It was a perfect English summer’s day at Lichfield Cathedral. My Mum was wearing a new fancy hat. And secular-minded friends who had turned out to support me fidgeted nervously as the service dragged on past the hour mark. But they were still, I think, carried away by the sense of occasion. It was also the day on which the first cohort of women was priested in the Church of England. It was a historic day, full of joy and promise. It was on this day, 25 years ago, that I was ordained a priest.
As I emerged from the great west door of the Cathedral, sweaty and itchy in my bizarre new dressing-up outfit, the local Roman Catholic parish priest, an elderly gentleman of many years in Holy Orders, knelt down before me and asked for my blessing.
I had no idea what I was supposed to do and so rather mumbled my first words of blessing, rapidly invented: “May Jesus bless you Father, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.” He stood up and smiled. I wasn’t sure what I had just done. What was this thing that had just been done to me? I felt like a total fraud. Who was I to pronounce such words?
As the years went by, this sense of being an imposter has never entirely left me. But also, nothing has defined me more than this service, nothing has come anywhere close to shaping my sense of direction or purpose.
You might think that by the time the Bishop came to place his hands upon my head, I should have been much clearer about what it was that I was being called to be. True, theological college had prepared me a little for some of the varied competences that are required of a priest: the ability to preach a half decent sermon, conversance with the liturgy, an aptitude for pastoral care etc.
They hadn’t, though, explained that I would spend a lot of my time as a building’s manager and finance officer. But being a priest can never be reduced to a set of competences. Indeed, the very heart of the job – job being entirely the wrong word – is something that it is not possible to be good at.
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