Deacon? (11) Inclination

Most of the points in this final group fall readily under the headings: - Inclination, Obedience, Marian devotion, and The Eucharist.

There are also a few sentences centred on marriage and celibacy in connection with the diaconate which I will include at the end. They do not belong with the above headings as I have no difficulty in this area; I simply know unflinchingly what I believe and value most and I know that my priorities will always be as they have been thus far.

First, however, in the interests of being as thorough and as honest as possible, I include the following few items. They raise doubts in me, but no feeling great enough to warrant my extending the length of this response by spending time on them, other than to say that being ‘orthodox both in belief and practice’ and being ‘watchful of doctrine’ are bound to be included here when one considers the headings that follow, and that being ordained ‘to radical or complete availability’ will necessarily be included with my thoughts on the weighing of marriage with ordination.

The candidate must be

orthodox both in belief and practice.

educated to a sense of belonging to the body of ordained ministers ...

The deacon is called

to celebrate the Principal Hours, namely, Morning and Evening Prayer. 

to recite as much of the Prayer of the Church as he can. (insofar as his circumstances allow)

                 to strive to assist daily at Mass.  (where possible)

                 to be watchful of doctrine. 

The deacon is ordained

to radical availability.

to devote himself to the Church by means of complete availability. 

Inclination

The candidate must or should

be inclined toward the ministry.

have won the respect of the clergy and faithful by having lived a truly Christian life for a long time   

         and by showing that his nature and disposition are inclined towards the  ministry.

be accepting of the call of the Church.

              be willing to make a life-long commitment to serve the Church.  

To my mind, an inclination to the ministry could be taken in any one of three ways. 

    1.)  As a legitimate pointer towards a vocation.

    2.)  As indication of a wish to become part of the hierarchy for reasons other than a true vocation.

   3.) Where the inclination is to ministry rather than ‘the ministry’, it would suggest a real will to offer time and help where it may be needed. The precise form of the help would depend on the individual experience, talents, gifts and character of the person so inclined, and their involvement, if to be closely linked with members of a Church community rather than the broader community, would need the approval and at least partial involvement of the relevant ordained priest or deacon.

While not applicable to me, it should of course be hoped that among those with such an inclination there may be people whose willingness might be transformed into a vocation.

Being ‘willing to make a life-long commitment to serve the Church’ goes a long way beyond any simple inclination to ministry within its visible boundaries. It also comes close to involving a requirement of obedience.

Deacon? (10) Self exclusion

The final group of points contains those which, even before my searching and reading began, were known to be reasons for my not becoming a deacon. They automatically exclude me, and, because I have never wanted to become a deacon, and have never had any hint of the possibility of God wanting me to do so, that sense of exclusion in no way troubles me. It is part of my awareness of not having been, and not now being so called. Once again it is my certainties that have made a straight and level road of what might otherwise have been a prolonged, disturbing and tortuous route along the wrong path.

That too confirms to me that the path on which I am travelling is the right one for me, though after twenty years of following it I still do not know what it is to which I am being led.

I would be more worried about this but for there having been times when it has seemed essential that I protest and work to defend myself against wrongs and false accusations, but have somehow managed to do nothing, in response to being guided to do precisely that: to wait, trusting God, and doing and saying nothing in my own defence. In due time everything that had been heaped against me evaporated as though it had never been, and my professional reputation – in the minds and places where I felt it to be of real consequence – remained intact.

That mattered a great deal to me; and allowing everything to happen around me without raising a word in my own defence was the greatest test of trust I have as yet endured. The “all will be well” implication accompanying the instruction to be still, to wait, to do nothing, proved to be the truth.

I also believe its source to have been The Truth.  That too built further on my certainties.

There are still times when I get caught up in the fact that I still don’t know where I am going or what it is that I should be doing; evidence of this has been posted more than once among these pages; but as soon as the stress begins to build I know that I am again being told to wait; I hear once more those quiet words:  “Be still ...”    “Be still ...”

And I am content; I am at peace once more.   For what else could I possibly ask?

Whatever lies ahead: whatever it is to which I am called, I have long believed that I shall know it when it comes. I pray that I am right. Yet I still ask myself, at times, whether I might already have arrived but have failed to recognize the fact. It feels as though my confidence in Him and my need to leave it all in the hands of my Lord is still being tested; perhaps I have yet to be taken even further into the depths and the meaning of placing all my trust in Him.

Without some of my past experiences, I would be unable to admit to some of the difficulties which have confronted me while compiling my lengthy list of qualities and expectations associated with the diaconate. Almost every difficulty has arisen because the points in this group (as shown below) relate to every Catholic, not just to deacons. Unlike my hard to accept call to remain silent, outlined above, saying nothing would be the easy way through life where these points are concerned. Admitting to difficulties arising from some of the Church’s core beliefs is not what most people would willingly want to hear from me, but if the truth is not to be told, then I should not even hint that I have anything to say. I should allow people to gain the impression that I have given no real thought to this matter since being asked the question that started it all. The truth, however, is that many hours of thought have gone into my response.

The short answer remains the same as that which I gave when the question arose; I have known that answer for a long time. But, as stated from the beginning, I needed to understand clearly for myself why I had been, and still was, so sure that the answer is that the diaconate is not for me.

