Mission, Anguish, and Defiance

A Personal Experience of Black Clergy Deployment in the Church of England

David Isiorho

• Publisher: Wipf and Stock
• Year: 2019
• ISBN:
  9781532674235
• Topic: Theologie & Religion
• Subtopic: Ethik & Religion

Mission, Anguish, and Defiance documents how David Isiorho has explored his ministry as a black priest in the Church of England using his formidable intellect, which reveals the ingrained prejudices and lack of genuine love from the structures of that august institution. He draws on his PhD as a platform to conduct this examination, not seeking pity but writing prophetically from a deep loyalty to the Church. He has meticulously interviewed a wide range of research participants, giving them a voice to join with his own. He uncovers evidence of vast, painful, and redundant suffering in this group of black colleagues.This book is about hurt and it may be perceived as hurtful, certainly by those who are called to account. Isiorho's bravery comes through clearly, as does his hopeful fidelity to the God and the Church that he loves. Throughout he does not seek to be vindictive; rather, he searches to show the salvific and redeeming love of Christ which, together with the energizing Holy Spirit, can see real reform and profound healing. That is his prayer in this moving and challenging piece.

Chapter One

Parson’s Freehold

The material contained in this chapter is ideographic. I use a case study methodology that is illuminating of processes, and although it is not proof of generic racism, it provides me with complementary data to support my accumulative arguments about English ethnicity. This report, as a case study, seeks to demonstrate the way in which my treatment at the hands of the church witnesses poorly to my community and circles of acquaintance. I feel that I have been forced into a position of challenge and implicit blame by the church which I regard as my spiritual home. This is a profoundly painful position to find myself in.

Whilst people in secular society now, after much training, easily raise the question of racism and racialization, the hierarchy of the church does not seem able to deal with real-life, right-in-front-of-me-now victims of racism. It is not that the church is actively involved in the process of propagating racism in any overt way. Its failures are more subtle, like the sins of omission. However, the church cannot rectify a failing it will not acknowledge. It is as if the vitality of sin operating within the human heart and at the center of the institution of the church simply cannot be acknowledged. Yet the suffering Lord that hangs before us is all about exactly that reality. The church compromises itself profoundly and seriously by its polite inability to see the issue for what it really is.

My credentials for this case study are as follows: I am a male priest, Black, British-born to a Black African father and a White English mother. I was thirty-two at the time of my deaconing. I had felt a vocation to the ordained ministry as a very young man, having always been involved in church life. I received no encouragement for a number of years; rather the reverse. I obtained a degree in sociology and became a social worker and Trades’ Union activist. The persistent call to the priestly order continued however, and a decade later I was accepted and went into one of the older and more prestigious colleges to do my training.

I obtained, with comparative ease, a title post in the Midlands diocese which had sponsored me. During this time, I met and married a fellow ordinand, a White woman. This seems to have made a radical change to the way in which various diocesan officers treated us both. Their attitude changed from one of bonhomie to a stance of suspicion. I was given erroneous and potentially damaging advice about when to seek a move and was offered very little support by my diocese. A further example of racism, in brief, concerns the complete failure of my training vicar to grasp the vitriolic and clearly racist behavior of our neighbors. Canon Luke Wether’s worldview did not include people who were willfully wicked, so he asked us to be nice to them. No priest should ever be that naïve.

When the time came to look for a first parish, I found that the circumstances in the church had changed fundamentally from the outlook predicted in my college days where I was assured that specialist positions would be the future for me. Posts were scarce and the competition fierce. During my title, I had gained a master’s degree which made me a suitable candidate for chaplaincy posts in academic institutions. Usually I was not shortlisted on applications, and, again usually, would discover that the person appointed held fewer academic qualifications than I did and had less experience of academic life.

I came under some pressure from my training vicar who informed me that there was a precise time limit on my tenure. It became a matter of some urgency to secure another post. For a while, it looked as if I would have to accept another curacy which I was loath to do. Then, out of the blue, I received a communication from a Northern diocese inviting me to come and look at a vacancy in an inner-city parish.

From the beginning, the process seemed irregular. To this day, I have not clarified the legalities of my position there. The details of the first encounter will explain why I remained uncertain as to what it was I was being licensed to in this northern diocese.

The archdeacon wrote asking me to visit at such and such a time. In the letter, he named a neighboring priest as someone who would host the day since he himself would be away on holiday. It was also explained that the two parishes traditionally worked closely together. Nothing seemed to be strange up to this point.

On arrival, it transpired that this priest appeared to think that he was in the position of a team rector interviewing a prospective team vicar, not dealing with a colleague who was an equal. A Methodist laywoman, employed as a community worker, was referred to as a team vicar, which puzzled me greatly.

This priest asked some extraordinary questions. He wondered whether I was a man of God. He also queried about how I dealt with failure. Along with my wife, who had accompanied me, I had such grave concerns that we wrote to the bishop asking for clarification on lines of management.

It was also clear during the initial meeting that there was considerable tension between the two parishes, and that the host priest was uncomfortable and recognized there was conflict between the two parishes. The wardens of both parishes were in attendance and they indicated clearly that they each wanted their separate vicars. In fact, when this priest walked in as we were laughing together after lunch, he looked as if his face had been slapped. Everyone there noticed this.

I have a copy of the letter from the bishop commending me to these wardens which varies markedly from the letter of invitation I actually received from the archdeacon. Expressions such as “collaboration” and “informal team” are in the former but not in the latter.

