The Archdeacon - Chapter One
The Archdeacon
Chapter One: Synod
More interesting, in my opinion, is the Crush Court, in the foyer outside the large
hotel ballroom where the meeting is taking place. It can be difficult to spend
a lot of time in a ballroom when it is not being used for its intended purpose
– dancing and eating. Dutiful laypeople, especially synod newbies,
instilled with a great and high sense of their election to this august body
will suffer through most of synod, even the driest moments. However, most
clergy I know – I and I count myself amongst the greatest of offenders – will,
at the first possible moment, retire (or shall I say escape?) to the Crush Court
to visit the display tables, the most interesting being the book vendors and
vestment dealers. In the crush court, old friends meet, gossip, and hatch
clandestine plans parallel to the business of Synod I think it is
what most clergy really look forward to at synod; well that, and happy hour.
The situation is much changed now. In dioceses where they continue
to exist, today’s archdeacon is usually active parish priest compensated for
the extra duties with a meagre additional honorarium. The essence of the role
is this: catch anything that falls off the bishop’s desk before it hits the
floor. Today’s bishop, unlike the bishop of old, is so burdened with
administrivia that it can become impossible to be truly the chief shepherd of
the flock, and pastor to the pastors. Today’s archdeacon plugs up
the holes and attempts to take non-episcopal work off the bishop’s plate so the
bishop can at least make an attempt at being episcopal. Why this office of
“episcopal dogsbody” should be so earnestly desired is a bit of a
mystery. My guess it is simply the romantic notions of holding an
old and venerable office, now much degraded, the latter being ignored for the
fantastical glory of the former. To be styled “the Venerable”
is perhaps an allurement, and so may be the splash of purple which is added to
cleric’s cassock upon their collation into this office. Anything
that sets one person apart from another in dignity is a great temptation for
most of us, even for the clergy. And so I think it was with the new archdeacon
we are about to meet.
However, there is one moment that few clergy would openly admit to looking forward to, although, in reality, they find themselves filled with excitement and anticipation. On Friday evenings, before people have grown too weary with the proceedings of the day and escaped from the ballroom, the bishop, without fanfare, begins to name names. Sometimes the names are simply given, perhaps accompanied by a mention of the priest’s service to the Diocese. Having asked each cleric to stand, the bishop then announces “these are your new canons”. Now, for unchurched, a “canon” is an honorary designation that actually amounts to very little, except to set the clergyperson apart as a senior cleric of the diocese. There is no extra stipend attached to it. The cynical, and yes, I have been amongst these, often sneer at who is made a canon, as the criteria for eligibility has never fully been explained. Some recipients are obviously deserving, but others? Well, let the rest remain unsaid. But the secret desire, even the very longing that every cleric harbors in his or her own heart, is to hear their name called and to be asked to stand. Why it should be so? I cannot say. As servants of Christ, we are not supposed to be ambitious, or seek high offices in our Lord’s kingdom, and yet, even a priest longs to be recognized, even if it is with a meaningless, stipend-less, arcane ancient title, that needs to be explained every time you are introduced to a new person. The Crush Court is empty on Friday evenings as all clerics are at their tables in the ballroom, hoping to hear their name called, and when it is not, ready to debrief the fitness of the new canons with other dejected souls.
On occasion,
when the need arises, another office might bestowed at this same
moment. It is an office of truly greater significance, and certainly
one of more substantial work, which often comes with some small remunerative
gift as well, and that is the office of Archdeacon. In the diocese in which our
story takes place, there have been no archdeacons for many years, at least
until this past synod. The archdeacon of old was a pretentious and
intimidating figure. He (and they were all “he”, back in the day) was the
bishop’s eyes and ears, and sometimes the hammer of God, ready to reprimand the
recalcitrant cleric, act as the bishop’s “commissary” when necessary, and to
take administrivia off the bishop’s desk. It was a prestigious post and the
occupant of such an office was considered a “rising man.”
