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.

There's something about Mary

The last term of my first year has begun! Morning Prayer, Evening Prayer, meals. A suspicious lack of lectures though - just my 11.00 MTh on a Friday. Well, I could do with a quieter term. My aim is to fill the silence with some reading about spirituality and Priesthood which isn't related to any essay I'm doing, so as to start getting into the mindset of starting a curacy next year.

Morning Prayer yesterday was a little bit tough. Having felt really quite well over the holidays, I came over all dizzy again in the hot chapel and spent most of the service sitting down. The GP thinks I might be a bit anaemic, which sounds likely. This morning I decided to sit up in the balcony where it's less like a tin of sardines, and take a glass of water with me, and while I still felt like I could keel over at any minute, it made the experience more bearable.

I mention this because this morning's gospel reading was Luke's Annunciation. I've checked my lectionary and can see no reason as to why we get this one today, but there you go... Anyway, holding my head, sipping my water and listening to this reading, a funny thought bestruck me; I wonder if Mary experienced these sort of symptoms? Not just anaemia, but all the other things that go with pregnancy; sickness, heartburn, tiredness, and all the less bloggable stuff.

Given that God chose to become incarnate through an ordinary (albeit highly-favoured) woman, and given that the biology of pregnancy hasn't changed a lot, I would have thought it's likely this was her experience. But, unlike me, she probably didn't have a lot of medical support avaliable. And she probably didn't find herself in receipt of a lot of sympathy. I've heard it said that Mary would have been around 13-years-old, about the normal age of betrothal in that time. Women probably spent most of their pregnancy indoors, and with criticism for being unmarried, I can't imagine Mary saw a lot of other people for those 9 months, and those whom she saw may not have felt moved to cheer her up by, say, buying her a nice set of sleepsuits from Mothercare to furnish her baby wardrobe. So while pregnancy hasn't changed, she surely wouldn't have had as much support as I do.

Baby A's various quirks make living in the 21st century a particular blessing. Even in the middle of the last century babies with spina bifida weren't expected to live into adulthood, and parents wouldn't have known about the condition until the baby was born. I, on the other hand, am getting brilliant support (yesterday my GP, who I met for the first time, said "oh I suppose 99% people in your situation would terminate," which made me rather cross, but she's been the exception). On Friday I'm going for my MRI scan, MRIs in complicated pregnancies being yet another recent development.

Aside from reflecting on Mary and Baby A I've been mainly working on essays. Essay-writing is getting me very much frustrated, it doesn't seem to hold the joy it once did! Luckily, I genuinely don't care about getting brilliant marks in my MTh. The 'Potential Theological Educator' suggestion has been well and truly laid aside. Give me the work of a Parish Priest any day!

Talking of, I found out this morning where my 2nd year church placement will be. I haven't contacted them yet so I can't say where, but it's liturgical, inclusive and rural, which is what I wanted. Should soon be finding out curacy. Now that will be very exciting!

By the way, for those of your interested in Holy Hogwarts, Radio 4's Sunday Worship is being broadcast from here on Sunday at 8.10am. Just a little plug there!

He is Risen

WHAT a day!

Well, what I actually mean is what a MORNING. My alarm went off at 3.45am. We both managed to get up and ready in a zombie-ish fashion. The cats seemed very confused to be eating their breakfast at that hour of the morning "what's this - Whiskers? Well we won't say no but it's 4 in the morning don't you know?" (Is what I'd imagine they'd be saying in a very English accent).

Rick rang on our door at 5am and we piled off to St Michael's. Oddly, not a lot of traffic on the road at 5am. Paul's big job of the day was 'liturgical fire starter,' building the bonfire with which to light the paschal candle, which is why we had to be there so early. Given that it was raining, it was rather an impressive furnace. Liturgical bonfires - yet another string in my husband's bow.

The dawn service started at 5.45am. The candles (yep, two Pascal candles, don't ask) were lit from the bonfire and there was a procession into the church with Elaine singing the Exultet. Therein followed five readings from the Old Testament, the Epistle, Gospel, the Proclamation of EASTER (inc bells and party poppers), a sermon (by me), reaffirmation of Baptismal vows and a Eucharist. This took just over 3 hours, but oddly it didn't feel very long.

After having breakfast at church, we set up for the 10am which had an altogether different feel. Lots of families, some of whom (I imagine) aren't regular attendees which is great. Rick and I did the all-age talk, which was chaotic in a good way! Reaffirmed Baptismal vows again. Another Eucharist.

Easter = done.

Having slept for 3 hours this afternoon, I've spent some time looking over my Blog which is now a year old. A huge amount has happened in the last year: BAP, finishing sensible grown-up job, selling sensible grown-up house, moving to Oxford, starting Theological college, and general reassessment of life in light of both impending ordination and impending tiny child.