The quotation from the Archdiocese of Westminster Handbook (at the end of Diaconate (3)) speaks of the sowing of seeds, and as I heard them, that is what the words of the question were. Believing that, I could not allow the questioner to assume they had fallen on stony ground or among thorns; they had not. It was rather that, in my eyes at least, the soil and the seed did not appear to match; neither of them was wrong, unproductive, or sterile, but they had to be given time: to await the unseen work of the Holy Spirit, not to generate a vocation where there was not meant to be one, but perhaps to produce unimagined fruit from the combined responses of both questioner and he to whom the question had been directed.

Who can know where the White Dove, having taken a seed in its bill, might go? ...what it might do with it? ...how?  ...when?  ...and why?  Ours is not to know such answers; only to trust that something, somewhere, sometime, apparently unconnected maybe, will come of it.

Perhaps my response could have been taken as evidence of workings contrary to everything I had written, and of which I remained blissfully unaware. I write that with a smile, as I am being careful not to contradict what I have already written about not knowing what will come to pass. And as well as that, echoes of other noted lines will not quite be silenced:

‘Alongside God's call and the response of individuals, there is another element constitutive to a vocation, particularly a ministerial vocation: the public call of the Church. (This) should not be understood in a predominantly juridical sense, as if it were the authority that calls which determines the vocation, but in a sacramental sense, that considers the authority that calls as the sign and instrument for the personal intervention of God, which is realised with the laying on of hands.

In this perspective, every proper election expresses an inspiration and represents a choice of God. The Church's discernment is therefore decisive for the choice of a vocation; how much more so, due to its ecclesial significance, is this true for the choice of a vocation to the ordained ministry.’     (Basic Norms for the Formation of Permanent Deacons. 29)

It is not that those words have been written; nor is it that I have read them and been mildly discomforted by them; the reason for hearing their message, and believing that there is more to arriving at one’s destination than one had at first supposed, is that we must accept that we can never know anything with certainty. Even my own certainties, inevitably reshaped in unknown ways within me, must not be completely relied upon if I am to be truly open to the prompting and guidance of the Holy Spirit. I can have absolutely no preconceived and impenetrable ideas.

I am duly cautioned by that thought.

Deacon? (9) A blurred line

We should all

‘be mindful that the lay members of the faithful, in virtue of their own specific mission, are “particularly called to make the Church present and fruitful in those places and circumstances where it is only through them that she can become the salt of the earth”. (Lumen Gentium, 33.)

These words remain as true as ever, but the drastic alteration in the nature of the threshold has, I believe, led to a corresponding expansion of the territory in which they can become that salt.

The diminishing numbers of vocations – as the Church has become used to seeing them – coupled with the general public’s declining respect for the clergy, due, in part at least, to the adverse publicity of recent years (founded on truths, however small the minority on which those truths are based) may have made the responses of lay men and women to their callings the crucial next stage in the necessary rebuilding of confidence and fellowship within the Church.

There are clearly defined priestly functions directly related to the Eucharist and to the Church’s gathering around the altar for mass.

The “diaconia at the altar, since founded on the Sacrament of Orders, differs in essence from any liturgical ministry entrusted to the lay faithful. The liturgical ministry of the deacon is also distinct from that of the ordained priestly ministry.”

Beyond these functions, however, I suggest that there are very few areas from which members of the laity should be absolutely excluded on the grounds of their not being members of the defined hierarchy. Beyond the demands of charity and justice, it is not with answering the call of, or being obedient to men that we should be concerned; we must consciously dwell within earshot and within reach of both the Spirit’s leading and of each other if we are to discern our individual and collective callings and intended direction.

Reading that,

‘if married, (a deacon) is at the interface between the secular and sacred and so is a primary agent of evangelisation and mission, configured to Christ the Servant in the midst of contemporary culture’

has reminded me to state clearly that nothing I write here, and none of the thoughts giving rise to my writing, is intended to give the impression that I do not believe in the value and the relevance of the permanent diaconate today. I do believe in its importance but, in the context of individuals as opposed to the local community or wider Church, only for those who truly have that particular vocation.

I have had experiences (fleeting only) of deacons who have left me with doubts as to whether or not God would truly have called them to ordination, but, in spite of being unable to completely shed the memory, I do, of course, admit that I am in no position to judge whom God may call to what, and why. Simply knowing that He wants me, of all people, not to simply believe in His existence but to be in a real relationship with Him, as a friend, is more than enough to silence my doubt; other than in such a context as this, where my honesty is not only relevant but essential.

I have also had the best of experience of deacons: one being the husband of the lady with whom I had been talking when first asked whether I had thought of becoming one, and the other being Louis Kelly, recently deceased, of St Joseph’s parish in Malvern. It is impossible to doubt that such people as these are much needed in the Church and that they have responded to very real vocations.

They are also examples of the sort of Christians much needed to be formed and to remain among the laity, where they too will be influential ‘at the interface between the secular and sacred and so … a primary agent of evangelisation and mission, configured to Christ the Servant in the midst of contemporary culture’.

The widening of the threshold into a broad expanse was always nothing more than a personal and unexpected way of seeing one aspect of the Church today. It also proved to be a purely temporary phenomenon which contracted back to its former narrow dividing line; but not before it had drawn my attention and stirred my thoughts in ways which would not otherwise have come to expression here.

