[New post] QUO VADIS? Reflecting on the ordained vocation with some of the clergy of the Diocese of Ely

You’ll all be intimately familiar with the apocryphal Acts of Peter, I’m sure. Peter is fleeing Rome to escape crucifixion, but on the road outside the city he encounters the risen Lord, heading back in. Quo vadis? asks Peter, “Where are you going?” “To Rome, to be crucified,” replies Jesus. And Peter takes heart and returns to Rome himself to undergo that same fate.

Now the Acts of Peter also includes miracles such as resurrecting smoked fish, and making dogs talk and is not to be taken as Gospel, any more than the attempts to paint the scene such as the one I’ve given you by Annibale Carracci are to be taken as great art – I mean, how do you paint a scene such as this anyway? But the phrase has stuck. Quo vadis?, Where are you going? It even got borrowed to be the title of first a Polish novel and then several Hollywood movies including the 1951 blockbuster starring Robert Taylor and Deborah Kerr, which single-handedly rescued MGM from the brink of bankruptcy, but had more to do with rippling muscles and maidens facing the lions than the story on the road. Here’s the poster to prove it. You really couldn’t make it up.

So I think we’d better get back to the Bible, where Quo vadis? in its Greek equivalent occurs twice in the New Testament, both times in John during the account of the Last Supper; first when Peter asks Jesus the question at the Last Supper (that’s at 13.36) and then when Jesus rather oddly says that none of the disciples are asking him it, at 16.5. I’ll leave Barrett and Dodd to their heroic attempts to explain that away and stay with the first one, which stands in a striking symmetry to the incident on the road, when Jesus turns the phrase back on the Prince of the Apostles, and leads him back not just to the road to Rome but to the road of spiritual restitution.

And if we turn now to the famous encounter between Christ and Peter just a little later in John in chapter 21, we could say, I think, that it is the scriptural equivalent to the Quo vadis? story, even though that phrase is not used: the point at which Jesus turns Peter round and sets him back on the way of salvation and service, and says, “Follow me”. Let’s remind ourselves of it, as I read verses 15-19 to you:

15 When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” 16 A second time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” 17 He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” And he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep. 18 Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” 19 (He said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) After this he said to him, “Follow me.”

The narrative with its three-fold questioning of Peter famously repeats and offers restitution for his three-fold denial, and that has to be intentional. Time and again in the Scriptures we see Peter surging forward and then falling back, before finding forgiveness and starting all over again; and I want to suggest that this makes him a very suitable subject for this time of reflection on our own vocation and ministry. And of course, this is a far from original thought. William Temple, for instance, wrote that, “The example of Paul is of little use to me; I am not a hero. The example of John is of but little more use; my love is so feeble. But Peter is a source of constant encouragement, for his weakness is so manifest.” What’s good enough for Temple is good enough for me – though I have been surprised in preparing this talk how few people have in fact written pastorally and helpfully about Peter. For some perhaps he is too unapproachable as the Prince of the Apostles and the founder of the Papacy, while for others his distinctly flawed character makes him an awkward example. Actually, I think both make him ideal.

To give some idea of the riches of the material that we could reflect on and teach from in Peter’s life let me run a quick roll call of some of the highlights:

Before we go on, I’d like to invite you to spend just ten minutes or so in your own or with a friendly neighbour picking out perhaps just one aspect of Peter’s story that seems to resonate with your own vocational life, and offering a prayer for one another as you do.

I want to go on now to highlight three aspects of the encounter between Peter and Christ in John 21 that I think raise important questions and challenges for all of us, whatever our stage and place of ministry. I’m very conscious indeed in doing this that though in one sense this is classic Retreat material, it is also very challenging; and I am also in substantial danger of speaking from a far flimsier place spiritually than that which many of you stand in, of putting challenges before you that I baulk at myself, and by dwelling on the challenge underplaying the love and support which we are called to give and do give to one another which like Christ knows full well our failings and only ever calls us back to him; whatever. But ministry is no bed of roses, and alongside all the support we must offer, I do feel we have to face up to and be realistic about the tough call it represents. And Peter knew that first hand and we can learn from him.