I've realised today how incredibly important this placement has been for me (ok, technically I have another week to go, but given it's the week after Easter I'm not doing a lot, other than preparing a sermon for Sunday). St Michael's has helped me to reconnect with all that I love about church. It's reaffirmed that liturgy is important for me, and that I am essentially theologically orthodox but socially liberal. But, more importantly, it has submerged me in a deeply-caring church community made up of people of all ages and from all parts of the social spectrum. It's a small community, but people feel a real responsibility for making their church tick. Added to that, a very supportive placement supervisor has made this placement really work. I absolutely love being here, and we've decided to continue to attend St Michael's until my next placement starts in October.

This morning, I preached on Mark's resurrection account and the "terror and amazement" that seized the women fleeing from the tomb. This little scene portrays the awesomeness of the fact of the empty tomb. It establishes this event as the axis of history, an event to which his followers didn't simply say "jolly good, he's alive again" but were stunned into silence. I reflected on how this moment in time colours everything we do as Christians. For me, the reality of the resurrection is an absolute. Without it, Jesus is nothing more than a good bloke who was put to death. The resurrection sits at the centre of Christianity - without it, nothing makes sense.

Alleluia. He is Risen.

Dinosaurs and Fire Engines

Hello hello dear friends. Well, we are back from another tootle to the JR and everything seems surprisingly positive. I wondered whether to give you another exciting blow-by-blow account of our trip to the hospital, or to provide a shorter, blander medical summary. In the end I have opted for neither and hearby present the most recent adventures of Baby A in the form of a humorous song to the tune of the hymn 'He Who Would Valiant Be / To Be a Pilgrim.'

Baby A would valiant be, 'gainst all disaster
Kicking me is something he has duly mastered
There's no discouragement, for his spinal indent
Is quite a low segment, which is a good thing

Baby A, he will not hear more dismal stories
Still some fluid in his head; not enough to worry
Feet and kidneys look alright, Walking will be a fight
With braces he just might, which is a good thing

Oh dear I have to go, for an MRI scan
Lots of time in a small space; this much I can't stand
Still boldly I will obey! If it will help Baby A
He is a boy by the way, which is a good thing

I think that sums up our experience in the hospital. Essentially, everything looks good, surprisingly good - if the spinal defect really is that low (very low lumbar-sacral or sacral-only region) which the MRI should be able to tell, there's a chance he might be able to learn to walk unassisted. Very exciting!

The boy thing is great news as it has meant I am able to buy romper suits featuring dinosaurs and fire engines, which I reeeeeally love but would not be appropriate for a female Baby A.

Anyway, what's going on in the non-Baby A part of my life? Well I am on placement which is turning out to be really good fun. I am at St Michael and All Angels, New Marston. The placement has variously involved - praying (lots), drinking coffee (lots), talking to loads of lovely people, going to school assemblies and helping a group of children rehearse Shakespeare's Macbeth (in which I read the lines of Malcolm and ended up being hailed King of Scotland, to my surprise.) I think I could get used to this vicaring thing.

Well, it's 12.40 already and I'm going to Phillipa's for 1.30 and I need to eat my lunch first, so I will leave it at that for today. Next time, perhaps some more theological reflections on Holy Week. Or perhaps some more humorous hymns. Or perhaps a textual party for my Blog's first birthday. We shall see.

A New Challenge

If you've come here from my Facebook page you'll know that Mr A and myself have been recently rather flipped upside down by the news that Baby A (being quite literally 1 in 1,000) has developed some rather tricky disabilities while he's been cooking away in there.

Sitting outside the John Radcliffe in the sun prior to our 20-week scan on Thursday we were anticipating that the hardest bit of the appointment would be saying "we don't want to know the gender." Fortunately, we managed to achieve that little sentence just fine and the scan proceeded just as expected. Nice little outline of Baby A to which we went "aww..." Some considerable time examining each physical feature (this didn't worry us, we'd been led to expect it would take a while.)

And then the moment when our 'perfect' sick-free pregnancy veered off one way, and reality the next, with the words; "there's something I'm meant to measure, but I can't see it."

Hmm... Anyway, the sonographer said that the failure to see whatever it is was associated with spina bifida, then rushed off to see if a consultant was available to give a second opinion, leaving Mr A and myself looking at each other saying "well, we've heard of spina bifida, but what is it?"