Those thoughts were beckoned into the empty central field where I was given the space in which to wander and found myself walking far closer to the ‘maximum’ line, the crossing of which cannot be avoided by those who are ordained. It would not have been possible to walk there without the threshold having been expanded to that far larger scale. Persons attempting to, or actually doing so, could be in danger of finding themselves falling onto the wrong side of it, whether through desire for some share in the power, authority, perceived superiority, or other misguided or imagined attribute conferred by ordination; or through arrogance, or simply having no real idea of what they were doing.  They would be on the wrong side because of arriving there for any reason other than the only right one: a vocation.

I had to remind myself that this was not just another slow stroll in the countryside, alone with my thoughts. This was the ground we are all being asked to step onto: the place where we are called to meet – meaningfully, in peace, in fellowship, and in His name. 

But where was everybody? I returned from my wanderings dwelling on the disconcerting fact that I had been there completely alone.

Looking at the threshold now yields only the fine dividing line; but it appears blurred. The space in which we should be gathering is still there, but is clearly not the spacious ‘third field’ in which I had walked. That, I am sure is how it is meant to be. The division of the Church into two parts, with the imbalances that history has incorporated into them, is how it is and how it long has been. But any actual division into three would probably be the beginning of the end; certainly it might be seen as such by many women in the Church, who would suspect its potential for being another false hope in their journey towards acknowledgement and full acceptance, genuine appreciation and equality: another manmade corral on their own journeys towards becoming the persons God wills them to be.

Deacon? (8) The Threshold (3)

The second definition of ‘Threshold’ was as follows:  –

‘Minimum or maximum value (established for an attribute, characteristic, or parameter) which serves as a benchmark for comparison or guidance and any breach of which may call for a complete review of the situation or the redesign of a system.’

If what has appeared to me to be a seemingly sudden change in the threshold, conveys to others any suggestion of truth or indication of a real situation, it is likely that its widening has not been a rapid and unplanned mutation, or merely, and more likely, a temporary but noteworthy shift in my imagination, but a more gradual, real and therefore significant form of evolution in response to prevailing conditions.

In becoming a region rather than merely a dividing line, it has itself taken on qualities of breadth and depth which could be said to equate to the ‘minimum or maximum value ... which serves as a benchmark’ – the minimum being at the point of departure from the laity’s sheepfold, and the maximum being at ordination. In the space between these two is a journey we are all called to make: a journey towards becoming the persons God wills us to be.

This definition continues: – ‘any breach may call for a complete review of the situation or the redesign of a system.’

Consciously stepping out from the fold at the initial stage of becoming a candidate for the diaconate corresponds to breaching the ‘minimum value’, and ordination can be taken as the corresponding breach of the ‘maximum value’.

In a sense, both of these breaches ‘call for a review of the situation’, but what makes the intervening territory so spacious is its need to accommodate, not only candidates for the diaconate and the priesthood, but as many lay men and women as can be brought to a recognition of their call to journey further into their faith, and as can be accompanied and supported by those already comfortable and confident in their position at some point ahead of them. The territory is thus populated from among the laity without individuals ever being seen to desert their previously occupied places among the pews and parishioners; and with priests and deacons being prepared to view the increasing potential of this central population as the fertile ground which it should be, and moving any predetermined boundaries back to incorporate advancing Church members into their regular field of view, they too become part of that same middle ground which is at one and the same time the fertile field, the personal desert, the start point and continuation of the individual’s journey toward a deeper relationship with God.

What had once been seen as nothing more than a line of separation can become a common ground on which fellowship, unity and ecumenism can flourish.

This is the ground on which ‘The New Evangelization’ can become a living reality in every parish, with priests, deacons and laity working together to discern and bring to fruition the various latent gifts within the community. It is here that the reality of Church can be rediscovered and, where necessary, redefined.

‘The redesign of a system’, if or when shown to be necessary, must wait for the discernment of others, though not without input from ourselves. The fruitful middle field where the Holy Spirit both creates the space for us to meet and merge once more in Christ’s name, and guides us into a new level of mutual reliance, love and respect, must be neither forgotten nor taken for granted; nor must it be dismissed as being of no consequence. Without it such gatherings as next October’s Synod in Rome will fail to realize their potential.

We are all ‘The Church’, and almost invisible behind the clearly proclaimed and plainly visible product of men having followed their vocations through to ordination, each one of us has some part to play in the on-going story and welfare of the whole. Christ’s all-inclusive and worldwide peace can develop and thrive throughout mankind only when all callings are discerned, accepted and acted upon within our own local communities.

Just as those who are truly called to be ordained must be ordained, so too those who are not must not. I believe there are many of us who are, paradoxically, being called not to be ordained: to remain very much anchored among the laity; not necessarily to function in the same way as deacons, though – other than as a minister of the altar – that will no doubt become the calling of some, but to play whatever part is theirs in building the faith of those around them.

Once  again I hear echoes of truth in Aristotle’s words:

'Where your talents and the needs of the world cross, there lies your vocation.'

Deacon? (7) The Threshold (2)

There were two welcomed definitions of the word ‘Threshold’.

The first: –  ‘Boundary beyond which a radically different state of affairs exists.’