First, we’ll look at the painfully tooth-pulling honesty of Peter’s dialogue and relationship with Jesus, without which there is no foundation in Christ for any ministry that will follow. Then we’ll think about the importance of love both given and received, which will be the necessary hallmark and dynamic of that ministry. And then thirdly we’ll turn to the sacrifice that living out that love will involve. Quo vadis? will be our constant question. How are we really doing in your lives as disciples and ministers of Christ, not in terms of task but in the fundamentals of faithfulness? Is love the word that is being revealed in every inch of the rock of our ministerial lives? And how is it for us when the challenge comes to walk the way of the Cross? We’ll take some time to reflect after each theme and then after coffee there will be an opportunity for more general discussion together about keeping our shape in our called lives.

Quo vadis then?

Honesty first, and in particular, in this setting, the honesty of our relationship with God and our honesty about it. Jesus doesn’t beat about the bush. He names the elephant in the room. Do we love him? He uses the strong word agapas. Peter replies with the tamer philo. Is he unsure of his ability to offer love as unconditionally, as ultimately as our Lord clearly does? Jesus will eventually use phileis himself, if we allow the variation of words its full force, as he tempers the necessary directness of his challenge with compassion for this flawed diamond of a disciple and meets Peter where he is. Jesus’s word comes as a two-edged sword too to us too. If he is not in a position to ask us the direct question, “Do you love me?”, then who is? And if we do not let ourselves be put in the position of answering it, then who are we?

The raw honesty of the question invites and accepts an equal honesty of response. Even to Jesus – perhaps especially to Jesus – we should perhaps be answering in a way that reflects just how difficult we find the white heat of love to be, how divided our loyalties our, how weak our will and inconsistent our heart. And it is on that foundation that Christ chooses to build his church, not the false foundation of pretence. So, a first question to ourselves today is to answer honestly to at least in our inner conversation with Christ his killer question, “Do you love me?” Quo vadis? in the deepest desire of your heart; and then - Christ willing - to hear his word of deep love back to us, however wobbly our own, a word that invites us to abide in him, whoever, and whatever and however we are. Are we making time and taking time to abide in the relationship? I know my own story of that is quite a switchback and say more, more personally, later if you want me to. Are we still finding Christ the sacraments as we should, or does it feel like going through the motions? And if so, and it does happen, are we daring to tell someone and seek some help? Who else in practice we allow into that honest conversation. All too often I hear of colleagues who are between spiritual directors, not seeking out the spiritual friendship they need, and frankly in a hole. But Christ first. Take a moment now to open the conversation quietly inside yourself – to be continued properly later.

If the question of our personal relationship with God in Christ is and always will be primary, you will have heard me say many times, however, that it is closely and inevitably followed by the question of our relationships with each other, especially thinking at this point of our relationships in and with the church. Roots are meant to lead to shoots. Deepening faith is meant to lead to a growing company of disciples. When we come to faith or hear the call to ministry we can be wonderfully full of the sheer privilege and joy of it, and so we should be. But then comes the moment when we have to face the fact that the rather odd person in the pew behind us, or the awkwardly different student in the room next to us, or the frustratingly flabby bishop on the seat in front of us, has been called by God too.

We are not called and saved alone, but into the body of Christ, the new creation, the coming kingdom – yes, the church. And how daring it feels to say that when church as we know it is so often not a shining example of any of those. Will I still go to church when I have retired, I wonder? And if I do, after all these years in ordained ministry and in a place of privilege, what will be my identity? Will I be able to learn to worship in the pews again?

But I still remember a lesson I learned very early in my first incumbency when I was getting impatient with my congregation (I’m sure it never happens to you), and one of the lay leaders took me to one side and reminded that until I so knew God’s love that I could love the people in his local church as well, nothing good would happen. In Peter’s encounter with Christ, the call to love him comes before the command to feed the sheep. It's a single-interview BAP with just one question: do you love me enough to love them? Lambs new to the faith and all over the place; growing sheep who expect to be tended; experienced sheep who need us to dig deep to feed them too. All of them. Perfection as we have seen is by no means expected. But having a go at love really matters, and when I hear clergy start to talk of their parishes and people as the problem or even in effect the enemy, then my spirit weeps. We do it to “the diocese” too. I do it. You do it. And you and I need to be called back again and again, three times and three hundred times, to the life of love – by Christ himself, or by the person we allow to speak Christ’s word to us. And that’s a second thing then to think about today: Quo vadis? Does love walk all the way through the roads of our lives especially in our relationships in and with the Church? And who do we let hold the mirror that might show us where it doesn’t? Take a moment again to ponder it. Let me invite you to quietly imagine your church and your parish, its people and its places. Walk or cycle through them in your mind. What emotions do you feel as you do it? Do you see problems, frustrations, failures, workload? Can you also look with the eyes of love? It’s not a bad way of praying for a parish in your daily routine by the way, though when I was called to a wider ministry I had to swap the bike for a helicopter. Pray now if you can, and pray again later if you will.

