The priest and collaborative ministry

Neil Darragh looks at today’s priest – as leader, as ‘mediator’ and in relation to the Early Church’s model

What proportion of people exercising official ministries in the Catholic Church in New Zealand are neither priests nor vowed religious? I checked this out in the New Zealand National Catholic Directly in preparation for the National Vocations Conference last year, and the answer turns out to be nearly 50 percent. That proportion is growing year by year. The Catholic Directory gives us a glimpse of ministry in the church at a national level. At parish level the impression of a church of many ministries is even more definite. Many of these ministries are part-time and voluntary, but most involve some form of liturgical commissioning, ongoing training, and personal dedication. Almost all are doing ministries that priests were doing when I was first ordained 40 years ago.

Past and future
Before the 1970s the priest carried out nearly all the liturgical and pastoral activities of the church. Lay involvement was largely related to Catholic schools and participation in sodalities that focused on personal devotion or charitable work. The priest did the teaching of adults, the sacraments and liturgies, parish visitation and administration, closed and opened the church, collected the mail and put out the rubbish, i.e. most of what we call ‘ministry’ and ‘mission’. The vowed religious did the teaching of children and nursing. A feature of the church since the 1970s has been the large increase in people, in addition to priests and vowed religious, who have now taken on a variety of ministries. Many of us thought that this wide participation of church members in the life of the church, this collaboration among traditional and new ministries, promised a healthy future. Yet in the early 21st century the signs of ill health have become more insistent. Among them are the signs of a new clericalism and liturgical uniformity.

The new clericalism
There are signs among recently ordained priests of a new clericalism in their assertions of priestly authority, nostalgia for older forms of clerical dress and liturgical ceremonies, and more insistence on church regulations. Behind this lies a theology with a heavy emphasis on the priest as mediator between God and people. The new clericalism does not recognise collaborative ministry but only subordinate ministers.

Older priests are more wary of this supposed return to a grand tradition. Not that they deny the priest a role as mediator. Priests do pray for and on behalf of other people, and they are expected to be sympathetic leaders as well as fellow seekers. But they are not the only ones who do this; and in the end God does not need mediators. Priests with a longer track record can still fall into this sacred role too easily, but experience teaches us to recognise it as a weakness not a mandate from ordination. Older priests are also less inclined to be romantic about the old church structures, remembering how vulnerable those structures were to the predations of authoritarian personalities, and how much harm the priest as petty tyrant could do all in the name of God.

The new liturgical uniformity
Major liturgical reforms need some insistence on new regulations in order to correct the excesses that provoked the need for reform in the first place. The reforms initiated by the Council of Trent in the 16th century, with the advantage of the new print technology and following the model of the Anglican Prayer Book, attempted to control liturgical performance through a uniform text obligatory for all. This was an entirely European affair with no regard for cultures outside Europe – nor for minority cultures in Europe for that matter.

The reforms initiated by the Second Vatican Council in the 20th century followed a similar pattern in their insistence on adherence to a new set of liturgical texts. In this case though, the reforms were intended to correct archaisms (like the Latin language) that hindered communication and participation. By the 20th century too, the liturgies of the traditional ‘Eastern’ Churches were recognised as different and legitimate.

Insistence on liturgical uniformity is one of the strategies of liturgical reform. It is also a strategy that can be laden with abusive paternalism. We are now undergoing a second wave of the post-Vatican II reform with a renewed insistence on uniformity. This second wave carries with it the heavy weight of ‘Europeanism’, that is, the belief that European experience is the Christian experience and indeed that of all humanity. This insistence on ‘one size fits all’ attempts to establish a new liturgical uniformity that is no longer focused on correcting archaisms but on extinguishing cultural diversity. It insists, for example, that liturgical texts be literal translations of official Latin texts. It regards most local customary expressions of respect, hospitality and dignified exchange as abuses if they are not existing Roman traditions.

We could expect perhaps that a lively local church might resist this imposition of uniformity in a responsible, creative and culturally diverse way. The title of the nation-wide programme “Worshipping under Southern Skies”, for example, suggests that this programme might uphold the diversity of southern cultures. But as yet it has offered no strategy of resistance to uniformity. The overall response in New Zealand is one of submission.