This well defines the thin line as I had always seen it, and as I had still been seeing it when I began to read through documents and articles relevant to the permanent diaconate in preparation for my written response.

That retrospective usefulness, however, in no way becomes a reason for discarding it when viewing my altered landscape. There is still “a radically different state of affairs” awaiting a person who travels from the laity, across the whole broad expanse of the central field to take up residence as an ordained member of the Church’s hierarchy. There are ways in which that is how it should always be; it is, after all, a major decision, a major move and a major commitment; but with the essential proviso that the difference should not seem so great for the one who has made the journey.

The first uncertain steps should only be made in response to a belief (a similar but relevant and persistent “feeling” perhaps?) in the possibility that they are made in response to a calling, and the lengthy traverse of this potentially unnerving but divinely fruitful space can only be completed by those whose vocation is strengthened and confirmed with every step. For those who are not responding to a genuine vocation to the diaconate or the priesthood (and, rightly, whether or not they are is not discerned by the individual alone) the journey should never reach its completion, whereas for those truly called, partial emptiness (the receptacle for that which is sought but not yet attained) becomes fullness, internal growth becomes an external overflowing, hesitancy and doubt become certainty by the end of the journey. The radical difference is softened into the feel of a well-fitting cloak shouldered as a natural (and spiritual) consequence of following the right path.

It is among the majority of those who never approach the threshold that the ‘radically different state of affairs’ is seen to exist, either – as in past times – as some superior and holy state, or as an outdated and irrelevant anachronism to which they may themselves still cling while being unable to admit to having lost much of their own faith in it. Today, in the minds of many both within and outside the Church, the clergy is no longer seen as a group of people set apart in the way previously seen through the eyes and minds of their grandparents. They are now frequently seen as having been removed too far from the ordinary people and the world in which they live; this in the sense that they have left the common man too far behind in crossing the threshold into their own esoteric world.

It must, however, be accepted that much damage has also been done by the heightened awareness of clerical abuse resulting from the publicity of recent years. It is not the publicity itself which is the root cause, nor is it the investigations; it is correctly attributed to the fact that abusive and potentially abusive men have trained for and been accepted for ordination, and to the subsequent unjust and immoral failure of other ordained men in positions of influence and authority to deal adequately and rapidly with revealed facts and suspicions when they came to light. It is this last shameful reality which has done most harm to the image of the hierarchy, and, by instant automatic association, however unwarranted, to the image of its individual members and of the Church itself.

I believe the need to overcome the damage done to the Church by these atrocities is one of a series of reasons for the widening of the threshold between clergy and laity. Not, as would presently appear to be the result, to distance them from each other, but to make it possible for them to approach each other once again in ways more in keeping with Christ’s will for His Church, and in closer harmony with The Spirit’s ongoing leading and specific promptings.

The widening of the central plain is neither a drastic and permanent separation of two apparently divorced camps, nor the clearing and preparation of a future battlefield. I believe it is the creation of level ground onto which both clergy and laity must move and mingle in a joint effort to arrive at the fellowship on which the wounds of our diverging recent past and strained present can be healed. It is here that our collective future can regain a secure foothold on the bedrock that lies beneath the Church.

Without an ability to trust each other and work side by side toward the same ends, we have little hope of steadying the Ship in which we all sail, and no chance of discerning the only right course towards our intended future.

Deacon? (6) The Threshold (1)

I know what I mean when using the word “threshold”, and yet, in the present context at least, I find a distinct lack of satisfaction in the usual dictionary definitions of the word. Knowing what I mean is almost entirely an internal feeling with few, if any, substantial anchor points linking it with my own observable reality. As such I have to regard any reliance I am tempted to place in it as highly suspect.

But I did find precisely the definitions I sought by shifting the point from which I had been trying to view the threshold itself. Indeed, in conjunction with my frequently used means of finding out precisely what it is that I think and believe through untangling thoughts on paper, or keyboard and screen, it had been focussing on this threshold that clarified my reasons for “knowing” (that same inner feeling of knowing without any certainty of why) that I am not one who is being called to train for the diaconate.

The definitions were found on BusinessDictionary.com  – a name that turned my train of thought from matters previously kept too separate from the underlying values and driving forces of today’s material world, and forced the two sides to confront each other. The threshold between the two was transformed from being an almost imperceptibly thin line to an expanse broad enough to be seen as a territory in its own right.

Though the line had been so fine, it had always been distinct and recognized as an undeniable reality. It demonstrated the profound implications and importance of the one decision that could and would carry a person from the one side to the other: from laity to the ordained membership of a hierarchical structure claiming all authority, and expecting conformity and obedience as part of its control of the institution calling itself “The Church”.

The broader expanse did nothing to reduce the clarity or the relevance of the decision, but it did suggest that there was a great deal of room for further thought about the nature and the relevance of the threshold today; there was no longer a knife edge on which it was impossible to balance, and the crossing of which could be easily accomplished by making the necessary decision; where one was either on one side or the other.

Instead, the broadness invited lateral thinking: a reassessment reaching into whichever spheres of life might be necessary to find answers enough to fill the previously undiscovered space; but the required thoughts did not come simply because the need for them had been recognized. The only way I found myself able to profitably view the apparently altered landscape was to forget that the threshold was there at all: to regard the laity, the ordained hierarchy and this newfound expanse between the two as three equal, individually definable but inseparably interrelated fields: parts of one indivisible whole.

