VWPilgrim

First published 17th June 2023

Whilst at home, I was keen to see my old youth worker, Maureen, who I had given such a hard time to in the youth group all those years ago. Wednesday morning, I found myself, once again, in her kitchen, having a cuppa (with a bonus bacon sandwich).  It was so lovely to see her, find out she is still do amazing youth work, and marvel together at what God has done, (I think she would admit I was one of the most unlikely ones to become a vicar) and celebrate what God is doing now, in both our ministries.  

Maureen was the youthworker at Hatherlow URC, and we went along because there were girls there and we could have a row about God.  Despite this, week after week, we were allowed back, welcomed back and accepted.  Even a rogue like me. found a place to belong.  When I had told Maureen that I was going to be a pastoral assistant in a Church of England church, she decided to take me to an Anglican church so I could experience the way they do communion.  In the Hatherlow the bread was cut into extremely neat squares and non-alcoholic wine was given to us in ‘shot glasses’.  In the couple of years I was there I never worked out if we drink all at once or just when we were given it. I just knew not to treat it like you do tequila!

She took me to St Barnabas Church and we sat on the back row. When it came to our turn for communion, we walked down the aisle, and my eyes were full of tears. I had been invited to the table, even I was invited to the table. I knelt, and met with Jesus in the bread and wine, in a way that I never had before, but in the way I still do today. Sometimes at the Good Shepherd we use the Wild Goose invitation to receive, and it sums up, perfectly, what I believe.

This is the table not of the Church but of the Lord.
It is to be made ready for those who love him, 
and who want to love him more.

So, come,
you who have much faith
and you who have little,
you who have been here often

and you who have not been for a very long time,

you who have tried to follow
and you who have failed.

Come, not because it is we who invite you:
it is our Lord.
It is his will that those who want him 
should meet him here.

The hour with Maureen flew by, but when it was time to leave  we noticed that 5 doors down a funeral cortege had pulled up.  There was no way I could discreetly squeeze through in an orange, rusty old Campervan, so we waited…and waited.  I’d told mum and dad that I would be back by 10:15am and it was now about 10:15am, so I decided the sensible, and least disruptive option would be to turn Molly around.  It wasn’t!  Earlier, leaving mum and dads narrow drive I mangled the mirror on the hedge and hadn’t put it back quite right.  This meant seeing behind me was tricky and a after a noisy 4 or 5 point turn I put-putted off in the distance, with the mourners looking on.  I was so glad I hadn’t put my collar on at this point!

When I got home, Dad gave me a couple of bits from the treasure trove that is his garage – a new hand held grinder and a welding mask, as well as a few other bits and pieces that will help with keeping Molly going.  I did refuse the enormous grinder/cutter, the only reason I could think I would need it is if I was planning to chop Molly in half! I’m not, but at least I know where it would be should I need to in the future. A lot goes into that garage, but not a lot leaves!

Molly all loaded up, with Mum, Dad, things from the garage, plants for the vicarage, and my clean laundry, we set off to Manchester Cathedral.  I’d arranged to be there for 12noon, and if we were early there was always the coffee shop.  Getting to Manchester was straightforward, but driving around was quite a shock for mum and dad as the landscape of the city that they had grown up in is now completely different. 

When we got to the cathedral the bollards were still up.  Hmm, I don’t know why I was surprised by this!  But I saw a quick opportunity, and just as Dad asked, ”can you drive through there?” I went through the crossing and pulled up outside the cathedral.  In the parking space where I was told I could park was a rather smart Mazda MX5 convertible.  “Must be the bishops I thought”, so I left Molly outside the front and went looking for the vergers.

Another lot of school children were in the cathedral, so I quickly put my little blue case, and freshly ironed alb (thanks mum) in the vestry, and we went for a coffee. Once the children had left, out came the Bishop of Middleton, who is responsible for education in the diocese. We had a nice chat about that and about my pilgrimage. As he left, he wished me well, knowing I am a Canon of Ely Cathedral and that means I will, in a small way, be part of the process of finding a new bishop for the Ely diocese, “Get one that prays” he said cheerfully heading towards the train station. It wasn’t his car.

I went and found both Vergers, William and Gareth and they got me set up for the service. They are a great double act, and the real embodiment of the Manchester ‘worker bee’ spirit. I genuinely had trouble keeping up with them as we whizzed around the cathedral, clearing up one thing and preparing for the next. We had a good chat about the life of the verger and they shared some entertaining stories about what clergy had got up to in the cathedral and services. Don’t worry lads, what’s said in the vestry stays in the vestry. They were great, lovely natured and fun. Manchester Cathedral are fortunate to have them sorting them out!

1:10pm, the time came for my final communion service. In the small congregation was my Mum and Dad, Maureen my youthworker, and my friend from school, Wendy.  The service was held at the ‘high altar’ at the top of the cathedral.  What I hadn’t appreciated was this meant I would be ‘east facing’, this means when it comes to the eucharistic prayer I would have my back to the congregation.  My tradition, which I usually prefer, is to stand behind the altar and look at people as I pray.

The day before I was ordained priest all the deacons went to a communion service presided over by the Bishop of Kensington, in St Mary’s, Kensington High Street. He deliberately chose the chapel where he would be east facing. “It’s because when I preside like this, it feels like you are all gathered at the table with me” he told us. That’s how I felt on that Wednesday lunchtime at the High Altar in Manchester Cathedral. As I presided, using my favourite Eucharistic Prayer F, I felt that those who were physically there, and all those who have been with me on this pilgrimage, were gathered at the table with me too. Those that had got up and joined me in worship, those that prayed for me, and who I prayed for. Those who had cooked, bought me dinner, gave me breakfast, let me stay on their drive, in their spare beds. Those that had made time for me. Those that had read the blog and followed on social media, those that helped fix Molly, shared wine or a pint or two, those that messaged me encouragement, the vergers, and cathedral staff. The friends and family that I’d reconnected with and the strangers who I met on the way, In my imagination, they were all there with me as I broke bread for the last time in a cathedral.

After some photo’s I changed into something a lot less clerical and said a cheery farewell to the vergers (who encouraged me to look at the canon missionars post which had just become vacant – don’t worry I won’t!)  The service had been a special conclusion to the pilgrimage, and now I just wanted to go home.  It was Hazel’s birthday on Thursday and whilst there was always the option to stop if we needed, I was keen to see if I could be there that night.  After saying goodbye to those who had come to the service, I asked Dad to make sure I didn’t run anyone over, I turned the key…and Molly didn’t start!

A quick rummage in the ‘noisy cupboard’ and I realised the what held the battery in place had slipped and the earth wire had come loose.  I quick jiggle and a fix and she fired up.  We turned around, and not wanting to loose momentum, shot off towards the pedestrian crossing, scattering bemused tourists out of the way.

As we drove off into the city streets, I pressed spotify, shuffle and it chose ‘Staying alive’ by the Bee Gees. “Well done, Spotify” I said out loud “The last song, and you finished on a good pun!”  and I joined in singing.  Molly continued to stay alive for the next two hours, we had a break for two hours (I fixed the mirror) and then drove for two hours more.  Arriving home. 8:30pm, 1,132 miles after all it began, tired, but thankful for the amazing adventure we’d had. 

Well done Molly!