Sunday 27 April 2014

Rev Series 3 and Holy Week

"I'm really disappointed with this series of Rev..."

"...it's all a bit political"

"...it seems to have forgotten it is a comedy"

"...the writers have lost the plot!"

Apologies for the pun.

But actually the writers know exactly what they are doing, and have got it spot on.  The key to understanding what is going on, is to remember that series 3 of Rev is supposed to be the last series.  The last.  The final credits will roll tomorrow night, and this changes things. As any good story heads towards its climax, there is an increase of tension.  Things tends to get darker and more precarious.  The big questions which have lurked in the background come increasingly to the fore.  And this is all happening as we journey with our clerical everyman, Adam Smallbone, towards the end of his tale.

We approach the end of this story with Adam's job in jeopardy, his church facing closure and his relationship with his beloved Alex in tatters.  There is the very real possibility he could lose everything.  And as Adam wrestles with these issues, he must also tackle the question every clergyperson faces: what sort of priest am I called to be?  In previous series, Adam has faced and ultimately resisted the temptations to be what he is not: a trendy megachurch pastor or a media priest for example.  In this series, we find Adam discovering more of what he is: a priest who will stand with his gay friends and bless them, a priest who will treat a repentant child sex offender as a human being, a priest who is neither an uncritical product of his institution nor his society, but will hold up a mirror to them both.  In this series of undenied weakness, Adam has shown moments of heart-breaking strength.

But many devoted Rev fans are far from happy.  They watched the series to give them light relief, but now (most of) the slapstick humour has been displaced by a wry and painful humour which asks hard questions about what it means to be church.  "This wasn't what we signed up for!" they cry...

During Holy Week, we remembered another man approaching the end of his story.  In this story too the mood darkened, the stakes were raised, the questions got tougher - and those who enjoyed the healings and the stories, the banter with the authorities and the impromptu processions drifted away.  Following him when he was entertaining them - well that was one thing - but to stand by him while he loses everything?  Why did he have to spoil it by being too political; being too serious; being too uncompromising; being too controversial? They didn't sign up for that...  

Of couse, I am not the only one to draw parallels. Starting with Adam's prediction of St Saviour's demise and the birthday cake Last Supper, the fourth and fifth episodes have increasingly played on the events of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. Colin denying his friend as the alarm sounds in the chicken bar; an embarrassed and impotent Bishop washing his hands as he discusses Adam's future; the emptied, dark church echoing like a cavernous tomb. The question for this last episode is surely: will there be a resurrection, and what will it look like?  

The good news is that I suspect Rev, will continue to echo the Easter story, and will be a comedy in the truest sense. No seriously - bear with me! Classical comedic drama was not defined by the laughs but by the ending - namely a happy ending - and you don't get much happier than the despised and rejected messiah defeating death, restoring his little community of disciples and sending them with a message of forgiveness and reconciliation between God and creation in which the whole world can share. The ending of this television series cannot attempt to match that, but as St Saviours closes its doors in episode 5, just remember episode 6 is coming...

Tuesday 8 April 2014

A Mother's Memory of Petertide

The ethereal voices of a girls' choir begin to sing Veni Sanctus Spiritus. Eleven solemn ordinands, clothed in black and white, their diaconal stoles a slash of red, kneel with heads bowed in a semicircle around their bishop. The beauty of the music somehow amplifies the profound stillness of the holy moment. I wait. I wait for the Bishop to lay hands on me and ordain me as priest.

Suddenly the peace is torn by the wailing of a small child - and I am torn too. I know, with a peculiar maternal certainty, that of all the small people in the cathedral this evening, that particular wail belongs to my four-year-old daughter, Emma.

MUUUMMEEE! It is amazing how much focus you can give to two things at once. As I watch intently, my fellow curates walk forward and kneel before the bishop, and my heart is full of pride and joy at the wonder of these friends offering themselves to God and God's world. Yet another part of me is monitoring a very different situation:

The wail has abated. Someone is soothing, cuddling, cajoling - will it work? But no, the wail resumes with increased vigour. What do I do? She needs me, wants me, but of all the times in my life, I cannot go now.

My husband will cope.

My husband will cope.

And sure enough, the cries soften - Will scoops up Emma, carries her away from the ministrations of anxious grandparents and aunts, distracts her with all a Daddy's wiles.

And it's my turn to go forward...

After the service, Emma greets me with a reproof. "I don't want you to be a priest, Mummy. Why do you have to be a priest?" We are walking hand in hand down the stairs to collect my belongings from the cathedral chapter house. I am exhilarated and exhausted and in no way capable of understanding her questions at first.
"Jesus asked me to be a priest, darling."
"But why did Jesus ask you to be a priest. I don't want you to be a priest!" - is her robust reply.
The conversation circles for a few minutes more, and I am at a loss. The emotion of the day catches up with me, and I am weary, vulnerable, close to tears; childishly resentful of my daughter's complaint; desperate for someone wise to rescue us. But there is only me, and Emma needs me. And then, I get it.

I gather my little girl in my arms and tell her seriously:

"Emma, Jesus wants me to be a priest, but I am still your Mummy. I'll always be your Mummy. Nothing will change that."

And the questions are at an end - Emma is satisfied.