As soon as this picture formed it became clear that I should see the image as one of the Church as an expression of the Blessed Trinity – something I had not been able to see before.

What had been absorbed gradually throughout my life, becoming my instinctive, unquestioned, and undoubted way of seeing the Church: Christ’s Church, with the Spirit of God forever falling, drifting and blowing into and through every single corner of it, had given rise to the fine line separating the two parts, ordained and laity. Jesus and the Holy Spirit were both present throughout, with the threshold not only delineating the separation resulting from ordination, but also being the manifestation of a tension created by the underlying tug-of-war going on as a result of the Church having been split down the middle. The numerical minority, reserving all the authority and power on the one side; the majority – the sheep – who are clearly in need of someone to lead them, and who can be so easily and unquestioningly led along wrong paths, on the other.

This almost entirely automatic way of seeing the Church had been replaced by a different understanding based on the (once again) questionable reliability of “feelings”; an inner recognition of something which seemed to lack any clear supportive evidence.

Deacon? (5) Calling

Among the Diaconate related documents and pages read during these weeks, are further sentences clearly stating that much of what is necessary in a person suitable for training as a deacon is in fact required of every mature Christian.

- ‘Through baptism each one is united with Christ and so shares in the mission given to Christ by the   

   Father, the mission of proclamation, prayer and charity.’

- ‘The work of prayer, witness and service is properly that of every baptised person.’

- ‘The exercise of these responsibilities is the key characteristic of the Christian way of life: letting the 

   Gospel be known by what is said and done; praising God in prayer and liturgy; serving those in 

   need (diakonia).’

- ‘These activities are proper to every baptised person.’

- ‘The functions assigned to the deacon can in no way diminish the role of lay people called and

   willing to co-operate in the apostolate with the hierarchy.’

This last leads us straight into the reminder that it is the Spirit who calls, not the priest, the bishop or the wider Church.

- ‘In the Church's care for her children, the first figure is the Spirit of Christ. It is He who calls them, 

   accompanies them and moulds their hearts so that they can recognise his grace and respond

   generously to it.’

- ‘A natural inclination for service should not be understood “in the sense of a simple spontaneity of

   natural disposition ... it is rather an inclination of nature inspired by grace, with a spirit of service 

   that conforms human behaviour to Christ's. The sacrament of the diaconate develops this 

   inclination: it makes the subject to share more closely in Christ's spirit of service and imbues the

   will with a special grace so that in all his actions he will be motivated by a new inclination to serve

   his brothers and sisters”.

Can ordination, with its essential entry into the confines and restrictions of the church’s hierarchy, really be the only way God intends men to receive the grace that will bring an intensification of such an inclination? And, what exactly are we to understand from this where women who have an ‘inclination for service’ are concerned? That it is not possible for their ‘natural inclination’ to have been ‘inspired by grace’? That grace is available to men and directed to men alone, and that women are forever beyond its reach?

Dear Lord, let there be not a single person in your Church today who even half believes in such an impossibility.

- ‘The bishop alone imposes hands on the candidate and invokes the outpouring of the Holy Spirit on

   him.’

Yet each of us is gifted in some way. Why is it that the bishop does not lay hands on committed members of the laity, men and women, invoking the Holy Spirit’s outpouring on them before searching among them for potential deacons? – for the ones upon whom he will again lay hands at their ordination?

- ‘It is a particular task of the spiritual director to assist the candidate to place himself in an attitude

   of ongoing conversion’

- ‘The deacon, mindful that the diaconia of Christ surpasses all natural capacities, should

   continually commit himself in conscience and in freedom to His invitation: “Remain in me and I in

   you. As the branch cannot bear fruit unless it remain in the vine, so also with you unless you

   remain in me”

John’s recorded words of Jesus (15:4) apply not only to deacons but to everyone, ordained or not.

-  All priests and deacons ‘should be mindful that the lay members of the faithful, in virtue of their

   own specific mission, are “particularly called to make the Church present and fruitful in those 

   places and circumstances where it is only through them that she can become the salt of the earth”

This is true enough, but the restrictions lodged in such a focus can become a hindrance through allowing and accepting a reduced access and availability of both ordained ministers and eager members of the laity in what I think of as the ‘narthex’ areas of the Church: the areas between the place of focus, of prayer and of liturgy, and the scramble of the outside world. It is the place which represents the line between laity and ordained but at the same time hints at something more. It lies between, and acts as a threshold when moving through it in either direction: going in or going out; ordained or not; regular visitor or stranger; rich or poor; at peace or distressed; in sickness or in health. It is where I have often metaphorically turned my head in search of the source of something that, just for a moment, I had thought I heard ... and it gives rise to the question: -  Are there, in fact, any places and circumstances from which the laity are excluded in their ability to respond to their call? – other than those from which they are separated by declared requirements for obedience to rules made by other men?