For our present discussion on ministry, the notable element in this new wave of uniformity is that it enforces the model of the ‘priest-in-charge’ under strict liturgical regulation and with some subordinate lay ministry support. This reduces liturgical participation and communication in local communities to a minimum. It also encourages subordinate rather than responsible collaborative ministry because what happens in church on Sundays mirrors and reinforces people’s perceptions of how the church ought to operate for the rest of the week.

Traditional models and old theologies
Most local churches in New Zealand do follow some degree of collaboration in ministry. These range from the subordinate models of ‘father’s little helpers’ to genuine cooperation in decision-making. Collaborate ministry does not mean there is no structure or that everyone is the same or that everyone has equal say in everything that happens. It operates on a principle of respectful negotiation among a diversity of ministries not only with different tasks but also with varying degrees of responsibility.

Some of the submissiveness that afflicts the New Zealand Catholic Church is simply a result of personality. But some of it too results from the models of ministry we carry about in our heads. Certainly for priests, we carry around in our heads models of priesthood we believe to be sanctioned by tradition. We or our early mentors have constructed imaginary genealogies of priesthood that we feel obliged to live out on the assumption that they have the backing of Christian tradition.

Signals of identity like Roman collars and clerical suits are just recent clothing fashions that don’t go back more than a few hundred years and need not bother us here. More serious elements of priests’ identity models are such features as the distinctiveness of the sacrament of ordination, the priest as presider at Eucharist, and the priest as pastor. Most commonly, the ministry of the modern priest is thought to have originated in the ‘presbyters’ of the early church. But in the New Testament these presbyters appear as a group of church elders rather than as individually active pastors. Those early presbyters presumably presided at the community’s Eucharists but it’s hard to find concrete evidence for this and we can’t assume that they were the only ones who did it.

There is a whole variety of ministers in the first few hundred years of the Christian church and none of them look much like the contemporary priest. A large number of these ministries are listed in Paul’s letters. Others are founders of communities, like Paul and Barnabas, the ‘beloved disciple’ of John’s Gospel, and the Samaritan woman. Some appear as groups of leaders (leadership teams perhaps) in the Acts of the Apostles, like the Hellenist seven, the Antiochean five (called ‘prophets and teachers), the ‘presbyters’ already mentioned above. There are also the couples who led the early house churches. The early church does not appear to have attached anything like the weight we do to the ordination liturgy. The ‘laying on of hands’ seems to have been a common commissioning ceremony used in several different contexts. If we look for a modern parallel, it might be something like a commissioning of liturgical ministers in a typical New Zealand parish.

After the New Testament period the model described by Ignatius of Antioch is that of a single bishop as leader of the local congregation with a group of presbyters as advisors and a number of deacons who worked with the bishop. That congregation was probably the size of a small urban parish today. This idealised, small community model, far removed from the realities of a modern diocesan bishop, was the model that most influenced the Second Vatican Council’s ideas on bishops. The closest modern parallel is probably the Presbyterian parish with a single minister, a group of ‘elders’, and a number of deacons looking after practical matters.

There is no clear sanction in early church practices for our current perceptions of the role of the priest. Church tradition does sanction however a variety of leadership roles that adapted, in major and radical ways, along with other ministries to respond to the needs of the church in different times and places.

We do need to develop new styles of collaborative ministry. Many people in New Zealand are working hard at this and there are good precedents for it in the tradition of the church. It is hindered today though by the strength of the new clericalism and the new liturgical uniformity.

Neil Darragh is a theologian and parish priest of Glen Innes, Auckland

Two years ago the editor was in London at the time of the July 7 bombings. A most striking story reported (see Tui Motu August ‘05) was that of the Australian girl, Gill Hicks, who was pulled out of the wrecked tube train more dead than alive; she lost both legs, yet displayed an indomitable spirit.
At the time we christened her the “little Aussie battler”. Now she has graciously given us an interview, so we can follow up her story and her recovery.

The Little Aussie Battler

The explosion
Gill left home that Thursday morning not in the best frame of mind. The previous night she had had a flaming row with Joe, her fiancée, and she was even wondering whether she would go through with her marriage, booked for December. She got into the same Underground carriage as one of the four Muslim bombers. A few moments later her life was changed forever.

