Scottish Catholic Observer

I began last week’s column with an incidental reference to politics and, in case you hadn’t noticed, we are nearing the end of a snap general election campaign. I don’t know about you, but I’ve voted so often over the past couple of years that I feel as though I have a timeshare in my local polling station.

Election season tends to change the behaviour of candidates and their teams: they are usually more interested in clergy than at other times and, in the 21st century equivalent of baby-kissing, you may find them ‘liking’ or ‘retweeting’ posts on social media about matters in which, hitherto, they had shown no great interest. Still, to paraphrase the Protestant convert King Henry IV of France, if Paris is worth a Mass, then Inverclyde is certainly worth a retweet plugging a novena.

As far as advertising my own political preferences is concerned, I prefer to leave such things behind the veil of my own conscience. One might reasonably infer that I would follow the Gospel line on decisions which affect us all, but beyond that, I think that our ever more polarised political culture makes the relationship between Faith and politics that bit more complicated. Pray, therefore, for wisdom and discernment, then keep schtum.

To be frank, I think that some of my confreres in the clergy did themselves no favours by explicitly stating their voting intentions in recent referenda and elections.

More so than ever before, I think, the results of political engagement are easily manipulated into ‘them and us’ scenarios and it’s perilous for pastors to be perceived as estranged from a section of their flock by dint of their personal allegiances.

Truth be told, I’ve been too busy of late to focus on political matters. Someone once asked me, ‘What keeps you up at night?’ To be honest, not much. Now, what wakes me up night? That is an entirely different question. We’ll skip over nocturnal calls of nature. Let’s just say that priestly plumbing is no different from anyone else’s.

Then there’s the dawn chorus, God bless every one of their tiny feathers. My bedroom is surrounded by trees, which seem to be home to most of the avian population of the west of Scotland. During these longer days and shorter nights, the chorus tends to kick off around 3.30am. So, if I momentarily drift upwards out of REM sleep, my senses are assailed by all these birds chirping their beaks off in the middle of the night.

Of course, it all sounds very lovely, while, in actual fact, the dawn chorus is really a melodic threat of war: this is my branch—approach at your peril!

In addition to the birds, there’s the bag. Unaccountably, by what mechanism I know not how, a Farmfoods bag has become entangled in the upper branches of a tree just beside my window. I reckon it’s been there since the end of January, and it looks as though the dire environmental warnings about the lifespan of these bags is spot on.

Although it flaps like anything when the wind is up—and here, above the snow line, it frequently is—the bag shows little sign of degrading. If I’ve been woken by something, I often lie there listening to the susurrations of the bag.

A bit of me is soothed by it: who knows, it might well be there in 50 years’ time when I will be a distant memory. But a bit of me is taunted by it: if I had stayed in Clarkston, I could have had Waitrose bags billowing outside my window. Still, as my snowy-haired mother often advised me, you have to bloom where you’re planted.

This is a big week in the parish. Deacon Paul’s funeral is on Tuesday and, as I predicted, the weather forecast is for a sharp downpour as we lay him to rest at the cemetery. I have no doubt that this is payback from Paul, for all those times I gleefully sent him off to brace the horizontal rain at Knocknairshill.

On Thursday evening, we have Confirmation at the cathedral for our P7 pupils. This will be the culmination of lots of hard work on their part—not to mention their class teacher, families and the helpers in the diocesan office.

After my stint as a sponsor the other week, I will be back on the other side of things, helping the bishop confirm my own parishioners. It is breaking no confidences to say that, while I appreciate all the arguments for these large scale Confirmations in the Mother Church of the diocese, I would much rather the bishop came to our parish, at least once a year (but not necessarily so) and confer the Sacrament here, himself.

That is, after all, why the ordinary minister of the Sacrament is the bishop. Don’t get me wrong, I consider it a privilege to help out, but the Confirmation cards, with their mitres and croziers, tell no lies. This should be, in my view at least, an unmediated ‘hands-on’ link between these young people and the successors of the Apostles.

I’m also providing a quick input to the staff of the high school on their in-service day. I’ve been given a fairly broad remit for this talk, but I reckon I’ll be returning to a recurring theme of mine.

My text will be Philippians 2:1-4, which exhorts us ‘to be united in your convictions and united in your love, with a common purpose and a common mind.’ That is what I think The Charter for Catholic Schools boils down to.

Sometimes we can be mesmerised by the word ‘ethos’ to the extent that we end up thinking that, by simply saying it often enough or sprinkling it liberally through planning documents, it will somehow materialise of its own volition. St Paul reminds us that it doesn’t work that way. It needs to be grafted at, witnessed to, even suffered for.

One of the guarantors of the Catholicity of our schools is the commitment of its teachers. Each year, and we are approaching it now, we enter ‘approval season.’ Around this time, jobs in Catholic schools start to be advertised and those nearing the end of their probation year start looking for them.

On top of that, those just completing their courses of Initial Teacher Education are waiting to enter this placement system. Those who are placed in Catholic schools, like those seeking permanent posts in those same schools, will need a Certificate of Approval from the respective dioceses.

And this is where the problem can arise. During those years when I was directly involved in teacher education, I used to warn my students not to spring a request for an approval reference on their parish priests: give them plenty of notice, I would say, tell them months in advance that you will be approaching them in due course. In other words, get on their radar.

There is nothing more pathetic—and no conversation more awkward—than that which takes place about now in call rooms around the country, as hopeful candidates who could not pick you out from an identity parade, hold up grainy photos of their First Communion or invoke the memory of their sainted Granny who used to ‘do the brasses’ in your church.

I blame Simon Cowell and his reality talent shows for spawning a rehearsed routine of making an anguished pitch to the ‘judge,’ saying how important this is to them, speaking of their journey and their dream.

Where was your dream when I need someone for Children’s Liturgy, eh? It is a rare delight when you know the person in front of you and the process is a positive pleasure. But while there needs to be compassion and understanding towards those who perhaps don’t have a stable affiliation to a parish (often with good reasons), there are some who, for want of a better expression, are just ‘at it.’

Come to think of it, there are a lot of similarities between electoral candidates and some approval seekers: much of what they say relates more to promises for the future than to past deeds for which you have evidence. Negotiating both choices involves an element of trust: in this season of judgement calls, may God guide us all, wherever we put our cross, to whomever we give our approval.