, Paul decided to do an inexplicable rendition of 'Oh When the Red Red Robin Goes Bob Bob Bobbin' Along' and got booted in the ear. Admittedly, it is quite fun that he now seems to be reacting to things.

I have now handed in two essays totalling 7,000 words each which... *grabs calculator*... is precisely 29.16% of the total words needed to complete my MTh. Although I'm not delighted with the quality of my essays, it feels good that they are in.

Today, I'm submitting titles for my next two 7,000 word essays. They are -
How has the concept of ‘ancestor’ found in African traditional religion influenced African Christology?
and
How can self-identification as a Christian be reconciled with rejection of the existence of God?

They're due at the end of September so I'm feeling reasonably deadline-free for the moment. Having done the summer placement already, I'm starting to wonder precisely what I'm going to do all summer? I mean, yes, I'll write these essays, but two essays aren't going to require every waking minute of the 14-week holiday are they? And, yes, hopefully Baby A will make an appearance at around week 7 or 8 of the 14, but that still leaves quite a lot of time on my hands. And Paul will have finished his course completely by then. Hmm...

The last week or so I've been reflecting on, really, how little time is left at college. I've just received a round of emails from my fellow occupants of the Runcie Building letting everyone know when removal lorries will be turning up. The earliest mover is going at the end of this month. That's going to be me next year. Me, Paul and the infant Baby A, moving into a Curate's House in a yet-unknown part of Devon.

I'm definitely not ready for ordination yet. I'm hoping I will be ready this time next year. That's if anyone is really ever ready for ordination and, to be honest, I doubt it. We offer ourselves in all our unpreparedness and rely on God to do the rest. That's all we can do, and all we will ever be able to do.