It would be a mistake to think of these narthex areas as being only the spaces that first come to mind: those through which we may pass on our way into and out of the church building we often think of as ‘the Church’. When attending any church service we pass through not only the physical space but the transitional spaces within our own hearts and minds, just as we do in our meeting and leaving of spiritual friends, in our beginning and ending of private prayer, of reading scripture, of becoming engrossed or enthralled when finding God’s presence in the world around us, whether in the harmony of nature’s kaleidoscope, in the phenomenal wonders of the sciences, or in the profound beauties of the arts.

Those inner recesses are places in which to rest; to be still and know that He is God. We should linger there whenever possible, rather than hurrying away to get on with our “real” lives.

This is where we should meet Him, and each other, far more than we do. How do we take our knowledge of Him out into the world if we have found no way to hold onto His presence as we make our way back into it?

- ‘The scope of human formation is that of moulding the personality of the sacred ministers in such a

   way that they become “a bridge and not an obstacle for others in their meeting with Jesus Christ

   the Redeemer of man”.

Here again, every one of us should be hoping to become “a bridge and not an obstacle for others.”

- ‘Contemporary society requires a new evangelization which demands a greater and more

   generous effort on the part of ordained ministers.’

Of at least equal importance, is the need for “a greater and more generous effort on the part of” members of the lay faithful. Deacons, priests and bishops need such men and women if their own efforts are to bear real fruit in today’s culture. They are already too far distanced from most ordinary men and women of both the Church and the wider world; not through what they profess to believe nor through the commitment of their lives to an expression of their faith, but through having crossed the seamless threshold that runs between members of the Church hierarchy and all other members of Christ’s Church. The line that runs through the narthex seems almost non-existent when that is where we are standing, but when right inside the Church one can feel aspects of the separation: it is what we have entered it for, whether as a passing parishioner calling in briefly for prayer or simply for a few moments of quiet; as a potential ordination candidate following and trying to fully grasp his calling; or as an ordained deacon or priest seeking an ongoing confirmation of his vocation and necessarily longer periods of quiet and peace.

However unnoticed when passing through, and however blurred when focussed upon, that defining line is there. It is nothing new, of course, but the way it is perceived and felt may benefit from a change.

Deacon? (4) Discernment

Those who are truly called to the Diaconate will emerge, for the most part, from among these Christians who find themselves persistently and undeniably distracted and whispered to in all aspects of their lives. They are out there somewhere, as testified to by the numbers ordained over the last forty years, but I firmly believe there is more than the strengthening and numerical building up of the order of deacons at stake here.

Few would make the mistake of regarding most Christians at this stage of their faith journey as being future deacons, but the almost automatic acceptance of what is in fact the other half of that same wrong assumption is, I believe, a far greater, very real and far more frequently made mistake. It is that many, if not the majority of those who are not so called will allow any diffuse or intermittent sense of enthusiasm and potential involvement to slip away to nothing as though it had never been. A belief that they will “allow” this to happen is likely to carry an automatic implication that it is entirely their own decision; their own lack of commitment; their own wishful thinking; their own wish to appear willing without having to actually get involved. If any thought of blame came into it, it would be seen as entirely their fault.

But where is the real appreciation of three facts that are too frequently overlooked by nearly all of us? – that each of us has a gift of some kind that is not only of use but is needed within Christ’s Church; that most of us have yet to realize what our own gifts are; and that many people, however gifted, will appear to “allow” their potential to fade from sight when they feel wanted or needed only in areas with no connection with their own gifts.

I believe there is more going on within the Church, in its local communities, and within individual hearts and minds than we are prepared to recognize, let alone seriously consider; and any degree of collective agreement and acceptance leading to tentative steps toward compliance with the guidance and promptings of the Holy Spirit will be impossible without an appreciation of those pre-existing facts. Recognition and subsequent serious consideration are worthwhile only when the truth has been at least partly captured from amid the myriad distractions and fears, and rescued from our frequently all-but insurmountable resistance to change.

Discernment is such a frighteningly powerful word.

Without the reality behind its meaning we cannot move a single step in the certain knowledge of its being in the right direction. In the mouths of all it is proclaimed as essential, and rightly so.  In the mouths of some it is declared as having been used and acted upon, but such mouths are frequently those of individuals self-proclaiming their own giftedness (real or not) in this area, and frequently also in the fields of prophecy and healing.

In spite of my own constant feeling that discernment by large groups of holy, gifted and knowledgeable people within the Church is hampered by their own awareness of the enormity of what they represent – not just Christ’s Church in the present, but the whole of its past, and its entire future as seen from today’s viewpoint – I do have faith in the process and in their ability to discern where the Spirit of Christ is trying to lead the Church and all who are bound within it.

I long for The Synod on The New Evangelization for the Transmission of the Christian Faith, set for October this year, to shed the weight of its felt responsibility, and thus to dwell entirely within the reality of its only true and actual responsibility: the discernment, the recognition, the serious consideration and acceptance of – and ultimately compliance with – today’s leading of the Holy Spirit for the world as it is today.

Is not each of these apparent stages in the process merely a necessity born of our human limitations? Surely, for those who truly do have this gift and who are in a living relationship with God, these stages should not be regarded as absolute necessities for discernment, which should be straightforward, and readily and fruitfully exercised through an immersion in its divine simplicity? – an immersion that involves being able to listen and hear in ways unpolluted by either external or internal influences of a purely ‘human’ nature.