Anyway, after about 10 minutes the sonographer returned and took us up to floor 6 of the JR and sat us in what might be rightly termed a 'bad news room' because it was small with sofas and nice pictures on the wall. Presently we were whisked to another scan room where a very pleasant consultant gave Baby A another once-over and agreed with the sonographer's opinion. She took some pics and showed them to another consultant, who concurred.

So they'd observed a lemon-shaped head, banana-shaped cerebellum and a gap at the bottom of the spine which may or may not be covered with a membrane. These things point to spina bifida. Also a little fluid on the brain which is borderline but may mean hydrocephalus which is commonly associated with SB. For now, they just wanted us to confirm that we'd understood the headlines - severe physical disabilities, probable incontinence, probable learning difficulties of an unquantifiable severity, the option of continuation or termination. Not quite what we had been expecting a couple of hours before.

Well we were obviously shaken. But it was amazing how little time it took us to cheer up. I'm sure most couples have had that chat about 'in what circumstance would we choose to abort?' and we'd always agreed that any chance of the baby living a reasonably happy life is worth a shot. So our only option is to continue with the pregnancy and just pray for the best. We've done a heck of a lot of research in the last few days and have found that outcomes for people with these disabilities vary greatly - there certainly seem to be a lot who manage to live a very fulfilled life. Dame Tannie Grey-Thompson and many other elite paralympic athletes have these conditions.

Our whole outlook on pregnancy has changed in the last few days. Whereas before we were keen not to know the gender, we now hope to find out at the next scan, if only to be able to refer to Baby A as a 'little boy' or a 'little girl' and not 'a poor sick child.' Although we're yet to talk to the hospital about practicalities, a planned cesarean-section before the due date seems pretty likely. Certainly there will need to be a lot of forward-planning as Baby A will need surgery on his/her spinal cord soon after the birth as well as, most probably, a shunt fitted in his/her head to drain the fluid.

You'd have thought we'd be wallowing in sadness, but strangely we're not. The kind words of others have helped cheer us up no end, and now we're ready to look to a future which is just as exciting as before.

Being Up Front

This week at my placement church I led the 8am and it was... OK. I did not fall over or drop anything. I did not pronounce any words wrong. I did not break down in tears. Essentially, I did not embarrass myself and this is a good thing!

My colleague on placement described it as a "Fresh Expression of the 8am Eucharist" on account that I did everything except the consecration prayer and the blessing. This, to me and to him, felt a little bit odd as normally the Priest would take over at "the Lord is here..." rather than at the consecration prayer, but that's what they asked of me so that's what I did. Feedback-wise, I was told to speak up and 'lead' more - "God has called you to lead, so don't be afraid to lead" said my placement supervisor and I think this is sound advice - confidence will always be my biggest challenge.

One of the things I found most difficult was having to wear a cassock and surplice during the 'chat and eat a croissant' section of the morning. And not just because of the obvious practical difficulties of eating a croissant while wearing those big flappy sleeves. Up-front I find liturgical garb essentially helpful - it aids me to put on my 'I'm leading this service' hat. But after the service I just want to be 'me' and would much rather be wearing my normal clothes. The only trouble is, as clergy, you can't nip into the vestry for 5 minutes to defrock at the end of a service. Do this and you've missed the opportunity to say a few words to the couple who have come for the first time, sat on the back pew, and will inevitably make a dash for the door before the last note of the final hymn has died away. So there's no question; I have to get more comfortable with the wearing of liturgical clothes. I expect I'll have the same quandary with the clerical collar, but fortunately I've still got 18 months or so before I cross that sticky bridge.

This experience will, I hope, prepare me for my 'Easter' placement which is now less than two weeks away. Having never preached before, it appears from the timetable I am to be preaching/offering some words of meditation, four times during my placement, including three times in Holy Week. I'm ever so excited about this, and grateful they've given me the opportunity. It's going to be a huge learning experience.

My skills in being 'up front' haven't just been tested in the last couple of weeks by the 8am. I've done a presentation to the MTh. It was about my 'resurrection body' question. I compiled a snazzy PowerPoint with images of St Paul flying in with a speech bubble. The feedback was generally good, and I've got quite a few things to think on. Despite what I inferred in the last post, I think this essay is far from finished. Fortunately, the confusing situation surrounding the approval of my second essay on baptism (can't remember whether I mentioned this before but it's far too boring and complicated to explain) has now been resolved, and I'm going to have to submit it in September, not April as I had planned. This is probably a blessing in disguise and I now feel a lot more calm about the amount of work I've got to do over the next few months.

The final, happy news of the week is that my good chum Kate has finally 'gone public' about being pregnant. She's almost exactly 5 weeks behind me. I've known about this since the day she found out (as she had me) and she's been a brilliant support to me. Nice to know I'm not the only pregnant ordinand at RCC!