The Russell Square bomb was the most devastating of the four – three exploded on different trains more or less at the same time, the fourth on a bus an hour later. Twenty people were killed on that train. Gill awoke to an atmosphere of indescribable devastation: human cries, suffocating smoke, pools of blood. A lot of the blood was hers. She realised her legs were shattered. She prayed. She had the presence of mind to tear her scarf and tourniquet both her legs.

She drifted in and out of consciousness. Then the rescuers came and found her. Gill says:
I had three cardiac arrests and lost 75 percent of my blood, my pupils were fixed and dilated. They were about to label me a dead. But I never gave up.

They took her to St Thomas’ Hospital in Westminster, where the trauma team worked on her in Intensive Care day and night until she pulled through. At first she was labelled, simply, “one unknown”. She was in such a mess that they guessed her age nearer 50 than 30 and were even unsure of her gender!

Meanwhile Joe, her fiancée, was becoming more and more frantic as each hour of that interminable day progressed. London was in chaos, the cell phone systems were down; he awaited news and there was none. His beloved Gill was missing. She could well be one of the victims. He lived through a nightmare.

Eventually in the evening she was identified, and at long last news came. For the next few days Joe was constantly at her bedside, keeping vigil as she sank and then rallied, hoping and praying. There was a fear that because of the time her breathing had stopped, there might be brain damage.

However, after five days Gill began to turn the corner. Joe invited the priest, Fr Kit Cunningham who was arranging their marriage, to come and give her a blessing. On the Tuesday following the bombing Fr Kit was at her bedside, and heard her first coherent speech: “I will walk down the aisle in December!” The Aussie battler had spoken.

From the moment I woke up, with the euphoria of being alive I was immediately aware that I had received a wonderful gift and that has never left me. My world was changed. It is a world built on unconditional love. These people have done so much for me. My label was ‘one unknown’. This tells me of the greatness of humanity: people risked their own lives and strove to save this unknown life. I was like a baton being passed from person to person along a very long line. No-one gave up on me. What I felt was not so much the medical attention but people’s personal love for me – this unknown survivor they were cherishing.

They didn’t know if I was a millionairess, a princess or maybe had just escaped from prison. I could have been anyone. I could have been a Muslim, I could have been Jewish, agnostic or an atheist. This is a profound reminder to me of how love is at the base of everything.

The wedding
Supported by her family from Adelaide, S Australia, and by her friends and the devoted hospital staff, Gill made a rapid recovery. The Australian Prime Minister, John Howard visited her in St Thomas’s. She was fitted with artificial limbs and started learning how to walk with them.

There were, however, downs as well as ups. She still suffers periods of terrible grief over the loss of her legs. Even though her limbs were shattered, her feet had survived almost unscathed encased in her neat shoes. She asked to say ‘good-bye’ to them, so they were brought to her bedside. It was a poignant moment, a necessary closure.

Facing life as a double amputee is something unimaginable. All of us are faced periodically with our own mortality – but what I had never considered was facing life maimed.

There was another amputee from the bombing at St Thomas’; so Gill had someone to compete with as she tried to get used to her artificial limbs. She was dependent on others for the simplest personal needs: Joe was on hand to help her even in the sort of intimate ways which would never have happened in normal living. Their love was cemented in a very blessed way.

She grew stronger. She learned how to walk without support. Soon she was mobile enough to leave hospital: she went to visit the Queen. By December she was ready to fulfil her vowed appointment and walk down the aisle for her wedding. It was a wonderful occasion. Like any other bride she was able to take great delight choosing her bridesmaids and being fitted for her wedding dress.

The toughest moment for her was climbing the timeworn steps from the cloister into the ancient, 13th Century nave of St Etheldreda’s. She and Joe were surrounded by their families and friends, old and new. Many of the police, the emergency and nursing services and others who had shared in her recovery were there to support them.

There were some lighter moments. Outside the church almost blocking the entrance was a London bus. One of Joe’s spare time hobbies is driving a double-decker. So after the wedding he triumphantly steered the bridal party to the reception – going down a one-way street the wrong way en route.