Deacon? (3) Essential to all

Dealing first with the retained  ‘essential to all’ items, some of them can be taken as basics for any amicable, just and lovable person, and should therefore be part of any true Christian.

The deacon (and each of us) must or should

               be hospitable 

               be sincere in his words and heart   

               be generous and ready to serve 

               be quick to understand, forgive and console 

               be vigilant about his language 

That the deacon, and we, ‘should be humbly open to recognising his (and our) own limitations and gifts’, is perhaps one of the initial signs of progress beyond those basic and commonly shared attributes. With encouragement, this progress can lead to where every Christian should hope and strive to be: walking with Jesus, and conscious of the Holy Spirit in their lives.

A focus on the poor and other disadvantaged or needy persons, and an ecumenical attitude, are two examples of the fruit of such a way of living.

He (and we) should

               be filled with the Spirit 

               be a man of faith and prayer 

               be helped to acquire a humble and helpful love, especially for the poorest, the suffering and most needy  

               cultivate his capacity to dialogue, so as to acquire a truly ecumenical attitude 

               The ordained deacon’s primary and most fundamental relationship must be with Christ.

                    A true charity should prevail which recognises in every ministry a gift of the Spirit destined to build up the Body of Christ.

                    He is ordained to follow Jesus with an attitude of humble service which finds expression not only in works of charity but also in 

                    imbuing and forming thoughts and actions.

                He is called to “collaborate in building up the unity of Christians.

The above attributes can be taken as being essential parts of  what could be thought of as the ‘default setting’ for all devoted and active Christians. We should all hope to find ourselves described here, at this stage of our separate journeys, with our faith and awareness awakened and living in our daily lives. It is from here that will come those who sense a calling to, in some way, become more involved in the spreading of Christ’s teaching and in the building up of His Church.

But by taking a few steps beyond that point of genuine Christian awareness, we venture into a different territory, where the focus becomes more ”Church” and community than “one to one”.

He should

               have a humble and strong sense of the Church

               have love for the Church and her mission

               He is called to a ministry of service in the diaconate of charity to the people of God.

It may well be a sound start-point to regard some of those willing to become more involved in the parish community as potential deacons within the Church. The sowing of seeds by parish priests and others, through such means as the well-considered and gentle asking of a question (such as the “Have you ever thought of ...” one asked of me) may be all that is needed to stir a pre-existing, vague and thinly spread awareness into the realization of an undeniable vocation.

‘All priests must look to the future and be alert for good men of faith in our parishes who would be able and generous enough to respond to a diaconal vocation. We need to pray for such vocations and then actively seek out potential candidates.

... Sowing the seeds of a vocation is important, for when work and family commitments have diminished, the seed sown some years back may begin to flourish. Often the best candidates are those who first considered the possibility of a diaconal vocation because the priest or some other member of the parish community suggested it to them.’

(The Permanent Diaconate in the Archdiocese of Westminster: A Handbook. p.23.)

Deacon? (2) The gathering

I gathered and read relevant documents until I felt I had a summary of all the relevant points: not far short of four hundred phrases and sentences describing the calling, the position, the role, the service, the expectations, and the required qualities and characteristics of the deacon.

Three quarters of these were easily accepted and therefore discarded as being of no help in the process of discovering the reality behind my feelings, beliefs and non-intentions with regard to training for the diaconate. Many of these were applicable to Christians in general and therefore, of necessity, required of potential deacons. The remaining quarter became two distinct groups.

The one, again comprised of points applicable to all Christians, but in ways that registered with me as demonstrating how important are some of the basic qualities of any considerate, helpful and just human being, and hence of any genuine and sincere Christian.

The emphasis here was found to be that we should all possess and utilize these qualities in our everyday living as well as at specific times of Christian awareness and as part of any form of support being given to or by others. In no way were they specific requirements for the ordained deacon or priest.

The other, larger group, contained those requisites found to be in any way challenging; from a level of mild discomfort and uncertainty as to whether or not I could accept the particular requirement, to those which instantly registered as being impossible for me: requirements that immediately and completely disqualified me as a potential candidate as, in my own mind at least, my beliefs and devotions, or rather, my undeniable lack of them, meant that I could never become a deacon.

None of this became any source of trouble for me; no regrets; no guilt; no feelings of hypocrisy; no fears that I may have been degenerating into, or may always have been a “pick and mix” Christian; and no sense of horror, or perverse and secret sense of pride entangling me in the thought that, if “found out”, I may be regarded as losing myself in my own particular form of heresy.

The journey is long, and I thank God for that. It is only through the slow and gentle maturing of my certainties that I have reached the point of being untroubled by any of my doubts or even by my lack of belief.

Or was this, rather, what should be regarded as a lesser charge: an acknowledged and admitted non-acceptance of what other men have declared to be qualifying prerequisites for membership of Christ’s Church?

There is only one man in whom I believe unconditionally and to whom I could ever pledge my absolute obedience.

“Christ is risen”, and His presence is one of my certainties. Ultimately, Jesus is the all-inclusive single certainty who contains all others, and who cloaks all potential fear and distress in the contentment that underlies every day of my life.  That in which I believe without doubt can never be taken from me; and that fact, at times, has registered with me as what could become, for others, a worryingly dangerous thought – precisely because it is so deeply embedded within me. For that too, I thank God.