You might think that after giving Peter such a spiritual spring-clean, Christ was finished with him. But the passage goes on. “Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” Deepening faith and growth in discipleship are for a purpose: engagement with the world that the kingdom might come and the Lord’s Prayer come true. Roots, shoots – and fruits.

So once again we are taken out of our comfort zone. The Quo Vadis? this time can be a matter of literal geography. Are we willing to serve the Lord in places which are not of our choice? Where the schools are failing. Where the church hasn’t seen a young person in a decade? Which are miles from our family and friends? Which don’t really hold the faith in the way that does it for me? The list could go on. Or it could be the choices we make once we are in place as to who to spend time with, or where to place the emphasis of our ministry. And it would not be hard to think of clergy who have said “No” to God’s call and chosen the option that frankly suited them best.

Then what about the long anti-social hours; the vulnerability to the bad behaviour of others; the living with institutional decline; the loneliness; the pressures. Should we expect to have to put up with these things? Aren’t we committed to clergy well-being after all? And what about our families. I remember with trembling the times when Jean and I held each other’s hands and said no to staying in Cambridge and yes to the mining town. Yes to the school for our children that was failing but was in the parish and no to the nicer church school across the border, but yes as well to the later move that gave them the schooling that made up for it. God is good, but there was a price to pay and I by no means paid it alone. Was I right? Is the church right to still advertise posts that by any human standards or at least by the common expectations we face are undoable, or in deprived areas, or without the professional support network other professions have, or .. the list could go on.

So when Jesus says to Peter, you will taken where you do not wish to go, it is very tricky. On the one hand I know that I as a bishop I am called to do all I possibly can to love, feed and care for you as my sheep, even if you don’t look very sheepish to me. I will and must work as hard as I can to put every sort of support in place, and beat down every thought that feels grumpy when clergy who are just as imperfect as me are grumpy themselves, or fail to take up or take advantage of the help that is offered, or decline to be sent where they would not wish to go. And I am constantly aware that days of being a super-hero are long gone and there is a huge amount more that I could be doing, but find that time and energy thwart me, just as they thwart you too.

But I have to introduce the word sacrifice as well, which is strong and perhaps dangerous language, since without facing it head on I fear that we in ministry will lose our anchor into the eternal life of Christ and also, though it might seem perverse to say so, do our work in supporting clergy wellbeing no favours either in purely human terms, since I am told that a major support issue is helping colleagues bridge the gap between expectations formed by the culture we swim in and the realities of clerical life, which are … sacrificial. Giving out crosses to potential ordinands might be too dramatic a course of action, but I think you will see what I mean, and at ordination charges I have been known to give out four-inch nails as an essential occupant of any cassock pocket. And the Vicar of St Ives remarked when the Bishop of Ely teased him about having such a challengingly large cross to carry on Good Friday, it’s meant to be like that. Is that right? I think it has to be. So a third thing to think about today is our final Quo Vadis? question: are we going to let ourselves be carried where by any human standards we would not wish to go – and what support can we give each other not to avoid that, but to live it out as best as we can? Just take a short moment to start to reflect, but this is something that we might well want to talk about together further.

Three huge questions then, three huge challenges, to honesty, to love and to sacrifice in our called life in Christ. But take heart. It all boils down to love: living in and living out the love of God that knows no bounds. Love is his meaning. Live in it, and the rest will fall into place. As St John said in his later life, “This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.13 This is how we know that we live in him and he in us: He has given us of his Spirit. And we have seen and testify that the Father has sent his Son to be the Saviour of the world. If anyone acknowledges that Jesus is the Son of God, God lives in them and they in God. And so we know and rely on the love God has for us.” (1 John 4.10-16) I so testify too. Amen to that.