My Dear Sisters and Brothers in Christ

I am sure that by now all of you will have heard that Susan has undergone back-surgery, is out of hospital and is slowly, but steadily, on the mend. Although Susan has been struggling with continuous back pain for more than a year and had been from one physiotherapist and chiropractor to another, it was only a matter of a few days between the neurosurgeon ordering an MRI scan and the operation itself. Although it is still early days, the operation appears to have been successful and we pray that Susan's back problems are now a thing of the past.

The suddenness of the decision to operate meant that we were forced to make some rapid adjustments to our schedules while at the same time dealing with all the anxieties and concerns that inevitably arise at such a time. In this we have been wonderfully supported by friends and family and have been overwhelmed by the phone calls and expressions of love and concern shown us by so many. Thank you. Your support has meant a great deal to us. 

One small incident (or more accurately, a series of incidents), however, had a negative and jarring impact that left me feeling somewhat disappointed and bereft. It seems churlish to mention it in the face of all the love and support shown, but I do so, not by way of criticism, but as the basis of reflecting on our lives and ministry.

I was scheduled to lead our monthly Clergy Quiet Day on the day that Susan was to have the surgery. My original plan was to take Susan to the hospital, return home to give the retreat address, and get back to the hospital to be with Susan when she came out of surgery. However, I soon realised that my plan was not realistic and so, at very short notice, approached a few people to ask if they could help me by doing a retreat address. Without exception all said that they could not help. Each had a perfectly valid excuse and I understand why they could not help. But, taken collectively, I think it is a sad comment on the busyness and inflexibility of our schedules that not one person I approached was able to help.

Perhaps my emotional response was sparked by my own sense of frustration at the relentless busyness of my schedule and the recognition of how often I am unable to do the things I know I ought to be doing. Perhaps it has been fuelled by a comment made in our 3-day strategic planning workshop to the effect that life in this diocese is one of never-ending busyness and pressure. Whatever the reason, it did get me thinking about busyness, and balance, and availability to others in times of need.

Charles Handy, writing for the business world, has written extensively about the pressures and demands of the workplace in a rapidly changing world and of the way those demands can consume and dehumanise us. In his book, "The Empty Raincoat," he likens a job (any job or role) to an inside-out doughnut. In an inside-out doughnut, he says, the centre is solid and represents all those essential aspects of the job which, if left undone, would spell disaster. But around that centre is a larger, fluid space filled with wider, unarticulated expectations that make the difference between success and failure.

Handy goes on to say that some jobs are almost all space; with little core and no boundaries. He writes:

"Ministers of religion have a visible core - church services, some sick visits, committees and finances - but there is no limit to their responsibilities for the souls of their congregation or for their evangelising work. Some of the most stressed people that I have known have been people with jobs like these .... Without a boundary it is easy to be oppressed by guilt, for enough is never enough."

Which brings me back to where I started; the busyness and inflexibility of our schedules. Where there are no visible boundaries it is essential that we set limits - limits that protect us from being consumed. It is about Benedictine balance - where everything is built around our relationship with God and where there is always space for the unexpected call for help. It is about working smarter rather than harder for, as Charles Handy says, at some place energy must give way to wisdom, or else it will collapse in exhaustion.

May God enlarge the holy space in your lives.
+Brian

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