Afterwards she and Joe were able to fly all the way to Adelaide for their honeymoon, so he could experience her Aussie background for the first time.

The bombers
So how does Gill feel now about the man who plotted to kill her?

From the moment I woke up I felt no anger, or resentment, or hatred. Just profound gratitude to all these wonderful, selfless people who nurtured me. It would have been quite ‘normal’ to feel the desire to retaliate for the loss of my life as I had known it. Or at least anger towards the person who had done this to me.

Instead I felt – and feel – a great deal of sorrow and pity for him. I was expecting to see a monster, a person looking really evil; instead I saw the photograph of a young boy looking back at me and I was quite shocked to find he was only 19. I thought: “you poor, sad lad – you believe you are doing the right thing and that God is on your side”.

For me the journey has been trying to gain a different understanding of different forms of ‘what is right’. I have to shed my arrogance and ignorance. I have to sit down and say “I believe I am right – but equally I must respect that you think you are right.” Maybe, therefore there are several versions of what is ‘right’. However, innocent people should never be killed for what we think is justified...

Sometimes people don’t understand why I don’t want to wage this ‘war against terror’. Yet I’m totally supportive of the present levels of security. We cannot afford to be complacent or ever think we won’t be involved in something unimaginable. I once thought that – but not now. I fully support the measures the police have to take, especially to safeguard the transport services. They are doing a fantastic job. The world constantly needs to be hugged – but you have to be realistic and the police sometimes have to be able to say ‘no’ to people.

An ambassador for peace
Gill Hicks has been fortunate to take up the threads of her young life again and to have a future. There were others who didn’t. There are many families bereft and grieving. Yet in another sense her life has been utterly changed by the bomb. Eventually she was fit enough to be able to return to her place of work.

After my recovery I went back to work. Here was my ‘urgent file’ waiting after six months away for me to do something with. Here was my life before the bombs. There it was, sitting on my desk – and it meant absolutely nothing. So I put it all in the bin. I felt sad to say good-bye to my past – but I also felt liberated. I am like a plane coming into land along a runway of lights and just when I need it, another light goes on! Those lights are people. People come into my life at exactly the right moment. I have great faith in that.

One day I was speaking in public about my experience. The founder of an organisation called Peace Direct happened to be in the audience. She was fascinated by my lack of hatred. To me hatred is like a cancer.

Afterwards she introduced herself and I found an immediate rapport with her, so I resolved to join the work. I love the fact that Peace Direct are practical peace builders. They are in immediate touch with the problems and the solutions – in places like Darfur and the Congo. I have become an ambassador for them, but I am also able to offer a different dimension to their work.

The public speaking I do is often preaching to the converted. But there is also a more personal aspect. No one is ever fully converted, but there may be ways I can prompt people from belief into action. Most people think they are powerless. But everyone can be a peacemaker in their home, in their immediate surroundings.

I believe we have to change what the world thinks. People sometimes feel powerless. But I can say to myself: what CAN I effect? This is my home, my world – so what can I do to change it? I can govern what happens here in my home. So can my neighbour. And the ripples can spread. This is the way change happens.

The final word
Joe, my husband, too, has a strong faith. It has been a great comfort to him. And the family at St Etheldreda’s church has adopted me. I feel honoured to be a part of that even though I’m not myself a Catholic (Gill is a Methodist – though as a child she wanted to be a nun, until her mother told her she couldn’t!).

The emergency services I really look up to. They are the living embodiment of the best I have learned going to church and from my parents. ‘I will give my life for you’ they say – ‘it doesn’t matter who you are’.

I believe each of us is here for a ‘breath of time’. Very little matters other than what we do while we are here, what we do with this amazing gift of life we have been given. It is what we leave behind that makes a difference. The gathering of wealth matters little. Ultimately, it is how much we love.

Gill Hicks has published a graphic account of her experiences. If you decide to read it, equip yourself with a plentiful supply of tissues. It is called
One Unknown: a powerful account of survival and one woman’s inspirational journey to a new life. by Gill Hicks, survivor of the London Bombings.
Published by Rodale International Ltd 2007 (7-10 Chandos St, London W1G 9AD)