A further meeting with the other priest was requested by the bishop. At this point, it was very clear from the papers that all sides had serious reservations. I obtained a copy of the letter sent by the other priest to the bishop in which he refers to me as the applicant in very disparaging terms. However, we both declared that we thought we could see our way forward after the second meeting. A unique license was drawn up in which we two were cross-licensed to each other’s parishes as Honorary Assistant Curates in addition to the standard licenses. We were, therefore, clearly of the same status; me to assist him, he to assist me.

On my birthday, the licensing and cross-licensing took place, complete with cake, the hearty singing of “Happy Birthday,” and a warden’s enthusiastic invitation to give me a “right good Northern welcome.” I laid my disquiet aside and looked forward to a new phase of my ministry.

It soon became clear that the early doubts were justified. The other priest proved to be very difficult to work with. The informality of the team was nonsensical. The two parishes were run as a team with the other priest very much in control. A team is a formal, contractual working arrangement bound by legalities. This priest would set agendas and organize meetings, usually at my house, in order, it later emerged, to ensure that I attended. This was entirely unnecessary since I have always tried to be a person of integrity and honor who would naturally attend meetings as expected. I have always thought my unhelpful colleague took himself far too seriously. In private, my wife and I called him Mr. Blobby, a well-known TV character characterized by a pink suit covered with yellow spots who would fall on the ground and have tantrums while waving his arms and legs. He appeared with Noel Edmonds on the celebrity’s BBC television show, Saturday Night Variety. Mr. Blobby had a permanent toothy grin and jiggling eyes and spoke with an electronic voice.

My wife wrote a limerick.

There once was a vicar called Blobby

Who had team building as his hobby

He went about town

Got everyone down

Stopping them from doing their jobby.

So, the relationship with the other priest was not based on parity of status. He would insist on sharing the morning office with me at my church, never in his neighboring parish. He allowed his newly ordained female deacon to treat me with rudeness. She apparently expected to be given a room in my house. (Later, her husband was convicted of sexual offenses against a minor which she must have known about as the offenses occurred in his vicarage, their home.)

My wife, as will become clear, deals with crises by writing poems, some of which are very sarcastic. This curate, Louise, had been helping with English as a second language at a local Further Education (FE) college. Linda wrote:

There once was a curate named Louise

With a smile like an infectious disease

She helped all de Blacks

Wid de tings that they lacks

She was ever so anxious to please.

A mediator, in the form of the bishop’s Officer for Ministry and Training, was brought in. This man from the cathedral was clearly out of his depth and achieved nothing tangible. I can only describe his input as ineffective and weak. Initially, he wanted to be everybody’s friend, but this did not help him find a way forward. He wrote to me, complaining in the strongest tones that he was unhappy with his role as consultant as this had now developed into a passer of messages and receiver of complaints, although he was still keen to assist in the process of direct communication between the estranged parties. However, when he had clearly failed to bring about any reconciliation, he walked away from this increasingly difficult situation with his head held high.

So, what can we make of this? Was it just the case that he did not understand the extent of the breakdown in communication or appreciate why collaboration between the parishes and their clergy was deemed by the hierarchy as necessary in the first place? I think it would be fair to say that he also wanted to protect his future career and current position with the bishop. Unable to broker a meeting with all concerned, he leaves our story for the moment.

Meanwhile, matters came to a head one morning when workmen had arrived to do some urgent work to the roof of my vicarage. This delayed me from getting to my church to meet up with colleagues to say morning prayer. The other priest came out of the church and strode across to me. A glance would have told him what was happening but instead he ordered me to attend the office immediately in tones of considerable brusqueness. This, in public, was the last straw.

Meanwhile, my wardens had been pressuring me to go to the bishop and ask that the parish be completely independent. They returned from the meeting with the bishop to tell my wife that they had preferred me for the vacancy because they thought that I would stand up to this other priest. This is very interesting since they told the bishop’s Officer for Training and Ministry that they wanted the collaboration to continue. Furthermore, they led him to believe that there was now a communication breakdown with me which was as great as the one between me and the other parish. I was glad when these two persons stepped down as church wardens and when others who were more appropriate and representative of the current congregation were elected to replace them. Over the years I have worked with a lot church wardens, but these people I inherited were the worst, lacking as they were in personal integrity. However, a lot would happen before the change of church wardens came into effect.

Suddenly, relations within the parish of St. Ewold’s changed. Letters were sent to the bishop. Complaints were raised at every level. Hysterical and absurd accusations were flung around. For example, when I used the Third Eucharistic Prayer one day, certain members of the congregation thought that I was praying extempore and went into a tearful huddle in a side chapel. A letter of complaint was sent to the bishop who acknowledged his astonishment at their vehemence over such a normal exercise of priestly authority. Incidentally, the people had a full copy of the Order of Service and they had just to turn a page to find their place, a very Anglican way of worship. Another example was the attempt to provide cheap homemade wine for the mass when canon law is very clear about the quality of the wine to be used and about who is to provide it. The wine was completely undrinkable. My wife refused to taste it as she could smell its rankness from the other side of the vestry.

The situation degenerated with members of the staff of the neighboring parish insisting on continued attendance at meetings in my parish. They attempted to retain control over the finances. It seems fairly certain that some of their letters to the bishop and the archdeacon were written with the help of the staff of the neighboring parish in a wholly unprofessional fashion.

A campaign began to oust me. When I queried about certain aspects of the finances of the parish, I was accused of innuendo and insult. The situation degenerated to near violence with a walk-out staged one morning and a picket line outside the church to prevent others from attending. Fists were shaken at my wife. I was called “the devil’s disciple” for no concrete reason. Even the meetings of the Mothers’ Union were used to stir up opposition toward me to such an extent that Mary Su...