So good to see return of ‘Rev.’ with the second series now airing on BBC2. The Rev Adam Smallbone (Tom Hollander) continues to confront multiple challenges in his East London parish. I find his character daringly honest and direct - the influence of an advisory group of serving clergy is evident in the storylines and characters - from the over-amorous Adohah to the worldly-wise and slightly sinister Archdeacon; from the struggles of a frustrated but devoted vicar’s wife to the petty jealousies of an arrogant and undermining junior colleague.

‘Rev.’ has become compulsive viewing for many clergy, although I suspect those who come from the more fundamentalist wing of the church may not be appreciating the portrayal of a drinking, smoking and swearing priest who isn’t forever talking in holy cliches and trying to show that he is somehow set apart from ordinary folk. Smallbone is an altogether more approachable cleric.

Hollander himself has said he is now more open to the possibility that God exists and is going to be attending church himself. One of the challenges for all of us in Christian ministry - including those of us who spend much of our week with the bereaved - is to be similarly approachable and honest, perhaps enabling others to glimpse something of the living Lord Jesus who came to this world and ultimately gave his life for ordinary, sinning mortals.

Preparing for the funeral of a loved one is always a daunting and painful experience. But I reckon the typical TV service as included in Eastenders or Corry or indeed on any crime drama or period piece can make the prospect seem even worse.

For example, why is it that funerals set in crematoria almost invariably feature the coffin visibly disappearing from sight - maybe through doors on noisy rollers? This just doesn’t happen nowadays, at least not in my neck of the woods. The closing of the curtains around the casket is far more gentle and discreet. 

And then of course, the Soap wouldn’t be worth its ratings unless something fairly catastrophic goes wrong - such as a disgruntled ex-partner, sibling, son or daughter getting up unannounced and denouncing what is being done and said. This has never yet happened in any of the funerals I have conducted - though, granted, it is not unheard of. But usually people are well-behaved. What happens at the “wake” afterwards may be a different matter of course, but in the service itself even the most aggrieved individual usually keeps their peace.

In the period dramas, the vicars always seem to be irredeemably wet/spooky/sinister. They read from the prayer book in the most creepy tones possible. Afterwards someone usually congratulates them for what has been, frankly, an abysmal performance! Most (not all!) vicars, ministers and celebrants do rather better than that. It is also most unusual for anyone to fall into the grave - although there is a story, apparently true, about the time an elderly Catholic priest in Upminster fell into the grave after the coffin! Whether drink played a role, I cannot determine!

Sometimes families do act in strange ways. Recently we found it difficult to marshall the mourners from their cars to the graveside as they had broken into several group conversations and were enjoying their cigarettes rather too much to be disturbed. Events sometimes  take a surreal turn. For example, I was asked to bless a gravestone, and on the day in question, the whole family gathered, but conspicuously missing was… the gravestone: “They said it won’t be delivered for another couple of weeks”. Needless to say, I had to swiftly adapt what I was going to say!

The touching scene on last Sunday’s Downton Abbey where scullery maid Daisy weds second footman William as he lays mortally wounded after returning from the trenches reminded me of the first wedding I performed. 

James and Lisa were a young couple who had been planning to marry in church when they discovered James had a brain tumour. Having first brought the ceremony forward, they were then faced with the reality that his condition was worsening and he wasn’t expected to live more than two or three days. He was residing in a local nursing home, being attended by a Christian GP. 

The doctor telephoned me and asked me whether I would be prepared to arrange and conduct and emergency wedding, as provided for under British law. My initial reaction was mild panic, never having performed any wedding service, let alone one in such difficult circumstances.

As usual, my wife was bolder and more determined than myself. It was Saturday - not an easy day to contact the necessary authorities - but she persevered and by tea time we had a plan. I could legally marry the couple, in the presence of two registrars, so long as James was still aware of what he was doing and was able to repeat the statutory words.

It was 10pm on the Sunday when the service took place. The atmosphere was surreal. We were gathered in James’ room. Friends and family filled not only his bedroom but the entire upstairs landing. Two elderly registrars duly appeared, demanded a table, set out their register, bottle of ink, blotting paper and fountain pen.  The doctor was in attendance to give medical confirmation where required.

I conducted a simple but, I hope, appropriate ceremony. Their favourite songs were played. Tears flowed copiously. James and Lisa exchanged their vows and were married.

The next morning James died. As I arrived at the home, the funeral directors needed some assistance in encouraging the friends to leave his room. 

The funeral took place one week after the wedding. Our church was packed. James was a public schoolboy and his parents requested that we sing the school hymn, Jerusalem. Glowing tributes were paid. Lisa, her parents and in-laws maintained a dignified decorum. As we commended James to the mercy and love of God, so we prayed for Lisa that she would know comfort and peace in the days ahead, and that she would be given strength and guidance for the rest of her life, beginning with the University course which she had deferred when they were told James’ terminal diagnosis.

I sometimes wonder how she and the families are now - 20 years on. I have conducted many more “normal” weddings since then - though I find that marriage services are rarely devoid of some kind of challenge or minor crisis! 

At a service I was conducting yesterday a son paid an eloquent and often moving tribute to his father. He concluded it as follows - and I quote this by permission.

“The day before [Dad] died, Mum and I spent a long time with him in hospital holding his hand, and talking to him. I hope he knew we were there. But, on his final day, I’d like to think that he brought together several sides of his character:

His stubbornness, wanting to do things his way;

His pride, and not wanting shows of emotion;

His sense of humour, and probably punctuality.

Now, he was on the top floor of the hospital, and when Mum and I got the final ‘phone call we struggled to get there through the morning rush hour, only to find the hospital fire alarms going, and none of the lifts working, with the result that we just missed him.

