It was on a Wednesday night....

Tonight is Wednesday in Holy Week, a week which for the past 22 years has been for me the busiest week of the year, with all the excitement, drama and stresses of following Jesus through the last days of his earthly ministry.

This year has been totally different! I decided that I wanted to go to the annual service in Southwell Minster for the renewal of vows for priests, deacons, bishops, and all those in authorised ministry.

My friend and former curate at Ollerton and Boughton Caroline came to pick me up and took me there. She pushed me with great aplomb in my wheelchair - well she is now used to pushing her 12 week old daughter, although I told her not to sing to me as we walked along, like she sings to daughter Anna!

Not only was there a total reversal of incumbent/curate role here, with me being totally reliant upon her, but after a while we met the archdeacon's wife who pushed me into the Minster - a bit like being pushed by royalty, a great privilege, but we has a great laugh!

After moving me in my wheelchair around a bit, the service began. What a pity they had the wrong hymn typed up on the order of service, and the wrong year George Herbert died - at least I don't think he died in 1963! I mention these two pieces of minutia, because things like this would often happen when I prepared services, and I would get so cross with myself.

I found the service difficult - a lack of authenticity, although I fully accept it was all coloured by the place I was in!

I struggled with the hymns; at the peace, there were people who I thought would come and share the peace with me, who didn't, including one person who was one of my church wardens at Ollerton/Boughton, for the whole of my 4 years there, and who hasn't seen me since I left last September, and who was sitting just two rows in front of me, and knew I was there.

Just after receiving Communion I poured my heart out to the Archdeacon's wife, who I had sat next to for the service, as Carline had robed up and processed! Archdeacon’s wife was an angel, a real star!

Sitting at the end of a service in Southwell Minster, as people left, I reflected long and hard, having got fed up and let down by people who came to greet me, calling me Andrew!

One priest, who I have always found arrogant, said to me after really insisting my name was Andrew "well who are you then!" I had known him for 22 years since we did Post Ordination Training together!

Whilst I concluded that I was very pleased I had come, at that moment I had not enjoyed it, and feel that the traditional established Church of England does not always practice what it preaches.

It is 23 years in June that I was ordained Deacon in that Holy Place, and since then I have served the Diocese of Southwell and Nottingham as faithfully as I can, acknowledging my failures and shortcomings as many as they are. Wednesday night, in our Cathedral Church, I felt a total stranger! (but I fully acknowledge it might be my problem)

Just at that moment when it seemed everyone had gone home, except Caroline and a few of her curate friends, the Diocesan Bishop, Paul, came round the corner to chat with me. He was, as always, wonderful, and I was able to tell him exactly how I was feeling, and how I really felt abandoned by the church, which I still love!

He just listened to me ranting on, and I was able to tell him everything that was on my mind.

He knew just the words to say (not all Diocesan Bishops do may I add).  He was so kind and understanding, without being at all patronising, which is an easy trap to fall into.

So after a considerable time I let the Bishop go only for him to be replaced by another Bishop, Bishop Tony, who was also extremely friendly.

We didn't chat for quite as long as by now it was getting late and it was obviously time for us to leave the minister as the proverbial chairs were on the tables.

I think Caroline and I were the last two people out of the minister other than the staff and I left the building on quite a high note.

Well what a spiritual rollercoaster of an evening!

The Church of England at its worst, and the Church of England at its very best.

In her sermon that evening, Canon Angela Ashwin spoke about glimpses of God in dark places.

Now that rang a bell or two for me. It's fine having all the pomp and ceremony, but that is not where we find the glimpses of God's glory.

This is what I have been banging on about all the time during my blogging, and on reflection it was great hearing it preached from the pulpit in our Cathedral church. I just hope people listened and took it in!

Once again we can't experience the sheer joy and celebration of Easter day, without the stark reality of the darkness and suffering of Good Friday.

I will post again either later today or tomorrow, and then on Easter day itself.

I do hope you have not found this post too depressing, but as Holly week has progressed I have found myself getting lower in my spirits.

I don't think this is necessarily a bad thing as it used to happen to me that when I was in full health as I grappled with the events and reflections of Holy Week.