Scottish Catholic Observer

Thanks to the wonders of technology, I am filing this instalment from the side of a pool, while the sun beats gently down upon me in my Victorian bathing costume. I should point out straight away that this is not Gourock pool (the oldest heated swimming pool in Scotland, fact fans), but a pool in a hotel in Fuerteventura in the Canary Islands.

I am in the middle of a winter break and the parish is in the capable hands of my former mentor, Canon George Bradburn. Suffice to say that the parishioners of St Joseph’s will also be relishing this holiday!

This is only the second time in many years that I’ve even had the opportunity to get away for a bit of relaxation and winter sun. For 11 years, I was a lecturer at Glasgow University and term-time commitments meant that I had to forego this little luxury. If I’m honest, these were years when I actively begrudged my confrères their wee jaunts to sunnier climes. By the way, for those who think that university staff have fabulous holidays, let me disabuse you of that notion: 30-odd days plus public holidays are your ‘whack’ and your work patterns are monitored, albeit discreetly, by management.

As a priest working at the University, I felt doubly stretched because those public holiday periods, basically Christmas and Easter, were also peak times in the parish as well.

To top it all, I would usually have a pile of assignments to mark and provide copious feedback for. So, all work and little or no play made Fr Bollan an even duller boy than he is normally.

Since I was recalled to Parish ministry on a full-time basis, I have reconnected with the hallowed winter break. I have described it above as a ‘little luxury’ but I hope it won’t sound too provocative if I say I now regard it as something of a necessity. Fair enough, there may not be an absolute need to fly off in search of sun, but it’s certainly prudent to take some time out from the parish.

It really follows on from what I was saying in last week’s column. Given that most priests are living and ministering as the only priest in their parish (or parishes), an uninterrupted run through Advent into Lent and Easter would leave all but a hardy few running on empty.

Plus, as those who attend weekday Mass will no doubt be aware, the period after New Year is usually busy with funerals which have been delayed by the closure of offices over the festive period. In short, by this time most priests are looking a little grey around the gills. I must say though that I have got better at the whole winter break thing, at least compared with my younger days. I remember one of my first attempted getaways started to unravel quite quickly, as I was tapped on the shoulder by the people seated in the row behind me on the plane—only to discover that they were parishioners. I then learned that there were no fewer than ten others on the same flight.

“Will you be saying Mass, Father? Can we join you? Where are you staying?”

Back then I was too scrupulous and honest to think of giving a false address, so what followed was decidedly a busman’s holiday. Now if you meet me at the airport or on the plane and you ask where I’m staying, don’t bother trying to find it: those apartments don’t exist.

Although I am able to file this copy thanks to modern technology, it also makes taking a break that bit more difficult. All my emails drop into my inbox unabated and I will read them just as quickly as I would were

I on duty, albeit angling the phone from the glare of the sun as I do so.

I still receive texts about parish business and I have even done an online grocery shop from a distance of 3,000-odd miles. If I felt so inclined, I could even check on the parish CCTV cameras from my phone, just to make sure no one was attempting to break in or that Canon George or Acolyte Matthew aren’t hosting raucous parties in my absence. The boon of having ready access to the parish cuts both ways: it means that one is never wholly ‘out of office.’

Now I am perfectly aware that not all eyes will weep for me as I recline in my refuge near the Equator. If I’m being honest, I’m not looking for sympathy—or even permission—it’s just that I’ve heard the line about ‘if you want a priest, go to the airport’ enough to know that it’s not always a fair reflection of the situation on the ground.

Unhelpfully, this Sunday’s Gospel is all about the apostles’ readiness to relinquish everything to follow the Lord! Their lack of hesitation is captured in the Greek of Matthew’s Gospel with a word which implies a certain recklessness. There’s a hint of a gamble in this casting aside of their nets and their old lives.

I guess that anyone who answers that call—in whatever state of life—has written that same blank cheque with their future plans and dreams.

Of course that trust is repaid with interest, but it is tempting to give in to a ‘little Messiah complex’ which imagines that the parish (or the Church for that matter) will fall apart without our constant supervision.

Thankfully, elsewhere in the Gospel, Jesus mandates the winter break in Mark 6:31 where he invites his disciples to ‘come apart and rest a while.’ Like many priests, I tend to hear that as ‘come apart before you fall apart.’

Unlike other things he tries to get me to hear, that’s one he doesn’t have to say twice. I’m on it, Lord. So, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for a dip and a sip of priest’s ruin. Next week it’s back to auld claes, porridge and the hospital phone for my next stint on call! Salud!