I fancy that he was the one who set off the alarms to hold us up a little. Because he wanted to take the lift on his own.”

Had a wonderful time today speaking at the Chelsfield Women’s Institute in Orpington, Kent. My talk was entitled: “It Shouldn’t Happen to a Rev”, and I shared some of my experiences over the last 20+ years as a church minister and latterly as someone who regularly takes funeral services.

It felt every bit like a WI meeting should be and has been down the years. We began with a rousing rendition of “Jerusalem”. Although there was no jam on sale, there was home-made apple and ginger chutney, home-grown tomatoes, and a great array of cakes to consume afterwards.

The village hall had limited parking and I was amazed to find folks had arrived an hour ahead of time to secure a place for their small hatchback motors. As I took a walk around the car park I realised most  of the vehicles were still occupied - only the committee is allowed in before 1.30.

I had been warned that one or two of the ladies might nod off during the talk. This immediately set me a challenge, and I am pleased to report that everyone appeared to remain awake - and laughed in all the right places. I was able to include far more humour than I would ever have dared during one of my sermons! Best of all, I avoided the fate of one Tony Blair who famously received the slow handclap when he spoke to the Institute a few years ago!

This is a thriving group of some 80 ladies and is efficiently run by a committed team. I understand not every WI group is so well-attended. I returned home feeling strangely uplifted. I rather hope I might be invited to speak at something similar in the future.

Saw a great cartoon commemorating Apple’s Steve Jobs. He’s standing by St Peter at the Pearly Gates. Peter appears to be struggling with an excessively large and hefty book - presumably the one listing who may gain admission to heaven. Observing this, Jobs comments: “I have an App for that”!

Hearing the sad news of Steve Jobs’ death reminded me of the often-cited concluding passage from the address he gave at Stanford University in the USA in 2005:

“My third story is about death.

When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn’t even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor’s code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you’d have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.

I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I’m fine now.

This was the closest I’ve been to facing death, and I hope it’s the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

Source: Stanford University News

From time to time I am asked to conduct a short service at the graveside for the interment of ashes (often incorrectly referred to as ‘internment,’ which is something quite different!) The ceremony usually takes place a few weeks after cremation, although I have experienced  situations where loved ones have kept the ashes at home with them for up to several years before finally deciding to have them buried or scattered.

But I hadn’t reckoned on the rather distinctive contribution made by a gravedigger recently when I passed him the urn to be placed in the ground. As I did so he warmly greeted the deceased person’s remains:

“Hello, Hilda!”

I’m not sure what the family made of this. More was to follow. He went round each person in turn, encouraging them to “say goodbye to Hilda”. Their reactions appeared to range from embarrassed confusion to stunned silence.

Then, before shovelling earth to fill the hole, he enquired: “Shall we tuck Mum in, now? There you are, Hilda. Goodnight now, Hilda.”

Is it just me, or is this pushing beyond the bounds of what is dignified and helpful at such a sensitive moment? Suffice to say that, although I am always open to new ideas and forms of words for such occasions, I have no plans to incorporate such expressions in my own services…unless you think that I should?!

Arthur was seriously ill in hospital. His family were gathered round the bed as Pastor Jones arrived to offer prayer and support. His condition seemed to  deteriorate quite rapidly. As the Reverend stood close to Arthur, the elderly gent frantically motioned for pen and paper. With the last of his strength he wrote something and gave it to him. Pastor Jones thought it best not to read it at the time so tucked it inside his jacket pocket. Shortly afterwards, Arthur passed away.

Speaking at the funeral, Pastor Jones suddenly remembered the note. He was wearing the same jacket as before, so he took the note from the pocket. “These are the last words dear old Arthur wrote before he was ‘called home to heaven’. I haven’t read them, but I’m sure our dear brother had some words of inspiration for us.” He looked at the paper, and to his dismay, it said: “Move away from my bed, idiot. You’re standing on my oxygen tube!”

Following the reports of the legal case involving Christian GP Dr Richard Scott I felt constrained to write to the Telegraph. Almost certainly they won’t print my letter as they are inundated every day and this has been running for several months now.

As I understand it the gist of the issue is that Dr Scott is alleged to have told someone of “a different faith” (which faith, we are not told, but maybe it’s not too difficult to guess) that Christianity could help him with his emotional difficulties - apparently the patient was in his 20s and had been suicidal. Whilst initially seeming open to this line of conversation, the patient subsequently told his mother what had happened, and she lodged a complaint with the General Medical Council, which adjudicates on such matters and which apparently has the power ultimately to bar Dr Scott from General Practice.

I struggle with this whole area of the tensions between the reality of mental illness and the power of the Christian faith to bring healing of medical conditions, including those relating to the mind. 

For what it’s worth, here’s the text of my letter.

“Whilst having an instinctive sympathy with Dr Richard Scott’s desire to express his Christian faith in his professional capacity as a GP, I question his apparent assertion that Christianity offers a ready cure for emotional or psychiatric illness.

As a husband, parent and  former Free Church minister, I have experienced the trauma of serious mental illness, both in pastoral situations and within my own family. I do believe in the power of prayer. Yet I have repeatedly encountered the weaknesses of two extremes that manifest within the church. One is the mistaken conviction that God will miraculously and dramatically heal in response to fervent prayer. The other is that Bible-believing Christians shouldn’t suffer mental health problems if they are reading their Bibles regularly and obeying God’s word. Mental health issues rarely just go away or heal up. 

Given the awesome but imperfect functioning of the human mind, what is needed is surely a healthy dose of humility from health professionals and religious believers alike. ”

Rev Andrew Bryant

Romford

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