The most basic requirement of Christianity (not Catholicism only); the one quality we each share with all others whether we openly admit it or not; the fact of which our admission becomes our proof that we can be members of the Church, and that we are at least already standing in the outer fringes of it. – This is my overriding claim to membership of it; and proof that I possess this quality is found in the fact that I owe my complete obedience to our Lord and yet continue to break my pledge to Him.

Unlike my “No, it’s not for me” where the diaconate is concerned, I can joyfully proclaim that Christ’s Church is for me for the simple reason that I am able to admit to being a sinner.

Another worthwhile step, and another recognition of progress!

Deacon? (1) The question

I have been preoccupied with wondering why some men (and within the Catholic Church it is only men who are so allowed, encouraged and enabled) after years of living as part of the laity, perhaps married and with families, change their lives considerably by being ordained as deacons. Why is it that this becomes their aim, and subsequently – apparently – not only the fulfilment of their calling, but, in the eyes of the Church at least, the high point of their lives?

My preoccupation resulted from being asked whether I had ever considered studying for the Permanent Diaconate.

What amounted to the same question had been asked of me once before, and I had been able to answer with a prompt, “No, it’s not for me.” I had given little thought to the matter simply because I had no reason to. Being asked, however, did make me focus on the matter more than previously, though not for long; my thoughts only confirmed what I already knew.

The second, more recent question, however, while still being easily answerable with the same sure knowledge that I was not being called to the diaconate, did give rise to a great deal of thought.

It had taken me by surprise, and that in itself was enough to keep it in mind for several days; but it generated a need to clarify and confirm my reasons for being so sure that I had no such vocation: a need that took several weeks of work to satisfy.

Having not considered my standpoint in that way before, I set about the clarification of my apparent certainties. Being asked about becoming a deacon had reminded me that I could enjoy the studying and would welcome the discussions and fellowship with those who were training for eventual acceptance and ordination, but I had no reason to think I might enjoy such involvement other than with an interest in the mindsets and the spiritual journeying of men who believed they had such vocations. Why does their path lead them to ordination as opposed to a similar degree of involvement and usefulness (in all but the specifically ordained deacons’ functions) while remaining firmly anchored in the midst of the lay members of the Church?

There is only the one essential and definitive answer: that single word – vocation.

Ordination into the Diaconate, as with every step beyond, is strictly by invitation only; and that issues not merely from the lips, the minds or the hearts of men.

Answering my own question in that way generated a sense of unease, because I was unable to make that seemingly obvious and logical answer one of my certainties without altering my long-held understanding of what a vocation is, and how it is discerned. That understanding is certainly simple, though without any dismissal of the potential for wonderful and infinitely variable complications being embedded in one’s calling; but is it also simplistic?

Complexities, where they exist, are in the individual journeys, not in the discernment which will necessarily ebb and flow, dim and brighten, confuse and clarify with the intricacies of the personal path as they are confronted, negotiated, accepted and learned from. The oversimplification which could lead to my understanding being seen as simplistic would be the overlooking or ignoring of complexities relating to the journey itself, not to the discernment of one’s vocation.

Discernment itself is simple (that is not to say easy, but uncomplicated). Neither its imperatives nor object is confusing, but both are easily lost sight of; and too easily what is taken to be its fruit, plucked and proclaimed accordingly, is later recognizable as nothing more than the shrivelled remains of early blossom: the un-admitted victory of the combined wills of men, and hence the failure of their attempts at discernment. The spiritual journey is frequently complicated: neither simple nor easy. Neither the journey itself (entire or in part), nor its intended end (anticipated or not) necessarily form any part of what is in need of discernment. Discernment – in its central and overridingly essential place of influence, enables and allows us to know what we are being asked to do when we arrive at the place where we are meant to be.

My own problem – though, as with most paradoxes in my spiritual life, I find only a beautiful perplexity in the fact that I found it in no way problematic – was that, despite knowing that where I am today is where I am meant to be, I was unable to discern clearly how I was meant to respond to my recent reading and pondering on the questions raised.

It appeared that this could have meant one of four things:

1)  I was either not yet meant to, or not yet ready to respond.

                2)  I should not even have been thinking about a response.

3)  I did not have the ability (the gift) to discern God’s will for me on my own.

4)  I was not, in fact, where I was meant to be.

I was also fully aware that regardless of, and perhaps more importantly, because of my feeling sure that it was not the case, I also had to include a fifth possibility: that somewhere within me was an awareness, or at least a suspicion, that I did in fact have such a vocation; and that I had completely buried it from my own sight beneath my certainties and my ready denials.

The clarifying of my own certainties (in the present context) reached its conclusion with the writing of a lengthy response, primarily for my own benefit, but in the form of a letter for passing to the person who had asked the question. Throughout the whole process there had been a constant and unchanging awareness of one insurmountable barrier that would lie between me and ordination if I had indeed been seeking or striving for that end. I could simply have referred to whatever I felt disqualified me, discussed it if necessary, and left it at that, having added weight to my already spoken, “No, it’s not for me.” But my uncertainty about my response was, it seems, not as vague as I had believed; by coming that far I had turned the quick way out into a definite non-possibility.

I took that to be an indication that I was making progress.