October 2009

Communion on a hot sunny day in a cool church is a pleasant experience, and parishioners often let their minds drift to the dry arid scenes of Palestine in Roman times. They picture Jesus – that model of alternative rationalistic rebellion – railing at the authorities of the time because their nit-picking laws were destroying the common sense of people. The Jewish authorities didn’t like him, and to be fair, they probably thought that whilst he might not have anything to lose by upsetting the status quo, they did.

Jesus, of course, didn’t care about that. If something was illogical he said so. If the authorities were malicious he told people to laugh at them. If a law was silly he was scathing in his analysis, and he enraged the ruling elite by telling them that they should set a good example to the ordinary people. He challenged them to say if, “the law was made for man or man for the law?” But they wouldn’t answer. His question echoes today in the saying that, “rules are meant for the guidance of the wise not to be obeyed by the stupid.”

Radical thoughts came to mind during a church service in early August during which I was hoping for the serenity that is normal at communion. Instead I emerged from church intensely disappointed, and with a disdain for the senior leadership of the church as I imagined enraged Jesus, as he listened to the Pharisees justifying their micro-management rules.

What was it that aroused me to such passion? The vicar’s message was uplifting in showing how the power of Jesus can transform people; however, as the speaker left the pulpit, it was explained that the Archbishop had been in talks with government officials and agreed that, because of fears about swine flu, the Anglican church would not offer the ‘chalice’ to the laity. Anglican clergy were therefore, ordered to comply but given no option to offer an alternative.

At first this appeared sensible as it is usual to share a  ‘common cup’ passed from one person to the next and so, despite being wiped after each sip, it might be theoretically possible to pass swine flu from one person to the next. However, it was soon easy to see that the Bishops hadn’t thought through the consequences but had allowed themselves to be swept along by people who wanted to give the appearance of ‘doing something’ about swine flu.

Why, I wondered, was communion for the laity being abandoned – and incidentally the shaking of hands during the Peace – when nothing was being done about the people who are packed into aeroplanes and breathe recycled air whilst flying to Britain from countries where TB, Malaria and Aids are endemic and who, on arrival without test or inspection, then board crowded humid tube trains. I puzzled how our leaders could think that a dozen people at the altar rail of the average parish church are more likely to spread disease, than the millions who jet in from abroad.

As I knelt to receive the dry tasteless wafer but no wine, my mind queried whether other faiths had been asked to change their practices. Were those who press their heads, noses and lips to a prayer mat, being asked to disinfect the mats with Dettol before the next supplicant kneels on the same spot?

To be fair, I expect the Bishops thought that they were taking the matter seriously and might also be worried about being sued. After all life and death is an important matter. However; because the central message of the church is that physical life and death is not as important as spiritual life and spiritual death, Anglican priests – as with clerics in every religion – owe their purpose and livelihood to that notion.

Either there is a spiritual life or there isn’t, and for Christians; Communion is the key element in that spiritual life. It seems illogical therefore, for Bishops to forbid the wine to the laity because that is to call into question the priest’s function in the spiritual order.

As I sat in the pew it seemed to me that, by their handling of this matter, the senior church authorities were about as relevant to the life of the man in the street, as was the Sanhedrin to the lives of those fishermen who took the living cup from a dead Jesus all those years ago.

By late August however, the Bishops had changed their minds and things are temporarily back to normal, at least until swine flu or an epidemic of common sense sweeps through Lambeth Palace.

Talking of silly things and life and death however, reminds me of the Nebraska farmer who rang his vet pleading for him to visit his beloved bull which had a broken leg. The sympathetic vet thought carefully but said, “Sadly, the best thing is to shoot him.” The farmer was distraught and rang off.

Ten minutes passed and the vet’s phone rang again. “Can you come urgently,” the voice said. “I’ve now got a bull with a broken leg and a bullet wound.”