Canon Thomas Fulman was modestly surprised when, after the canons were named last fall, the bishop noted that she wished to make one further appointment. She named Canon Fulman and asked him to stand. She noted that he was known to all as an industrious, faithful priest of twenty-five years’ service, having served in some of the most difficult parishes of the diocese and was now serving in what she did not call (but was commonly known as) a cardinal parish. It was also unsaid, but everyone knew, that St. Stephen’s parish was the birthplace of many bishops of old via the gestation of an archdeaconry. The bishop enumerated his accomplishments, the committees he had chaired, the contributions he had made to the life of the diocese, and his skill as an administrator. Canon Fulman was an adherent of no particular “church party”. He was neither an Anglo-Catholic, nor an Evangelical. He was loved and admired by most of his colleagues. The diocese had not had an archdeacon for nearly a two decades as the bishop had been assisted by suffragan bishops. The last of the suffragans had recently retired and so the bishop needed a helper. He would remain the Rector of St. Stephen’s but was to be given additional responsibilities in his archdiaconal role, advising the bishop on the reorganizing and restructuring of parishes during this time of church decline. What exactly that entailed was still to be determined. He was granted the title that had been retired some years ago, Archdeacon of Underhill.
Although somewhat surprised, he was a man who expected preferment, whose career path had followed a trajectory of success and it was assumed by many, would one day be a bishop. Ordained in his twenties and now in his early fifties, the rector of a cardinal parish, he was “on track”. It might also be said about Canon Fulman that he tended to dream in purple. If others assumed that he would one day be a bishop, so too did he. It was a thought harboured judiciously. He rarely spoke about it to any but his closest confidants. But he could imagine himself in the purple shirt with a grand pectoral cross hanging round his neck, or in the long purple cassock or the white full-sleeved cuffed rochet and scarlet chimere. He imagined receiving an honourary doctorate from his college. These things came very clearly into his imagination because he had witnessed them many times being bestowed upon others, and so he could easily imagine himself in their place.
I would not anyone to misjudge the Archdeacon-designate as simply an ambitious man who sought high places in God’s kingdom through design or manipulation, but in the imagination of his heart he truly believed he was called to such an office He hoped that through hard work and faithfulness these things might come to him. Many think it is a bad thing to want to be a bishop, but I think Canon Fulman was not unjustified in his desiring, for did not St. Paul say to Timothy, “he who desires the office of a bishop desireth a good thing?” And it is a good thing to be a bishop. It is a sacred calling, just as the calling to be a deacon or a priest is a sacred calling. A good man or woman, with a true calling, will be a good bishop and should take up the office when called. Canon Fulman was good priest and pastor, he had many of the qualities that are required of a good bishop. He was a natural leader with strong administrative skills, he was good with people, compassionate, but with good boundaries and a holder of a kind of strong, but healthy self-confidence required of any who would lead in any profession. His clerical colleagues admired him, looked up to him, sought him out for advice and counsel, and I think, saw in him the gifts for episcopal ministry.
However, this was not the office to which Canon Fulman was called today, nor I’m afraid to which he will ever be called. Time will tell. He was now to be an archdeacon, an office for which he was supremely qualified. His colleagues and friends were jubilant at his appointment, and surprisingly there was little jealously or coveting. On that first evening at synod, following the adjournment, he was much feted in the hotel pub, and his own surprise soon gave way to celebration. The substance of the great task before him was still somewhat shrouded in mystery, but that would be for another day. Tonight’s duty was to celebrate, and so they did, as only Anglican clergy know how. The bar was understaffed and the bartender over-worked, as is always the case at most synods and clergy conferences. The management, upon hearing they were dealing with a church group sent one of the bartenders home expecting a slow night. When synod adjourned for the evening, a cabal of thirsty clerics descended upon the unwitting hotel lounge. It is one of the secular world’s greatest misunderstandings about the church.
to be continued...
Comments
Nothing good ever happens at a hotel bar. Foreshadowing something irregular in the offing!